“Still, they made it and, as I say, they pushed their luck a little further. Cargo, dressed in one of Girling’s coats and wearing her spare wig, checked in the luggage. Things were chaotic with the fog and it seemed a clever move to establish the presence of a red-headed woman like Girling at the airport by more than just circumstantial evidence.
“After that, it was just a matter of waiting. If there was no report of the body having been found at the college, they could go off to spend Christmas with some ease of mind. But when the report broke in the paper of the avalanche, and Girling was one of those listed as having possibly been on the bus, this must have seemed like an act of God. They were in the clear. The statue was up, for ever it seemed. Everyone was satisfied about Girling’s death. The brief nightmare was over.” Not for Fallowfield, thought Pascoe looking down at the letter once more.
“How could they bear to come back here?’ asked Landor.
“Why not? They could keep an eye on things. Every time they saw the statue, it stood as a surety for their own safety. There’s something fascinating about such a secret. It’s a truism that criminals always return to the scene of the crime. All it usually means is that people often commit crimes in places which are familiar to them. But the pull is there. Look at the way Cargo came back for a job here when she got the chance. Though something of her infatuation with Roote probably remained.”
“What happened next? All this business with that poor girl, Anita, I mean… “
“You happened for one. And Franny Roote grew older and wilder.
Fallowfield had learned a little discretion, I think, especially among his colleagues. Perhaps Girling’s death had made him seriously question his own philosophies. But here with Franny’s help, a little cell of soul mates, earnest seekers after the truth, was soon set up. It must have seemed the attainment of an ideal to Fallowfield for a while. But with Franny, the search for the truth was a lot less important than the kicks you got on the way. Fallowfield was delighted to discuss freely how drugs, or certain rituals, or sex, can bring about an enlargement of human awareness — have I got it right, Sergeant Pascoe?”
“Yes, sir,’ said Pascoe, though he knew the question was rhetorical. ‘ was interested in isolating those elements which all these sources of spiritual release and greater sensitivity to our environment had in common. Roote was more interested in the experience than the theory.” “Nicely put,’ said Dalziel appreciatively. ‘ gradually they drifted apart. And in Roote’s eyes became rivals. He had a great advantage — he was young, he was quite amoral, he was persuasive and he was sexually very attractive. The girls went for him; the young men were for him too, because he laid on lots of crumpet for them. Fallowfield hung on to one or two. Anita Sewell was one, but she leant more and more to Roote, despite all that Fallowfield could do. She had some kind of conscience crisis at the start of the summer. That’s why she got back late. But she’d made up her mind by then. She was with Roote all the way. So when it seemed her division of loyalties had so ruined her academic work that she was going to be slung out, Fallowfield probably felt relieved. At least she would be out of Roote’s way. Then came the appeal. She must have taken some persuading to lie, but Roote was a great persuader. Cockshut too, all the political bit. He’d got himself attached to the Roote bandwagon and pushed him for the Union Presidency, thinking he could use him. The poor bastard, he was the one who was being used all the time.”
“But why did Fallowfield appear to accept the story?”
“How to disprove it? He knew how the whole relationship between himself and Roote, and all the other young people involved, would sound. He was certain that reason could still prevail, especially with Anita. He was probably right there. So he tried to take the wind out of Roote’s sails by admitting Anita was his mistress, or not denying it, but fighting the accusation of academic dishonesty as hard as he could.”
“I can’t see why Roote did it in the first place,’ said Landor.
“Partly enjoyment, plain and simple. Partly a real belief that Fallowfield was his enemy now. And doubtless other reasons we shall never know. But he overreached himself. Anita’s relationship with him was based on love. They hadn’t ever become lovers in the physical sense yet. He was saving her up for midsummer’s eve; this was probably something else he used to get at Fallowfield with. But the girl didn’t take any of his claims seriously, all this business with witchcraft and ouija boards and the rest. She went along with it for his sake, that was all. And when she and Roote together asked the ouija whose body it was that had been found under the statue, she knew very well whose finger was pushing the indicator round. When it turned out that it was Girling’s body — and Elizabeth, the girl who looked after our food for us, made sure the students got the news almost as quickly as we did — ‘
“It must have been that very night,’ interrupted Pascoe; he reckoned he deserved at least one interruption a year. ‘ know she’d already sent a note asking to see Fallowfield, so she must have been growing more and more worried about the other business. When she questioned Roote that night about Miss. Girling, he was probably a bit high on something or other and he told her the lot — blaming Cargo of course. This, we think, was after they all got back from the dunes. No one else saw her unfortunately. She probably deliberately waited till they were all out of the way.”
Dalziel took up the reconstruction again.
“Off she went immediately to talk with Fallowfield. Unfortunately for her, Cargo had been there already. It was her the neighbour’s kiddy saw going up the path. She’d wanted to discuss the discovery of the body with Fallowfield. God knows what they decided, but on the way back she met Anita. Once Cargo realized that she knew the truth, the girl was dead.”
“Oh my God,’ said Landor, putting his head between his hands.
Embarrassed, Pascoe looked at his watch and stood up.
“Do you mind if…?’ he asked Dalziel.
“No. No. The principal and I will be here for a little while yet. Though it’s thirsty work this talking.” The whisky’ll come out now I’m gone, thought Pascoe as he made his way up to Ellie’s room. He felt he had to say goodbye. He wasn’t really looking forward to it, but anything was better than sitting going over all the horrific details of the case again. He must be going soft.
As it happened, he wasn’t even spared that. Ellie treated him as some kind of impersonal information bureau, shooting questions at him from all angles, insatiable for analysis of motive, reconstruction of event.
“I don’t know any of this,’ he protested. ‘ everything I say to you is theory. The two versions we’ve got conflict in so many particulars, all we can do is keep on digging till we see which the circumstantial evidence fits best.” “All right,’ said Ellie. ‘ understand. I’m not stupid. But at least you can make an educated guess. Which of them wrecked the cottage? That’s what you’d just found out on Saturday afternoon, hadn’t you? When we met you on our way to the beach. Christ, to think of that girl — I If she’d really taken me for a rival, God knows what she might have done!” “You were very lucky,’ said Pascoe ironically. ‘ was Roote. He admits it. He was gilding the lily a bit. After Marion told him what she’d done to Anita, he went out again and shifted the body nearer to the place where they’d been dancing, and took off her clothes. He was just trying to confuse things, make it look as though it had happened immediately after the dance was disturbed. Later he got the idea of planting the clothes on Fallowfield and he wrecked the cottage, hoping Fallowfield would call us in and we’d be the ones to find the clothes. Which we did, of course, but poor Fallowfield by this time had given up the struggle.