‘I’m sure he does,’ said Wilt grimly. It was typical of Senior Secs that they knew Chief Constables who wanted to bring back hanging. It was all mummy and daddy and horses with Senior Secretaries.
‘Anyway, hanging doesn’t hurt,’ said the large girl. ‘Sir Frank says a good hangman can have a man out of the condemned cell and on to the trap with a noose around his neck and pull the lever in twenty seconds.’
‘Why confine the privilege to men?’ asked ‘Wilt bitterly. The class looked at him with reproachful eyes, ‘The last woman they hanged was Ruth Ellis,’ said the blonde in the front row.
‘Anyway with women it’s different,’ said the large girl.
‘Why?’ said Wilt inadvisedly.
‘Well it’s slower.’
‘Slower?’
‘They had to tie Mrs Thomson to a chair,’ volunteered the blonde. ‘She behaved disgracefully.’
‘I must say I find your judgements peculiar,’ said Wilt. ‘A woman murdering her husband is doubtless disgraceful. The fact that she puts up a fight when they come to execute her doesn’t strike me as disgraceful at all. I find that…’
‘It’s not just that,’ interrupted the large girl, who wasn’t to be diverted.
‘What isn’t?’ said Wilt.
‘It’s being slower with women. They have to make them wear waterproof pants.’
Wilt gaped at her in disgust. ‘Waterproof what?’ he asked without thinking.
‘Waterproof pants,’ said the large girl.
‘Dear God,’ said Wilt.
‘You see, when they get to the bottom of the rope their insides drop out,’ continued the large girl, administering the coup de grâce. Wilt stared at her wildly and stumbled from the room.
‘What’s the matter with him?’ said the girl. ‘Anyone would think I had said something beastly.’
In the corridor Wilt leant against the wall and felt sick. Those fucking girls were worse than Gasfitters. At least Gasfitters didn’t go in for such disgusting anatomical details and besides Senior Secs all came from so-called respectable families. By the time he felt strong enough to face them again the hour had ended. Wilt went back into the classroom sheepishly and collected the books.
‘Name of Wilt mean anything to you? Henry Wilt?’ asked the Inspector.
‘Wilt?’ said the Vice-Principal, who had been left to cope with the police while the Principal spent his time more profitably trying to offset the, adverse publicity caused by the whole appalling business. ‘Well, yes it does. He’s one of our Liberal Studies lecturers. Why? Is there…’
‘If you don’t mind, sir, I’d just like a word with him. In private’
‘But Wilt’s a most inoffensive man,’ said the Vice-Principal. ‘I’m sure he couldn’t help you at all.’
‘Possibly not but all the same…’
‘You’re not suggesting for one moment that Henry Wilt had anything to do with…’ the Vice-Principal stopped and studied the expression on the Inspector’s face. It was ominously neutral.
‘I’d rather not go into details,’ said Inspector Flint, ‘and it’s best if we don’t jump to conclusions.’
The Vice-Principal picked up the phone. ‘Do you want him to come across to that…er…caravan?’ he asked.
Inspector Flint shook his head. ‘We like to be as inconspicuous as possible. If I could just have the use of an empty office.’
‘There’s an office next door. You can use that.’
Wilt was in the canteen having lunch with Peter Braintree when the Vice-Principal’s secretary came down with a message.
‘Can’t it wait?’ asked Wilt.
‘He said it was most urgent.’
‘It’s probably your Senior Lectureship come through at last,’ said Braintree brightly. Wilt swallowed the rest of his Scotch egg and got up.
‘I doubt that, ‘he said and went wanly out of the canteen and up the stairs. He had a horrid suspicion that promotion was the last thing the Vice-Principal wanted to see him about.
‘Now, sir.’ said the Inspector when they were seated in the office, ‘my name is Flint, Inspector Flint, CID, and you’re Mr Wilt? Mr Henry Wilt?’
‘Yes,’ said Wilt.
Now, Mr Wilt, as you may have gathered we are investigating the suspected murder of a woman whose body is believed to have been deposited at the bottom of one of the foundation holes for the new building. I daresay you know about it.’ Wilt nodded. ‘And naturally we are interested in anything that might be of assistance. I wonder if you would mind having a look at these notes.’
He handed Wilt a piece of paper. It was headed ‘Notes on Violence and the Break-Up of Family Life, and underneath were a number of sub-headings.
1. Increasing use of violence in public life to attain political ends. A) Bombings. B) Hijacking. C) Kidnapping. D) Assassination.
2. Ineffectuality of Police Methods in combating Violence. A) Negative approach. Police able only to react to crime after it has taken place. B) Use of violence by police themselves. C) Low level of intelligence of average policeman. D) Increasing use of sophisticated methods such as diversionary tactics by criminals.
3. Influence of media. TV brings crime techniques into the home.
There was more. Much more. Wilt looked down the list with a sense of doom.
‘You recognise the handwriting?’ asked the Inspector.
‘I do,’ said Wilt, adopting rather prematurely the elliptical language of the witness box.
‘You admit that you wrote those notes?’ The Inspector reached out a hand and took the notes back.
‘Yes.’
‘They express your opinion of police methods?’
Wilt pulled himself together. ‘They were jottings I was making for a lecture to Sandwich-Course Trainee Firemen,’ he explained. ‘They were simply rough ideas. They need amplifying of course…’
‘But you don’t deny you wrote them?’
‘Of course I don’t. I’ve just said I did, haven’t I?’
The Inspector nodded and picked up a book. ‘And this is yours too?’
Wilt looked at Bleak House. ‘It says so, doesn’t it?’
Inspector Flint opened the cover. ‘So it does,’ he said with a show of astonishment, ’so it does’
Wilt stared at him. There was no point in maintaining the pretence any longer. The best thing to do was to get it over quickly. They had found that bloody book in the basket of the bicycle and the notes must have fallen out of his pocket on the building site.
‘Look, Inspector,’ he said, ‘I can explain everything. It’s really quite simple. I did go into that building site…’
The Inspector stood up. ‘Mr Wilt, if you’re prepared to make a statement I think I should warn you…’
Wilt went down to the Murder Headquarters and made a statement in the presence of a police stenographer. His progress to the blue caravan and his failure to come out again were noted with interest by members of the staff teaching in the Science block, by students in the canteen and by twenty-five fellow lecturers gaping through the windows of the Staff Room.
Chapter 9
‘Goddam the thing,’ said Gaskell as he knelt greasily beside the engine of the cruiser, ‘you’d think that even in this pre-technological monarchy they’d fit a decent motor. This contraption must have been made for the Ark.’
‘Ark Ark the Lark,’ said Sally, ‘and cut-the crowned heads foolery. Eva’s a reginaphile.’
‘A what?’
‘Reginaphile. Monarchist. Get it. She’s the Queen’s Bee so don’t be anti-British. We don’t want her to stop working as well as the motor. Maybe it isn’t the con rod.’
‘If I could only get the head off I could tell,’ said Gaskell.