“Bloody students,’ groaned Dalziel, once they got inside. ‘ social reform and young idealism on the surface, but give ‘ half a chance and they’re just young criminals.” “Protest is hardly criminal,’ said Pascoe mildly.
“Not protest, no. But I’ve just been talking to Landor. The stuff that’s missing from the admin, block! I warned ‘. Mostly small stuff, but a typewriter’s gone. And some bright spark broke open all three college posting boxes last night and tore up half the mail. Isn’t that criminal?
And the kind of thing they’ve scribbled around the place and left in typewriters for sixteen-year-old typists to find doesn’t bear repeating.”
He shook his head in what seemed like genuine bewilderment. Pascoe felt an impulse to cluck sympathetically but checked it. Dalziel’s gloom changed into a huge yawn.
“To hell with ‘,’ he yawned. ‘ doesn’t want us officially, so we’ll just stick to our brief. Now, the question is, do we still have a case to investigate or don’t we?”
“Pardon?”
“A good suspect for one, possibly two murders goes and gets himself killed. Very convenient, saves the state a lot of money, us a lot of bother. I want to be convinced he did at least one of ‘, preferably both. So convince me, Sergeant.”
He settled himself comfortably in his chair, picked up the phone, dialled, and said, ‘ Dalziel, love. Breakfast for two in the old study. Kippers are fine. ‘.”
“The only thing we’ve got that connects Fallowfield with Miss. Girling,” said Pascoe, ‘ the coincidence that he was interviewed on the nineteenth of December. Presumably he was offered the job on the spot, accepted, shook hands all round, collected his gear and headed for the station.”
“Or he might have had a car?”
“That makes it worse. If he did knock old Girling on the head while he was here, presumably he drove her car a hundred miles to the airport leaving his own here. How did he pick it up without being noticed?”
“Good point. Check with whoever keeps details of expenses paid. They might still have a record of whether he got his train fare or a car allowance.”
“In any case, why? As far as we know, he had no previous acquaintance with the woman. How do you work up a motive in a few hours, especially to kill a woman who’s just offered you a job? No, I think he’s a non-starter there, sir. It’s the mouldy-oldies who were here at the time who are our best bet.”
“You’re not helping much, lad,’ said Dalziel sadly. ”ll have to stick with it. The other one looks better though.”
“Yes, sir. But it still puzzles me why he would publicly accept her allegations that he had seduced her when he patently hadn’t.”
“But he obviously wasn’t going to agree he had fiddled her marks to get her out of the place.” “No,’ said Pascoe thoughtfully. ‘ might be a motive there. He didn’t give a damn about his reputation, but he wasn’t going to lose his career so easily.”
“Still, why did she send him that note? And why above all did he never deny they had been lovers?”
“And who wrecked his flat? And why?”
They were silent for a moment.
“That’s the trouble with you bloody intellectuals,’ said Dalziel finally. ‘ want answers, and all you give is a lot of bloody questions.”
“Henry Saltecombe took Anita’s note to Fallowfield,’ said Pascoe inconsequentially. ‘ he’s got a porkpie hat.”
That’ll really make them sit up in court,’ said Dalziel. ‘ in!”
It was breakfast, brought, to Pascoe’s surprise, by Elizabeth Andrews.
“Hello, love,’ said Dalziel. ‘, eh? The fairest fruit of the sea.”
Obviously encouraged by his tone and studiously avoiding Pascoe’s eyes, the girl planted the tray on the desk and said in a low voice, ‘, what happened the other night, the dancing I mean, will anyone have to know about it? Like the bursar — or my parents. I wouldn’t like… ” “I don’t see why, love,’ said Dalziel, slitting open a kipper. ‘ as long as you keep on bringing me food like this. What made you decide to be a witch, love?”
The girl’s hand went to her mouth, a completely natural example of a classic gesture.
“Oh, I didn’t want… I’m not a witch… not really, I don’t believe … “
“It was just exciting, was it? And of course, Mr. Roote’s very nice, isn’t he?”
She blushed deeply.
“Yes, yes. I think so. I just went because of him. I’d only been once before and then he… went with me. And I thought it’d be the same. I’d rather there’d been just the two of us. But it was dark, and it didn’t seem to matter. But this time, last Thursday, it wasn’t me. He explained. It was a special one, midsummer or something… “
Pascoe and Dalziel exchanged glances and Pascoe began consulting his pocket diary.
‘… and he had to have someone who… hadn’t before. You see. It was the ceremony, that was all, he’d rather have been with me.”
“My God!’ said Pascoe.
“So it was Anita, instead,’ said Dalziel quietly.
“Yes. It should have been. I didn’t want to stay, but I thought if I went… anyway, I was glad when someone came, before… anything really happened.”
“You all ran?”
“Oh yes. I grabbed my clothes and ran as fast as I could. It wasn’t until later I found I’d left my bra and I wasn’t going back for it then.”
She managed a bit of a smile which Dalziel returned.
“I don’t blame you. We’ll let you have it back. You didn’t happen to see who it was who disturbed you all?”
“No. I’m sorry. She was too far, just a shape — ‘
“She?”
“Oh yes. I could tell it was a woman, from the outline of the skirts, I mean. But I didn’t wait to look closer.”
“Well, thank you very much, my dear. If there’s anything else you remember, just have a chat with me, eh? And remember, mum’s the word.”
He placed a stumpy finger across his lips and winked ludicrously. With a look of great relief on her face the girl left the room, still ignoring Pascoe.
“So much for Henry,’ said Dalziel through a mouthful of kipper. ‘ he was wearing a kilt. Your breakfast’s getting cold.”
I’ll just have coffee and a bit of toast.”
“Please yourself. In that case — ‘ Dalziel transferred Pascoe’s kippers to his own plate.
“Midsummer’s eve,’ said Pascoe.
“Is that special?’ asked Dalziel.
“Yes, in a way,’ said Pascoe slowly. ”s not one of the great witches’ nights like Walpurgisnacht, April the thirtieth, or Hallowe’en. But it’s pretty important. The eve of St. John the Baptist as well.”
“Dancing girls and heads on platters,’ offered Dalziel starting on his third kipper. ‘, Sergeant, you’re not really taking this witchcraft bit seriously? It’s just an ingenious method of getting lots of gravy!
Adds a bit of spice too. Like playing sardines at a party. No one says, let’s all lie on the floor together and grope each other. No, you have an acceptable structure, a game. And you all end up lying on the floor groping each other. Remember? This boy Roote’s just a bit more ingenious.”
“Yes. Isn’t he? And the virgin?”
“Variety is the spice. Imagine him telling that nice kid from the kitchen that he’d prefer her but the ceremony required he got stuck into someone else! What a nerve!”
“But she was a virgin.”
Dalziel pushed his plate away and burped.
“So were they all. Once. It’s not an uncommon state even in this bloody randy age.”
“Yes, but still
“Drink your coffee, lad.” Pascoe supped the lukewarm liquid thoughtfully.
“How about this,’ he said. ‘ gets back from the dunes with the others, who were they? Oh yes, Cockshut and the girl Firth. Then he gets to thinking about what he’s missed that night, to wit, Anita. He broods on it a while, and finally sets out to get what he considers his due, ceremony or none.”
“A year’s a long time to wait,’ agreed Dalziel.