An Advancement of Learning

Chapter 13

Marion Cargo seemed more relieved than confused when confronted with this new information. Dalziel had half-expected the usual excuses and rationalizations — ‘ didn’t think it was important,’ ‘ was all so long ago, I’d forgotten.’ In fact, he was half-ready to accept them. It was hard to see how the investigation could be helped by anything Marion could tell them. And when she had finished, he still wasn’t sure whether he had been helped or not.

“I should have said something sooner,’ she said, only her tightly clasped hands in her lap contradicting her appearance of complete self-possession. ”s nothing much to tell, mind you. Miss. Girling was very — kind to me. I was a favourite, I suppose. She got me working on that statue. It was absurd really. Youth it was to be called! It cost a fortune, most of it her own money.” She paused.

“A favourite?’ said Dalziel softly.

“Yes,’ she said. That was all. Nothing more. At least, I didn’t think so. I still don’t. But she suggested that I should go on holiday with her that Christmas. My mother had died during the previous summer — I can’t remember my father at all — and I was temporarily with a very dull uncle and aunt. It was just a nice, thoughtful gesture. I was delighted.”

“What happened?”

“Miss. Disney came to my room one evening. Everyone was scared of her then. Not like now, students don’t seem to be scared of anyone, but we were all frightened little mice just five or six years ago. Anyway, she started talking about me and Miss. Girling, about the holiday. I didn’t understand her at first. But I began to get the idea pretty quickly. She made it sound awful, as if somehow was a bad influence on Miss. Girling! She got very worked up, not hysterical or anything, but full of indignation, all puffy and red. I didn’t know what to think. She implied all kinds of things, even that Miss. Girling could lose her job because of me! It was absurd I know, but I was very innocent, naive I suppose. p›

Disney left finally; I just sat for a bit, then went round to Miss. Girling’s room. This was the last Sunday of term, I was about the only student left in the place, there was no one of my own age to talk to and in any case, I just had to see her. But all I could do when I saw her was blurt out that I couldn’t go to Austria after all, something had come up. I suppose I expected an emotional scene, with tears, explanations, comfortings etc. But she just looked at me and nodded.

Then picked up the phone and started cancelling my booking, plane-seat and so on.”

“Did you see her again?’ asked Dalziel.

“No. I was as miserable as hell all night and most of the next day, that Monday. Finally I plucked up courage to go and see her again.”

“What time was that?”

“I don’t remember. About tea-time. It was dark, but then it got dark even earlier than usual that December with the fog. I tapped on her door. There was someone inside, I could hear voices.”

“Her door? Which door?” “This one,’ said Marion surprised, pointing to the door of Landor’s former study.

“Of course,’ said Dalziel. ‘ thought you might have meant her house.”

“Oh, she didn’t have a house. The principal’s house was only built when Dr. Landor came. Miss. Girling had a suite of rooms here, through that door and up the stairs.”

She nodded at the room’s other door which Dalziel had already tried and found to be locked.

“What happened to the rooms?”

“Oh, they’re used for other things now. A library storeroom. The bursar’s office. That kind of thing.”

Dalziel tried the door again. Still unsuccessfully.

“Interesting,’ he said. ‘ voices did you hear?”

“When? Oh, you mean after I’d knocked? I don’t know. One was Miss. Girling’s. The other was a man’s. There may have been two. They all seemed to be talking very loudly. I don’t think anyone even heard my knock, it was so timid. Anyway, it didn’t seem a good moment, so I crept away.”

“Did you try again later?”

“I meant to. But as I was walking over about an hour later, her car went belting by me along the drive. It was going very quickly, I lifted my hand, but I doubt if she saw me. I just stood there in the middle of the drive, feeling quite miserable, watching the tail-lights disappear. I think I’d have stood there for ever if another car hadn’t come up behind me. I was almost knocked down. I don’t think I’d have minded much,’ she said with a wry grin.

“Another car?’ said Dalziel. ‘?”

“I don’t know. I jumped out of the way when he blew his horn and he went on up the drive almost as fast as Miss. Girling.”

“I see,’ said Dalziel thoughtfully. ‘ that was all?”

