“But she’s not there. Perhaps he sees her making off. He follows her to Fallowfield’s cottage. Waits till she comes out and is making her way back — ‘
‘ — then jumps on her and kills her. Why?”
“If I knew that we’d have him in here with us,’ said Pascoe.
“All right. Talk’s over,’ said Dalziel leaping up energetically. They’re not going to let us stay here for ever, you know. Let’s do some work.”
The morning went by quickly. Checks on the files and papers locked up in the study revealed no signs of interference. (Why should they be interested in interfering anyway? Pascoe asked himself. Unless — ) But the bottle of Glen Grant in the filing cabinet had a couple of prints which matched those on the plastic cup Dalziel had taken from Cockshut.
The superintendent seemed uninterested now. ‘ wants Cockshut?’ he asked. ‘ would just make him feel important.’ An examination of the room in which Fallowfield had been found was even less productive. The key to the locked lab door was found in his pocket. The heroin had almost certainly been self-administered. Only the absence of a note bothered Dalziel.
“I’ve a feeling he was the kind of man who would like to have explained himself in the end,’ he said.
One of the college gardeners dimly recollected having seen Fallowfield enter the science block about lunch time. This fitted in quite well with the medical report. While the two policemen had been so eagerly enquiring after him, he had been sitting alone in a dingy little storeroom, dying. It was illogical, but somehow the thought made Pascoe feel guilty.
“Perhaps he did do the damage in his cottage himself,’ he suggested again. ‘ Prospero, burning his books.”
“What did we do him for?’ asked Dalziel, interested.
The memory of those books, recalled another chain of thought which his mind had set aside, incomplete, till they could get hold of Fallowfield.
Now Fallowfield was beyond any contact the police could hope for, whatever he himself may have believed. But the links of information might still be obtained elsewhere. He thought a while, then went in search of Sandra Firth.
She was not in her room. As it was shortly after twelve, he started to make his way towards the bar where it seemed likely she might be found.
But as he came out into the bright and by now very hot sunlight he saw her standing beneath the beech trees which grew in the patch of ground which lay within the broad sweeping U-bend of the drive. She was talking with considerable animation to someone — in fact, they both seemed to be talking at the same time — and Pascoe felt a tremor of excitement as he looked at the other person. It was Miss. Disney, obviously returning from morning service. A prayer-book (he guessed) was clutched in one black-gloved hand while the other held a large crocodile-skin handbag.
But the article of attire which had caught Pascoe’s eye was her hat. It was absurd. On another woman it might have been forgiven as frivolous.
But on Disney — I It was light blue and dark orange with an artificial red geranium pinned rakishly on one side. And in outline it had the shape of a man’s porkpie.
Pascoe approached.
“Now that evil man is gone,’ Disney was saying, ‘ had hoped that some of you, that you above all, Sandra, might have been at the service this morning. The vicar cannot understand; it’s not my fault I have told him; nonetheless in a small village, such things are noticed.
“Please, Miss. Disney,’ said Sandra desperately. ‘ just don’t want to talk about it. Not now.”
She turned away, but Miss. Disney grabbed her arm at the expense of her handbag.
“For your own good, Sandra… “
“Oh, for God’s sake!” “You’ve dropped your handbag, Miss. Disney,’ said Pascoe, picking it up.
He flicked the catch with his thumb as he did so and the bag fell open revealing a surprisingly feminine complexity of articles. But one was less common there than the rest. A thick stick of yellow chalk.
“The good teacher is never without,’ said Pascoe, removing it.
“How dare you!’ said Disney, beginning to swell. She looked tremendously fearsome, but taking his courage in both hands Pascoe leaned close to her and gently said three words. Her face froze, like a hen with the gapes. Sandra gasped in amazement at hearing such words uttered in such company.
But Disney had said nothing; there was no outburst, no protest, and Pascoe, much relieved, knew he had been right.
“On Mr. Fallowfield’s wall,’ he said. ”s what you wrote, wasn’t it?
After you tore up the books.”
She took a deep breath and steadied herself.
“Not in front of the child,’ she said. ‘ wouldn’t understand.” “Wait,’ said Pascoe to ‘ child’ who while she may not have understood was obviously agog for instruction.
He led Disney gently some yards away.
“Now,’ he said. ‘ truth.”
“I am not in the habit of lying,’ she said scornfully. ‘ I tell you may not redound to my credit, not all of it; but it shall be the truth, be certain of that.”
He almost admired her then.
Almost.
There was a ramshackle seat round the bole of one of the trees and they seated themselves, not without some trepidation on Pascoe’s part.
“It does not become a woman of my beliefs to hate a fellow being,’ she began, ‘ we are exhorted in the Bible to hate evil and the man Fallowfield was evil.”
She nodded emphatically as though defying contradiction.
“How was he evil, Miss. Disney?”
“In the worst possible way. He corrupted the young. Since he came here, I have noticed a steady decline of interest in the Christian societies I run, a growing scepticism and cynicism in seminar discussions I have with students.”
“But surely that’s symptomatic of the age?’ said Pascoe.
“If it is, it is people like Fallowfield who are responsible for it.
Girls who would have looked to me as a friend and counsellor have turned away; even among the staff, among my own colleagues, he has mocked me unreproved. And when he debauched that poor girl, Anita Sewell, and finally brought about her death… “
“We have positive evidence that he never debauched her,’ said Pascoe mildly, ‘ there’s no evidence that he had anything to do with her death. Is there?”
“She was there! She was there that night! I saw them! That was his doing. Isn’t that evidence?”
“You mean last Wednesday night out in the dunes? You saw them dancing without their clothes?”
Disney covered up her eyes and groaned. Pascoe was not in the least tempted to admire her now and pressed on relentlessly.
“What did you do when you saw them, Miss. Disney? Did you shout, cry out?
Or did you just stand and watch till you were seen?” “I feel faint,’ she said suddenly. ‘ want to go to my room.”
“Soon. Tell me what happened.”
“They all ran away. At least I did that. I stopped it before… I couldn’t sleep that night. I couldn’t get the sight out of my mind.”
“You went there deliberately? You knew what was going on?”
“Yes. I suspected. I had overheard some young men talking.”
“And yesterday, did you go to Mr. Fallowfield’s cottage deliberately?”
“Yes. It had all been too much. Miss. Girling, Anita, the dancing. All that man’s fault, all… so I went to confront him, to challenge him.
He wasn’t there, but the door opened when I pushed it. I went in. The place was in a mess, things all over the floor. At first I went next door to call for help, but there was no one in. Everybody was on the beach. I went back inside and started gathering things up. Then I saw what kind of books he had. Evil ideas. Evil ideas. Worse than the flesh. I began to tear them. I tore and tore and tore. And then I wrote on the walls, just what was up there already. The words, the drawings, applied to him, didn’t seem wrong, you understand? It was as if some force had come out of me already and begun the damage. Just like when I heard he was dead last night, I knew that I had helped somehow. And I am glad. It is a good thing, a good thing. There may be some hope for all our salvations now.”