“Not much. What there is is bloody puzzling.”
Briefly Dalziel filled his sergeant in on the events of the day.
That’s very interesting!’ said Pascoe when he heard Harold Lapping’s story. ‘ sounds like a coven.”
“A what?”
“Witches, sir.”
“You mean black magic? That stuff? Perhaps.”
“What did the autopsy say?”
“If you’re thinking it’s a nice ritual murder, you can forget it. It was a straightforward case of jumping on her back and holding her face in the sand till she stopped breathing. No frills. No white cocks, black candles or any of that how’syour-father.”
“No. Well, there wouldn’t be, would there? Obviously something or someone disturbed them and it was after they all split up that this happened.” “Likely. The time fits,’ said Dalziel without much enthusiasm.
“Do we know who else was in on it?’ asked Pascoe.
“Nothing definite. I’ve a feeling this girl, Firth, can tell us something. But everyone seems to have shut up tight as a virgin’s knees.
We’ve been asking around. Nothing. Landor expresses amazement at the thought of such goings-on. I’m beginning to think he’s as wilfully blind to realities as Disney and Scotby. Perhaps more.”
Moodily the superintendent pulled a bottle of scotch and a couple of glasses out of a desk drawer. He filled them both and pushed one towards Pascoe who took it quietly and raised it to his lips.
He had seen this pessimistic, almost self-doubting mood come upon his superior before but was still at a loss how best to deal with it. Nor was he certain whether his presence at these sessions was a mark of favour or a potential source of disfavour when Dalziel recalled his own weakness.
The sun was still bright outside, though now the shadows lay long. Very distantly there came the mumble of thunder.
The sound seemed to rouse Dalziel.
“Look,’ he said. ”ve a feeling I’m missing something about this bloody place. Perhaps that’s what comes of leaving school at fourteen. I talked to those buggers this morning but I’m not sure we really made any contact. They’re meant to be educating these kids about society, but all the time I could feel they didn’t trust me themselves. Not that I give a toss about that. I’m not looking for love.”
Pascoe essayed an expression which he hoped could pass for either amused appreciation or serious agreement depending on what Dalziel’s comment required.
“But it worries me, not knowing what makes the place tick. I thought I had it sorted out. An old guard, represented by Disney and Scotby and what-have-you, and a new guard represented by Landor and his supporters.
Reaction and radicalism. Christ, I come from a good trade-union background, I know all about that. But suddenly people start making nasty cracks at Landor, as if he belongs in the dark ages. And he’s obviously shit scared of the students. Someone wants to tell him about appeasement in the thirties.”
“He has a degree in history, I believe,’ ventured Pascoe.
“Christ, what’s that mean? Flint axes, stately homes and kitchen gossip!
That’s the trouble, most of these sods have spent all their bloody waking lives in schools and colleges and universities. It’s all inbreeding, like a Welsh village’
Dalziel refilled his glass but didn’t offer a second helping to Pascoe.
It was pure malt, Glen Grant, and not to be wasted.
“I don’t think you’re quite fair,’ said the sergeant diffidently. ”s the nature of the institutions which matters rather than people’s backgrounds. You’re bound to get a certain special kind of underlife developing. Like in a prison.”
Dalziel studied the analogy for a moment.
“You mean there’ll be gangs? tobacco rings? that sort of thing?”
“Not quite the same, but something like it. Initiation ceremonies for instance. An encouragement to belonging, a threat to not belonging. Food fiddles. Gambling schools. Witches’ covens even.”
“But OK so that could happen, well, but why isn’t something done? I mean, there are rules. Who knows? If you know, then a hell of a lot of other people must have worked it out too.” “Of course,’ said Pascoe impatiently. ‘ knowing and acting, or even admitting are different things.” “No,’ said Dalziel, finishing his drink once more. ‘ sounds — well, there’s something not right. It isn’t a prison after all. They don’t seem to have any rules at all here!” “Perhaps not,’ said Pascoe. ‘ in a place like this, it can be more than just rule-breaking. There must exist whole areas of shadow where self-deception is necessary because clarity would be too awkward to deal with.”
Dalziel slapped his broad knee violently, evidently found it pleasurable, and did it again.
“Like me at school!”
“Pardon?”
“When I was a lad at school, about ten, I was supposed to be an innocent little boy, playing football and so on with other innocent little boys.
But what I was really interested in was chasing girls into the lavatories and if possible having a look at their crotches. But no one ever seemed to notice this. They all must have known, parents, teachers and all, but no one ever said owt!” That’s the kind of thing,’ said Pascoe drily.
“So what you’re saying is that those buggers on the staff probably know a lot more about what the students do than they let on?” What did I expect? Pascoe asked himself. A nice philosophical discussion on the nature of institutions?
“That’s about it, sir,’ he said. ‘ vice-versa, of course. There’s a whole range of non-official relationships which offer access to areas of privacy like baby-sitting, car washing, that kind of thing.” “And we mustn’t forget friend Fallowfield,’ said Dalziel. ‘ seems to have been offered plenty of access.”
He glanced at his watch.
“Right,’ he said. ”s not late. Let’s get to work.” “What at?’ said Pascoe.
“Well, you go and exercise that charm of yours on the staff. Take a trip down memory lane with your Miss. Soper, see if you can soften her up. Oh, and that lad, Halfdane, the one who looks like a consumptive haystack, he was after you earlier. Wouldn’t say anything to me.”
“And you, sir?’ prompted Pascoe. ‘ will you be?”
“With my own kind,’ said Dalziel rising and patting his paunch. “They hate us youth.” That shakes you, eh? Erudition in unlikely places. I’ll be with the top student brass. I think there’s something on tonight.
Something that girl Firth said. We’ll see. Give us a hand to clear this stuff away, will you?”
He began to shuffle the papers which lay on the desk before him. Pascoe hurriedly joined him, knowing from experience who would be held responsible for the superintendent’s chaos.
Rapidly, efficiently, he began transferring material to the appropriate files in the large cabinet Landor had loaned them. One piece of paper caught his eye and he paused to read it.
“What’s that?’ said Dalziel whose own sole contribution to the clearing-up operation had been the careful removal of his bottle of scotch from the table.
“It’s just the information from CRO,’ said Pascoe.
“Oh, ay. We sent them all in, staff and the student officers just for good measure. Don’t want to discriminate, do we?”
“And nothing’s known. Only to be expected. Except… “
That lad, Cockshut? Yes. Quite a list, isn’t it? Obstruction. Damage to property. Resisting arrest. A big demo man. And I bet the bloody state subsidises him heavily enough to pay his fines.”
“I’ve heard of these people.”
“The International Action Group? Student bloody communists. We’ve had our eyes on them,’ said Dalziel darkly.
Pascoe smiled, wondering whether Dalziel would shed his Fascist Beast role before he started talking to the students. Possibly not. He worked mainly through antagonism.
“Still I can’t see any political motives for what’s happened here.”
“Someone probably said that about Lincoln,’ said Dalziel.
He dropped the bottle he was still clutching into the top drawer of the filing cabinet, slammed it shut, tested