“Yes. I went back to my room, then spent Christmas with my dull relations. I knew nothing about the avalanche till I came back to college in January. It was terrible news. I suppose I should have been relieved I hadn’t gone. Disney certainly thought so. She alternated between the tragic bereaved bit and the I-savedyour-life line. I was too numb to take much notice. I just hung on till finals were over in the summer, then got out, rejoicing that I’d never see the place again.”

“And here you are.”

She shrugged.

Things change after a couple of years. You grow up. I saw the job, it was a good step career-wise, and I was a bit curious to see the old place. It was quite a surprise to be offered the post in fact. I hadn’t really banked on it. But I said, why not? and here I am. Disney returned to the attack, but apart from that, it was very pleasant, till Dr. Landor decided to move the statue.”

“Miss. Disney bothered you again?”

“No, not bothered. She started by implying that her influence had got me the job, then began dropping in on me, going all girlish, “isn’t it nice that we’re colleagues now?” and “let’s tell each other secrets and talk about Al,” that sort of thing.”

“What happened in the end?”

She laughed.

“It was funny really. The others noticed, of course, and most of them sympathized. But it was only Sam Fallowfield who did anything about it.

I suppose in the end I’d have worked my courage up to the point where I’d have told her myself, but I’m not a very bold person, Superintendent. So I was very pleased when Sam took a hand. All he did was join me as soon as Walt came and sat beside me. And he called to see me a couple of times just after she’d arrived. He just sat and smiled at her, nodding sympathetically every time she spoke. After a couple of weeks, she gave up. I was delighted, of course. But she hated Sam. It was obscene to see how pleased she was after this trouble with the girl blew up. She went around saying it was no more than she had expected. I could have killed her.” “I see,’ said Dalziel, wondering if she was speaking purely figuratively.

“You don’t think there was any chance she could have put the girl up to it, do you?”

This was obviously a brand-new thought to Marion. She gave it careful consideration.

“I don’t think so,’ she said slowly. ‘ was a nice girl, Anita. I’m not saying she couldn’t be influenced, but not by Disney. No, I’m certain of that. It would need a very different kind of influence than a woman like Disney could bring to bear.” “Good,’ said Dalziel, standing up to show that the interview was over.

The move was abrupt, but, as Pascoe would have vouched, it passed for courtesy compared with many of his usual modes of dismissing people.

He watched with open pleasure as Marion uncrossed her legs and stood up.

“Thank you for being so frank, Miss. Cargo,’ he said.

“I’m sorry you had to ask,’ she replied. ‘ was silly of me.”

“Not at all.’ Gallantly he opened the door.

“Just one thing,’ he said as she passed through it. The other voice you heard when you knocked on Miss. Girling’s door that night. It was definitely a man? Or men?”

She hesitated, looking back into the study as if somehow projecting herself back in time to the point where she had stood outside this same door vainly waiting to be invited in.

“Yes,’ she said. ‘ a man.”

“But you didn’t recognize it?”

“I’m not sure,’ she said slowly. ‘ was somehow familiar. But it was so distorted, I couldn’t say.”

“Distorted?” “Yes,’ she said. ‘ anger.”

The cricket match was almost over when Pascoe finally reached it. He had been delayed first of all by the task of getting hold of Marion Cargo and escorting her to Dalziel. She had come without hesitation or protest, almost as if relieved. But Halfdane, still nursing his earlier annoyance, had more than compensated for her easiness. It had only been Marion’s own insistence that prevented him from following her into the study.

Pascoe had been tempted to question him very roughly about his last sighting of Fallowfield, but remembering Dalziel’s invocation of his charm, decided he would leave it till later and start elsewhere. So, leaving Halfdane striding sentry-like up and down outside the study door, he set off on his delayed journey to the playing-fields.

He had missed the day’s main excitement, it seemed. Half-way through the afternoon one of the umpires, an elderly man with a gouty toe which made the time-lag between overs even longer than it usually is, had fallen into a kind of sun-induced trance at square-leg and had to be nursed back to consciousness with iced lemonade in the pavilion. Subsequently he had been weaned on to strawberries and cream and the prognosis seemed good. But his place had been taken by the portly figure of Henry Saltecombe who, determined not to suffer the same fate, protected his bald pate with an incongruous porkpie hat. The hat was the most interesting thing on the field as far as Pascoe was concerned. It would bear looking into, as the actress said to the conjuror, he thought.

