He was now low enough to be out of the full orb of the sun and the gloom of early evening visibly thickened beneath him, but not enough to cause concern. He was coming down parallel to the picket fence which the council had erected to keep the gypsies away from the airfield. To his right he could see the club house quite clearly. The flagpole, brilliant white and exactly thirty feet high, gave him a precise point of reference for his round-out, even though the ground surface itself seemed far from clear. It was rushing beneath him, vague and shadowy. And the shadows were uneven too. Some seemed to be moving across the line of his approach, and these had a look of shape and substance.
'Jesus!' he muttered suddenly, realizing what they were.
No shadows these, but ponies, a whole bloody herd by the look of it, wheeling and swerving beneath him as though driven in panic by the sound of his descent.
The picket fence must be broken again. The bloody things were everywhere. He shouted, knowing they couldn't hear and that it would make no difference if they could; but still he shouted. And still they thundered directly beneath him. Christ, they must be moving! He was doing almost fifty knots and he wasn't outrunning them.
It was time for decisions. Continue the landing as planned and hope the blasted things got out of the way. Or overshoot. He visualized what lay behind that section of the boundary fence directly ahead. Rough ground. Some gorse bushes, very substantial. And then the belt of trees beyond which curved the river.
Perilous country even if he could see it. But black as it was now, certain disaster.
So it had to be the landing as planned. He hadn't got enough speed to gain enough height for another turn on to a different line from the stampeding herd. Only the crassest of novices would try that, a fool, an idiot.
Yet that was what his hands and feet were trying to do. He cursed them and fought back, held the glider level, straight and level, the animals weren't stupid, they would get out of his way.
And suddenly he had won. He felt relaxed, looked out through the perspex. There seemed to be rather more light now. Everything was quite clear. And he could no longer see the ponies.
Suddenly he knew what was happening.
By the time Dalziel and Pascoe reached the airfield, the ambulance had gone and the excited and horror- struck members were busy exchanging notes in the club house. Preece who met them in the car park was equally excited and eager for an audience.
'I saw it,’ he said. 'I was just sitting in my car, waiting. I saw him coming in to land. It looked fine, but he just kept on going and going, made no attempt to touch down or lose speed. Just going and going. Right into the boundary fence. I couldn't believe it. I was watching and I couldn't believe it!'
'Dead?' said Dalziel.
'Oh yes. I was first across there. It was a mess. Broken neck, it looked like. I called an ambulance, but I might as well have called a dust-cart.'
'Let's take a look,' said Dalziel.
The three policemen walked across to the wreckage. The glider had hit the wire mesh of the boundary fence, flipped over and landed upside down with considerable fracturing of metal and fibreglass.
And bone.
'What do you think?' asked Dalziel. 'Suicide?'
'He just flew straight into it,' repeated Preece. 'He made no attempt to avoid it.'
'OK, lad,' said Dalziel. 'Peter, what do you think?'
'Guilty conscience, you mean? It'll be a popular theory with half the Great British Public.'
'And the other half?'
'Innocent man driven to extremes by false accusation and police harassment.'
'Yes, but what do you think?'
Pascoe walked a little further along the boundary fence till through the dusk he could see the line of picket- stakes which marched at right angles to it.
'The gypsies have gone,' he said, looking over the empty patch of land beyond.
'Oh aye. We're shot of them buggers till next year, thank God,' said Dalziel. 'How many times do I have to ask. What do you think?'
'I think it's mysterious and sad,' said Pascoe. 'That's it. A sorrow and a mystery. Like life.'
'Jesus bloody wept,' said Dalziel.
