“So now you think Anita didn’t get killed right after the dancing party split up, but got dressed and later went to keep her appointment with Fallowfield?”
Pascoe was used to being appointed owner of theories until they became certainties, when they returned to his superior.
“It could be,’ he said.
“But why did he undress her after killing her?”
“Perhaps she was naked when he killed her?”
Dalziel shrugged.
“What for? They’d never been at it before. Why start now? Or, if they did start, why stop and kill her before things really got underway?”
“Perhaps Fallowfield couldn’t get underway. Perhaps that was the trouble. She said something… “
“You’ve been reading those dirty psychological books again,’ said Dalziel reprovingly. ‘; if he killed her in the house, then he undressed her and took her out to the dunes. Or took her out to the dunes and undressed her.”
“And brought her clothes back with him?”
“Yes.”
“Odd.”
“It’s fairly straightforward compared with the rest of this business.
No, the interesting thing is, why did he undress her? Eh, Sergeant?”
“To make it look…’ began Pascoe slowly.
“To make it look as if she was killed right after the dancing. Which means?”
Pascoe was there already, but diplomatically looked enquiringly at his superior. He overdid it ever so slightly, hoping Dalziel would wonder if he was being condescended to.
“It means,’ said Dalziel ignoring the subtleties of Pascoe’s facial expression, ‘ means that he knew there had been a wild, orgiastic, Bacchanalian rout.”
He brought the phrase out with mock-triumph.
“Hardly Bacchanalian,’ Pascoe murmured, but Dalziel ignored him.
“And that could tie up with those books, couldn’t it? In Fallowfield’s room?”
“It crossed my mind when I found them,’ admitted Pascoe.
“Well, lad,’ said Dalziel, ‘ you want credit for ideas, you’ll have to spit them out before I do, won’t you? Now, you bugger off out there again. That tedious bloody game’s still going on, I think. You can tell by the roar of the excited crowd. Start asking around about friend Fallowfield. I don’t want people getting ideas, you understand. Not yet.
But find out when he was last seen. Where. Doing what. Anything else you can. Use a bit of charm.”
Someone tapped discreetly at the door.
“Come in, for Godsake!’ he bellowed.
“Hammer the bloody wood, will you?’ he said to the uniformed constable who entered. ”re a policeman, not a butler.” “From HQ, sir,’ said the constable handing over an envelope.
“Right,’ said Dalziel opening it and glancing quickly at the contents.
Pascoe held the door open so the constable could follow him out. It would be quite pleasant to watch a bit of cricket, especially once the cooling breeze which often blew up in the late afternoon put in an appearance.
“There’s one thing you’ve got to give those Krauts,’ said Dalziel.
“They’re bloody thorough.” “Sir?’ said Pascoe, stepping back into the room.
“That Austrian fellow you were talking to at vast bloody expense yesterday. You must have interested him.”
It sounded dirty.
“Sir?’ said Pascoe.
“He’s been doing some more checking round the hotel where Miss. Girling always stayed. And he came up with this.”
He waved a sheet of paper in the air.
“Sir?’ said Pascoe. This was getting monotonous.
“That year, it seems, according to the old booking charts he unearthed, Miss. Girling made an extra booking in October. Her own booking was carried on from year to year, it seems.”
“Oh,’ said Pascoe, trying not to sound too supercilious. ‘ mean Miss. Mayflower? From Doncaster? She’s dead.”
“What on earth are you mumbling about, Sergeant? No, this booking was cancelled in December, at the last moment.”
“Someone at the college?’ said Pascoe. ‘ lord! You don’t mean she was taking Disney!”
“No,’ said Dalziel. ‘. Marion Cargo.”
Chapter 13
Profoundness of wisdom will help a man to a name or admiration, but it is eloquence that prevaileth in an active life.
Marion Cargo seemed more relieved than confused when confronted with this new information. Dalziel had half-expected the usual excuses and rationalizations — ‘ didn’t think it was important,’ ‘ was all so long ago, I’d forgotten.’ In fact, he was half-ready to accept them. It was hard to see how the investigation could be helped by anything Marion could tell them. And when she had finished, he still wasn’t sure whether he had been helped or not.
“I should have said something sooner,’ she said, only her tightly clasped hands in her lap contradicting her appearance of complete self-possession. ”s nothing much to tell, mind you. Miss. Girling was very — kind to me. I was a favourite, I suppose. She got me working on that statue. It was absurd really. Youth it was to be called! It cost a fortune, most of it her own money.” She paused.
“A favourite?’ said Dalziel softly.
“Yes,’ she said. That was all. Nothing more. At least, I didn’t think so. I still don’t. But she suggested that I should go on holiday with her that Christmas. My mother had died during the previous summer — I can’t remember my father at all — and I was temporarily with a very dull uncle and aunt. It was just a nice, thoughtful gesture. I was delighted.”
“What happened?”
“Miss. Disney came to my room one evening. Everyone was scared of her then. Not like now, students don’t seem to be scared of anyone, but we were all frightened little mice just five or six years ago. Anyway, she started talking about me and Miss. Girling, about the holiday. I didn’t understand her at first. But I began to get the idea pretty quickly. She made it sound awful, as if somehow was a bad influence on Miss. Girling! She got very worked up, not hysterical or anything, but full of indignation, all puffy and red. I didn’t know what to think. She implied all kinds of things, even that Miss. Girling could lose her job because of me! It was absurd I know, but I was very innocent, naive I suppose. p›
Disney left finally; I just sat for a bit, then went round to Miss. Girling’s room. This was the last Sunday of term, I was about the only student left in the place, there was no one of my own age to talk to and in any case, I just had to see her. But all I could do when I saw her was blurt out that I couldn’t go to Austria after all, something had come up. I suppose I expected an emotional scene, with tears, explanations, comfortings etc. But she just looked at me and nodded.
Then picked up the phone and started cancelling my booking, plane-seat and so on.”
“Did you see her again?’ asked Dalziel.
“No. I was as miserable as hell all night and most of the next day, that Monday. Finally I plucked up courage
