“Right, sir,’ said Pascoe, moving back into the building.
“And, Sergeant, by yourself, mind. You’re on duty, and on duty you sleep by yourself.”
On or off duty you sleep by yourself, thought Pascoe viciously as he went through the door wondering how many of those in the hall had heard.
Dalziel chuckled to himself as he walked towards the block in which his room was situated. The students saw him and a cry of mockery and abuse went up.
“Sieg Heil! shouted some wit. ‘ bastard!”
Roote detached himself from the crowd.
“Is there something else, Superintendent?”
“No, thank you, Mr. Roote. I’m just away to my bed.”
“You’re not so brave without your bully-boys, are you, Dalziel?’ said Cockshut. ”t there enough of them? Have they gone for help?”
“It’s provocation that’s what it is!’ shrieked a hysterical little girl.
“Bloody deliberate provocation.”
She was an ugly little thing, hardly coming up to Dalziel’s chest and he felt a pang of pity for her. This was obviously the most exciting experience she had ever had in her life.
“Provocation! Provocation!’ Others took up the chant. It only lasted a minute, however, and as it died down Dalziel shouted, using all the projection power of his large lungs, ‘, if I can provoke all you lot just by myself, I’d better become a pop-singer! Now I’m off to my bed.
Good night!”
There was a ripple of laughter, then someone started singing, ‘ night, Dalziel, Good night, Dalziel. Good night, Dalziel, it’s time to say goodbye.”
They all took it up and opened up an avenue through their midst.
Feeling relieved, though showing nothing on his face, he began to walk towards the now very attractive sanctuary of the entrance to his block.
He had nearly reached it when another sound became audible above the singing, which died away as the students too became aware of it. Dalziel’s first reaction was incredulity, followed immediately by anger.
It was the noise of a siren, swiftly approaching, and the glare of strong headlights was already visible at intervals along the main road which swung in a broad curve away to the west.
The bastards are coming back,’ said someone.
“You rotten lying pig.”
Tat, stinking… “
“Liar! Shitting liar!”
“Bugger bugger bugger!”
It was the little ugly girl again. She began to rain futile blows on his chest with little fists clenched like pigs’ trotters. The others began to press round and Dalziel felt himself being shoved and pulled with increasing violence. He did not retaliate, concentrated on keeping his balance, mentally promising to do a grievous injury to whoever had brought in this police car with all systems blaring. Disney again? Very probably. Stupid bitch. But at least the men waiting at the main gate would stop it.
But the noise got nearer and he realized it must be in the college grounds now. Fools! he groaned. ‘,’ he shouted aloud. But someone else was shouting now, a girl’s voice, a cry taken up by others.
“It’s not the police! It’s not the police!”
The headlights swept round the last bend in the long driveway which wound through the college precincts, lighting up the struggling mob of students and dazzling the eyes of those who stared into them. But the vehicle was close enough now to be identified.
It was an ambulance.
The students parted before it and it slowed down almost to a stop. A girl ran out and spoke to the driver. It was Sandra Firth and Dalziel realized it was her voice he had heard before. The ambulance swung off the drive and ploughed across several yards of lawn towards one of the teaching blocks, with Sandra Firth running ahead, a strange unearthly figure in the luminance of the headlights. She disappeared inside, followed by the ambulance men. Dalziel began making his way after her, but his progress was impeded by the press of students, mostly completely oblivious of his presence now. By the time he forced his way to the front, the men were coming out again, carrying someone on a stretcher. The onlookers went quite silent except for an excited voice which said over and over again, “Who is it? Who is it?”
The ambulance lights touched the face of the figure on the stretcher, but it was not just their brightness which made the skin seem unnaturally white and drawn. The face was like a rubber mask which had slipped awry and no longer clung to the outline of the bones below. But it was still recognizable.
It was Sam Fallowfield and as he was carried swiftly by, Dalziel found himself unable to say whether he was alive or dead.
Sandra Firth came out of the building after the stretcher and Dalziel seized her arm as she went by.
“Did you call the ambulance?’ he demanded.
“Yes.”
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” “Could you bloody cure him?’ she asked scornfully, pulling herself free.
“Where’d you find him? Show me,’ he said. The girl hesitated, looking at the ambulance which was now ready to depart.
“You can do nothing there,’ he said brutally. ‘ can’t work miracles either.”
The ambulance moved away, siren wailing once more.
“Now show me.”
Without a word she turned and went back into the building. Dalziel paused only to speak to Roote who was standing looking after the disappearing vehicle with a concentration of thought so intense that Dalziel had to speak to him twice.
“Get these people out of here,’ he said curtly. ‘ them out of the offices. Get them back to bed. There’ll be plenty of opportunities for this foolishness. Now isn’t the time.” “Yes,’ said Roote distantly. ‘. I will. I will.”
Dalziel looked at him doubtfully but now the youth seemed to wake up and before Dalziel had followed Sandra through the door he was already shepherding students towards the dormitory blocks.
Sandra had disappeared when he finally got into the building.
“Miss. Firth! Sandra! Where are you?’ he shouted up the stairs.
“Up here.”
Here was a small laboratory whose frosted glass door opened on to the long corridor which led away from the landing. An even smaller storeroom-cum-office opened off the laboratory itself and it was here that Sandra took him, pointing to the small desk shoved against the wall beneath the window and the institutional plastic and metal chair which stood beside it.
“He was sprawled over the desk,’ the girl said. ‘ thought he was asleep. I thought… “
For the first time, Dalziel looked closely at the girl and realized just how shocked she was.
“Sit down, for a minute, love,’ he said in his best kindly voice, spoiling it a little by snapping, ‘, not there!’ as the girl uneasily felt for the chair in the storeroom. He led her back into the lab where the best that could be managed was a rather tall stool. Taking a beaker off a shelf, he sniffed it, rinsed it thoroughly and filled it with water.
“Here, sip that.”
She took it gratefully.
“Now,’ he said, ‘ the hell were you doing up here anyway?”
She drank the water as though she had a heavy thirst and handed back the beaker.
“More?’ he asked. She shook her head.
“I just got fed up,’ she said suddenly. ‘ was up in the general office.
The place was packed, everyone being very jolly, and permissive and just a little bit hysterical. It was like those scenes you sometimes see on the old newsreels during the war — everybody in a shelter, all united and smiling through, you know what I mean. And then there were the organizing ones, hammering away at the typewriters, producing lists and schedules, like the revolution had come or something, instead of just a crummy little demo in a crummy place like this years after everyone else had had theirs. So I just helped myself to a bunch of keys and went for a walk.”