Lords of the bloody earth, he thought. First that lot back there. Now this.
“Why?’ he said, not slackening his pace. They passed through the main door of the building out into the sunlight. She made a concession to it by thrusting the sleeves of her sweater up over her elbows, producing as a side effect a gentle breast-bobbing, which caught his eye.
“I was a friend of Anita’s.”
She didn’t look as if she were about to cry on his shoulder, so he continued the hard line.
“So what?”
“So either bloody well listen or not.”
He stopped and faced her.
“Haven’t you got a bra on?’ he asked.
“No. Does it disturb you?”
“What’s your name?”
“Sandra. Sandra Firth.” “Oh,’ he said, disappointed. ‘ right. I can give you five minutes.”
They set off walking once more.
Thanks,’ she said. ‘ you wear a corset?”
“Please,’ he groaned as he led the way into Landor’s study. ‘ one thing. My interpreter’s away at the moment. So just keep it simple, eh?”
“All right,’ she said. ‘ you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin.”
“Hello? Hello!’ said Pascoe. ‘. Ja. Ich bin Pascoe. Pascoe! Hello!
Was ist… oh, for Christ’s sake!”
He resisted the temptation to slam the ‘ down only because he knew that the small beach-head he had achieved would then have to be laboriously reestablished.
“Hello?’ said a female voice, loud and clear.
“Yes? Ja. Ja. Pascoe hier.”
“This is the operator, Sergeant Pascoe,’ said the voice in icy tones.
“Your call to Innsbruck will be through in one moment. Please wait.” Thanks,’ he said. ‘! Hier ist Pascoe!”
He was beginning to have doubts about the wisdom of his actions in all kinds of ways.
The previous day he had with Dalziel’s authority telegraphed a request for assistance to the Innsbruck police. It had seemed a good idea at the time to suggest the information required be transmitted through a direct telephone link twenty-four hours later.
Now he recalled uneasily how keen Dalziel was on economy in matters of public money. Other people’s economies, of course; Dalziel himself was very ready to spend any money thus saved.
In addition, Pascoe was having doubts about the adequacy of his German.
It had been some years since he had used it and he was beginning to fear the old fluency had gone.
The next couple of minutes seemed to prove him right. The ” he had surrounded himself with were more of a nuisance than a help. The carefully looked-up words for ‘ list’, ‘ officer’, ‘passport control’, even ”, seemed to present considerable difficulty to the man at the other end.
“Wiedersagen bitte,’ said Pascoe for the fifth or sixth time. ‘. Ein Moment.”
He began ruffling through the pages of his English-German dictionary once more, unable to discover anything vaguely resembling the word he had just heard.
Finally there was a strange noise from the receiver which might have been a polite cough squeezed and contorted through several hundred miles of telephone cable.
“Say, Sergeant, how would you like it if I tried my English out on you?
It’s a vanity of mine and I’d appreciate the practice.”
The shame of the moment was almost lost in Pascoe’s surprise that the words were spoken with a strong American accent.
That would be fine,’ he said, with relief. He hoped the operator was not listening in.
The only difficulties now were minor variations of American usage soon overcome.
“We checked out the airport and the hotel without much joy from either.
No records of arrivals here are kept for so long and I can’t discover that anyone made a formal check that your Girling did in fact arrive that night. Why should they? If someone gets listed as dead, and they ain’t, you’d think they’d come running, wouldn’t you?”
“What about the baggage?”
“It seems the hotel bus was expecting a full load that night, both from the rail-station and the airport. It’s a distance of about fifty kilometres from Innsbruck to Osterwald. Some of the guests arrived both at the station and the airport well before midnight. We know this because when they realized they weren’t going to get on their way till well into the morning because of the delays in the English flights, some passengers insisted on hiring cars to take them or spending the night in Innsbruck and being picked up the following day. They were the lucky ones, the way things broke. Anyhow, they filled us in on the story at the time.”
“Look, Lieutenant, could the coach-driver have picked up Miss. Girling’s luggage without picking up Miss. Girling?”
It was a silly question. It must have happened unless someone had dug Al out of an Austrian avalanche and smuggled her back to England to bury her under her own memorial.
“Yeah. Why not? It’d be labelled. Do I gather you’ve got a corpse you think might be this dame?”
That’s right.”
“You don’t say! Now your other questions. No, her passport wasn’t in the baggage removed from the wreck. It seemed likely she’d have it in her hand-luggage which would be with her in the coach. At least, that’s what was thought at the time. They got the driver’s body out and a list.
Girling’s name was on it, and ticked off. But that might just have meant the luggage in the light of what you say. And that’s about it.” “Oh,’ said Pascoe. He was sure there was something else he ought to ask before cutting off finally (at least it seemed an act of finality) this connection.
“Hey, you still there?”
“Yes.”
“At the hotel there was evidently another dame, a particular buddy of Girling’s. It seems a group of them, half a dozen or more, used to meet up for the winter sports every Christmas vacation, but this one was a special friend. And they usually travelled together, the manager thought.” “Did she now?’ said Pascoe with interest. ‘ don’t suppose… “
“You want her name? Miss. Jean Mayflower. Like an address? It’s old; she stopped coming after your girl bought it. 17, Friendly Villas, Doncaster, Yorkshire. Got it?”
“Got it. Many thanks. I don’t suppose the hotel had any correspondence from Miss. Girling herself?”
“Oh no. I checked. All they had was a confirmatory note from her travel agent. He did all the arranging every year.” “I don’t suppose
…’ said Pascoe again.
“Hey, I like that
“I don’t suppose”, I can use it. Wait. I’ve got an address. Super-Vacs Ltd, Harr-oh-gate, that make sense?”
“Very much so, I can’t say how grateful we are.”
Think nothing of it. It breaks the routine. Let’s know how you make out, huh? I mean, if she ain’t at the bottom of that ravine, then that’s one less cadaver we’ve got lying about.”
“I will. Goodbye.”
“OK. Grussgott:
Oh, I will, I will, thought Pascoe as he heard the receiver go down 900 hundred miles away. Public money well spent!
“Are you finished?’ asked the cool, efficient, female voice.
“Oh no,’ said Pascoe in a husky, passionate whisper. ”re just starting.”
The line went dead. He replaced the receiver with a smile.
Perhaps things were beginning to break for him after all.