His informant about the affairs of the day was George Dunbar who masochistically was hanging on to the bitter end, despite his expression of distaste for the game.

Perhaps he wants to establish exactly where he is, thought Pascoe, laughing at his own conditioned suspiciousness, but not dismissing the suspicion. ‘. Fallowfield around?’ he asked casually.

“Fallowfield? He’s got more bloody sense.”

“Oh. What’s he do at weekends then. Golf?’ asked Pascoe at random.

“No, he hasn’t got that much sense. Why’re you asking, eh?’ Dunbar glanced keenly at the sergeant who grunted noncommittally.

“If he’s wise, he’ll be at the quack’s,’ Dunbar went on.

“Quack’s?’ ‘ doctor’s!’ said Dunbar exasperatedly. ‘ you see him yesterday? Man, he looked ill. All this business must have been a strain. I reckon he’s heading for a crack-up, myself.”

He spoke with some relish.

“So you haven’t seen him today?”

“No. Not a sign. Now, why do… “

But Pascoe had already moved on.

He stopped trying to be subtle after a while, deciding that even if he just asked people what time it was, they would start wondering what this had to do with the investigation.

Only with the group of students round Franny Roote and Cockshut did he have any success. ‘, I saw him this morning, going towards college,” said a little square, ugly girl.

Time? I don’t know. About half-nine, wouldn’t you say, hey, Franny?”

“Whatever you say, lovey, whatever you say,’ chanted Roote melodiously, lying on his back still, smiling happily. Pascoe wondered if he was slightly drunk. ‘ you didn’t see him later?’ he pursued.

“Well played, sir!’ cried Roote, clapping his hands, his eyes fixed rapturously on the sky.

“Christalmighty, you’re a detective, go and detect.’ It was Cockshut of course. ‘, why doesn’t that fat crud come out and ask his own questions instead of sending the help?”

A shout from the middle of the field and a ripple of applause round the perimeter drew his attention back to the match. The last wicket had fallen and the players were straggling off. Pascoe started heading for the pavilion with the intention of cutting off Saltecombe but someone called his name and he stopped. It was Halfdane.

But surprisingly Halfdane seemed to be in a much more conciliatory mood.

He was still far from apologetic, but at least he didn’t open with too much aggression.

Not again! he thought with an inward groan. What’s he want? A fight?” “I’ve been thinking,’ he said. ‘ business has got to be cleared up.

It’s stupid for me to withhold information out of pique.”

What’s he want? wondered Pascoe. Applause for acknowledging what nobody but a criminal or a moron would deny? Or perhaps he’s just clearing the decks so that he can get down to disliking me with a clear conscience.

“Mind you,’ said Halfdane, ‘ I’ve got to say is probably irrelevant and I hope you won’t want to do anything about it if it is.”

Again Pascoe produced his noncommittal grunt.

“Anita Sewell,’ said Halfdane, ‘ there any evidence that she’d been taking drugs?” “Why do you ask?’ said Pascoe.

“It’s just that, well, occasionally I’ve been to one or two student parties, or parties where there have been students. There’s usually pot available at these do’s. It’s just like another form of booze these days, and no more harmful.”

He looked defiantly at Pascoe who still said nothing. Is this all the poor bastard’s got to tell me? he wondered. Confession of an ageing teenager.

“Now, a couple of times I’ve noticed Anita, and she’s been really high.

I mean really.”

“And what did you do?”

Halfdane tried to look surprised.

“Do? She was an adult, she was responsible. But I did wonder what she was getting, whether she’d moved on.”

“You mean, whether she had started taking a habit forming drug which would eventually kill her?’ said Pascoe coldly.

“For God’s sake!’ said the other in anger.

“But I forgot. She was an adult. Who was she with?”

Halfdane’s anger subsided.

“That’s why I wondered about telling you this. You want names. If it’s anything to do with her death, fair enough. But if it isn’t… “

“Names please, sir.”

“Cockshut. Stuart Cockshut was the main one,’ he said reluctantly. ‘ Roote and all that gang. But especially Cockshut.”

Pascoe made a note in his pocket-book, more for appearance than necessity. The information wasn’t all that helpful. It confirmed what he already suspected. It might explain Roote lying on his back, applauding the sky. But there had been no evidence of any sampling of ” drugs in the autopsy on Anita’s body. And the dancing as described by Lapping had seemed to be sex rather than drug-centred. Of course it depended on the drug. And if these people had access to anything more sophisticated than cannabis, despite any assurances Halfdane might imagine had been given, he and Dalziel were going to be very interested indeed.” “Right,’ he said, closing his book.

“I’d better get back and see if your boss has finished with Marion,” said Halfdane with slightly nervous jocularity.

That’s what he’s really worried about, that Bruiser Dalziel is going to stick something on his girl. So anything which seems to lead elsewhere he’s now happy to give me.

Pascoe didn’t know whether the thought made him like Halfdane more or less. But another thought came swiftly and unbidden into his mind.

Poor Ellie!

“Right you are,’ he said. ‘ we want to talk to you again, we’ll let you know.”

He was damned if he was going to thank the man.

He resumed his walk towards the pavilion and Henry Saltecombe.

“And that’s all he said?’ asked Dalziel sounding as incredulous as stout Cortez looked on stumbling across the Pacific.

I didn’t have my Iron Maiden handy, thought Pascoe; but what he said was, ”s all. Yes, it was his porkpie hat; no, he hadn’t been wandering round the dunes at midnight last Thursday, he’d been sitting up late at home after all his family had gone off to bed so that he could watch a documentary on medieval industry. Anyway, if Anita was going into Fallowfield’s cottage a couple of hours later, what does it matter who disturbed the dance?”

“There’s a porpoise close behind me and it’s treading on my tail,’ said Dalziel thoughtfully. ‘ course those kids might have been dreaming. Or for that matter, it might have been some other long-haired beauty that Fallowfield’s having it away with. We won’t know till we find the man, will we?”

“No, sir.”

“And of course, if the kids are right, then everyone’s going to need new alibis, aren’t they?”

“That’s right,’ said Pascoe, brightening. ‘ these bloody students.”

Dalziel eyed him sardonically.

“Watch it, Sergeant,’ he said. ‘ forget, the country’s full of wonderful young people who stand up for pregnant women in buses and run errands for the aged and decrepit. The Daily Mirror said so last week.

Or was it the Express?”

“Then it must be true. What now, sir?”

Dalziel glanced at his watch. It was nearly a quarter to seven. It had been a quick day and he still wasn’t sure whether they had advanced or gone back. But first things first.

“Dinner,’ he said with satisfaction.

After dinner, Pascoe sat in his room and contemplated the rest of the evening. He felt lonely. His meal had been brought to him on a tray as usual and used though he was to eating by himself, it always seemed a particularly lonely thing to have to do. He supposed no one would have thrown bread-rolls at him if he had appeared in the dining-hall, but he doubted if he would have felt less alone.

He suddenly thought how lonely such a life could be for many of those permanently committed to it. Perhaps it just seemed so on the surface.

Perhaps the seeming lonely like Disney or Scotby really had troops of friends, tribes of loving relations, acres of exciting interests, at their beck and call.

But it wasn’t just them. It was people like Marion, and Ellie as well.

Halfdane too, even Fallowfield. The unmarried. Those for whom home was — this. He looked around the room. It was at least as comfortable as his own minute flat. And, God knows, he knew what it was to be lonely even in a job which often kept him at it for anything up to twenty hours a day.

Therefore, he said, if all people are lonely some of the time and some people are lonely all of the time, it is not merely self-indulgence to thrust myself at them, it may even be a social service.

The obvious person to thrust at was Ellie. He reached for the phone and dialled.

“Hallo, Ellie.”

“Oh, it’s you.” “Right first time,’ he said. ‘, I’ve been glancing through your manuscript. Very interesting. But I thought I’d get it back to you before I do something awful with it, like spill coffee all over it or lose it. Is it OK if I come round and return it now?”

There was a pause.

“Yes. No. Look, I’ll come and collect it. You’re in 28, aren’t you?”

“That’s right. Worried about the kind of person seen going into your room, are you?’ he said with an attempt at lightness.

“Piss off.”

The phone went dead. He wondered if this meant she wasn’t coming, but within five minutes there was a tap at the door.

“Hi,’ she said. She looked very attractive in a simple white dress with large black buttons right down the front. He couldn’t quite decide whether they were functional or merely decorative.

“I enjoyed your book.” “Liar,’ she said calmly. ‘ haven’t had time to look at it.”

“No,’ he protested. ‘ of the characterization helped a great deal in understanding life here at the college. I’m looking forward to reading the finished thing when it’s published.”

She sat down, smiling now.

“It’s like listening to some sentimental song,’ she said. ‘ tune, meaningless words, but it works on you. Keep talking.”

There was a tap on the door. It was Elizabeth, neat as ever in her nylon overall, come to collect the dishes. It was nice to have such a pretty girl looking after him. She seemed very obliging. In fact earlier he had found her in the room tidying up. Perhaps she fancies me, he thought.

She seemed a little disconcerted to find Ellie there also and let a fork slide on to the carpet.

“Sorry,’ she said, bending down. Pascoe automatically stooped also and the heads nearly cracked together. They both rocked back on their haunches, smiling, the girl showing a lot of leg where the overall parted above her knees. Pascoe glanced down involuntarily. On the inside hem of the garment he saw the initials in indian ink E.A.

There wasn’t a blinding flash. There rarely was. Just another certainty sliding into place. Fancies me, hell! he mocked himself.

Tell me,’ he said conversationally, ‘ time did you get back from the beach on Thursday morning?”

The girl turned pale. Bulls-eye! thought Pascoe.

“Were you asked to keep a close eye on us as well, the superintendent and me?’ he went on pressing his advantage.

The girl stood up, leaving the crockery on the floor.

“I don’t know what… “

“Come off it, love,’ said Pascoe. ‘ were there. That makes you a witness. You should have come forward, you know. But better late than never. We’ll need a statement. And you’ll want your bra back.” “I don’t know…’ she said again, then turned and hurried from the room.

“What the hell are you doing to that poor kid?’ demanded Ellie angrily.

“For Christ’s sake, I’d never have believed it. You’re like the bloody SS. Those sergeant’s stripes go all the way through, don’t they?”

Pascoe threw up his hands in mock bewilderment.

That poor kid as you call her was big enough and old enough to enjoy a moonlight orgy after which a girl got herself killed.

She also probably gets high pretty frequently on cannabis and doubtless does a bit of dabbling in the supernatural on the side. I should think she can stand a few straight questions from a policeman.”

“What the hell are you on about? You mean…’ For a few seconds Ellie was lost for words. For a few seconds.

“Look. OK. What’s the difference? If that’s the way she likes her sex, what’s it to you? It’s a lot to her though; these others, students, it’s nothing to them, a bit of embarrassment at home if mummy and daddy get to hear of it, but that’s all. But it’s that girl’s job. She’s not just a skivvy, she’s doing a training course in catering. And this kind of thing could easily get her chucked out on her ear.”

Pascoe shrugged.

“I’m sorry. It won’t come to that. There’s probably nothing she can tell us, no more than the students we’ve talked to. It’s unimportant.”

“Unimportant! You didn’t make her feel it was unimportant!”

“No. I’m sorry. Excuse me.”

He picked up the phone again and dialled Dalziel’s room. There was no reply, so he tried the study.

“Superintendent Dalziel.” “Pascoe, sir. I thought you’d like to know I’ve identified the owner of that bra found in the dunes. Elizabeth Andrews, the girl who brings our meals.”

There was a snort at the other end of the line.

“Yes, I know. I saw her leaving Roote’s room the other night. Is that all?”

“Well, yes sir. I thought she might have been keeping an eye on us for some reason.”

“You haven’t talked to her?”

“Well, yes, I have.”

“Oh God,’ groaned Dalziel. ‘ I’ll probably have my meals brought by some sour-faced harridan.”

The phone was slammed down.

“Well,’ said Ellie who had come close enough to hear both sides of the conversation. ‘ didn’t seem madly impressed. Strange. I should have thought the graduate wonder would always be miles ahead of the nonintellectual bluebottle.”

“He should have told me.”

“Poor sergeant,’ laughed Ellie, much mollified by his discomfiture.

“Doesn’t the nasty super tell you everything then?”

He grabbed her violently and kissed her till she gasped in pain.

“Let’s go and start an orgy in the dunes,’ she whispered.

“This will do me fine.”

He kissed her again. Outside a bell began to ring and there was a distant confusion of voices.

“What’s that?’ he asked lifting his head.

“It’s the Union. There’s a students’ meeting tonight. They summon them like going to church.”

“Why? What’s up?”

“Nothing. That’s the trouble. They’ve been organizing protests and boycotts on a small scale all year, but the big issue was going to break loose if she wasn’t reinstated. And all hell was breaking loose because Fallowfield refused to acknowledge the right of student governors to be present when he was giving evidence. But now Anita’s dead, they’ve lost their cause. No doubt they’ll find another.” “If we don’t hurry, I’ll lose my cause,’ said Pascoe.

“Softly, softly. There’s a long night ahead,’ said Ellie drawing his head down again.

The big black buttons, he was pleased to find, were functional as well as decorative.

“Order, order,’ murmured Franny. ‘ the meeting come to order?”

He tapped his gavel gently twice on the table across which he surveyed the assembled members of his Union. There had been a good turn-out, considering the fact that this was a very warm Saturday evening in June, and it would not be necessary for Stuart to use any of the complicated manoeuvres he had devised for overcoming the lack of a quorum.

Cockshut was at present on his feet refusing to give way to a thin, spectacled, crew-cutted youth who was attempting to turn a point of information into a speech. The secretary stood impassive, calculating the feeling of the meeting and watching Franny carefully. He observed the chairman’s enjoyment of the situation, his sense of self-parody as he requested order in a voice which even Stuart, who as secretary was positioned at one end of the official table, could hardly hear.

A clown, thought Stuart. A self-centred, amoral, socially non-productive clown. He had known him for three years now and was still unsure how seriously the man took his own claims. He himself had never concealed his own scepticism for all the mumbo-jumbo of seances and magic ritual which Franny delighted in. And his philosophy, if it merited so respectable a title, was a lot of meaningless, anti-social crap. But the man had something; power, charisma, call it what you will. Such men had to be used, though never trusted. It had been wiser to join him rather than oppose him, Stuart reassured himself; politically wiser he meant, of course, uneasily aware at the back of his mind of the whole range of sensual delights the union had procured for him. Nor, he had to admit, had the political education of the college proceeded at quite the speed he had hoped for. The place was still fragmented, divided.

He was in his final year now. There was a career in protest these days for the dedicated true-believer, which was what he was. They thought highly of him at the International Action Group HQ. But despite all his efforts, little of note in the world of student politics had taken place here. Poor Anita had seemed the best bet, though it had been Franny who masterminded that. In fact in his more pessimistic moments, Stuart sometimes felt that his pretence of lieutenantship was becoming a little too real.

But tonight, if he moved with care, they might get some concerted action at last.

The interrupter sat down and Stuart resumed his speech.

“I think we have been patient long enough; there comes an end to patience. We have delayed action long enough; there comes a time for action. Anita Sewell’s death was a terrible thing; but it should not be allowed to obscure the authoritarian, anachronistic and cavalier fashion in which she was treated before her death. And since her death, arising out of it in fact, we have had other instances of the relatively insignificant and subordinate role we are expected to play in this college. At the principal’s request, the staff are kept fully informed of the developments of this unpleasant business. But what of us? It’s one of us who is murdered, it is the rest of us who may still be in danger. What danger? you ask. How can I tell you when no one will tell us anything? No; the only approaches made to any of the student body by the police have been high-handed, arrogant, and worse still, they have often revealed a depth of background knowledge about individuals which can only have come from their getting access to so-called confidential files of a type we have been assured does not exist!”

There was very satisfying uproar at this point. Franny and Stuart permitted themselves a brief shared smile, and rumours of the noise were once again borne on the still air to Pascoe’s room, but neither of the inmates was in the least disturbed.