“No. Not a sign. Now, why do… “
But Pascoe had already moved on.
He stopped trying to be subtle after a while, deciding that even if he just asked people what time it was, they would start wondering what this had to do with the investigation.
Only with the group of students round Franny Roote and Cockshut did he have any success. ‘, I saw him this morning, going towards college,” said a little square, ugly girl.
Time? I don’t know. About half-nine, wouldn’t you say, hey, Franny?”
“Whatever you say, lovey, whatever you say,’ chanted Roote melodiously, lying on his back still, smiling happily. Pascoe wondered if he was slightly drunk. ‘ you didn’t see him later?’ he pursued.
“Well played, sir!’ cried Roote, clapping his hands, his eyes fixed rapturously on the sky.
“Christalmighty, you’re a detective, go and detect.’ It was Cockshut of course. ‘, why doesn’t that fat crud come out and ask his own questions instead of sending the help?”
A shout from the middle of the field and a ripple of applause round the perimeter drew his attention back to the match. The last wicket had fallen and the players were straggling off. Pascoe started heading for the pavilion with the intention of cutting off Saltecombe but someone called his name and he stopped. It was Halfdane.
But surprisingly Halfdane seemed to be in a much more conciliatory mood.
He was still far from apologetic, but at least he didn’t open with too much aggression.
Not again! he thought with an inward groan. What’s he want? A fight?” “I’ve been thinking,’ he said. ‘ business has got to be cleared up.
It’s stupid for me to withhold information out of pique.”
What’s he want? wondered Pascoe. Applause for acknowledging what nobody but a criminal or a moron would deny? Or perhaps he’s just clearing the decks so that he can get down to disliking me with a clear conscience.
“Mind you,’ said Halfdane, ‘ I’ve got to say is probably irrelevant and I hope you won’t want to do anything about it if it is.”
Again Pascoe produced his noncommittal grunt.
“Anita Sewell,’ said Halfdane, ‘ there any evidence that she’d been taking drugs?” “Why do you ask?’ said Pascoe.
“It’s just that, well, occasionally I’ve been to one or two student parties, or parties where there have been students. There’s usually pot available at these do’s. It’s just like another form of booze these days, and no more harmful.”
He looked defiantly at Pascoe who still said nothing. Is this all the poor bastard’s got to tell me? he wondered. Confession of an ageing teenager.
“Now, a couple of times I’ve noticed Anita, and she’s been really high.
I mean really.”
“And what did you do?”
Halfdane tried to look surprised.
“Do? She was an adult, she was responsible. But I did wonder what she was getting, whether she’d moved on.”
“You mean, whether she had started taking a habit forming drug which would eventually kill her?’ said Pascoe coldly.
“For God’s sake!’ said the other in anger.
“But I forgot. She was an adult. Who was she with?”
Halfdane’s anger subsided.
“That’s why I wondered about telling you this. You want names. If it’s anything to do with her death, fair enough. But if it isn’t… “
“Names please, sir.”
“Cockshut. Stuart Cockshut was the main one,’ he said reluctantly. ‘ Roote and all that gang. But especially Cockshut.”
Pascoe made a note in his pocket-book, more for appearance than necessity. The information wasn’t all that helpful. It confirmed what he already suspected. It might explain Roote lying on his back, applauding the sky. But there had been no evidence of any sampling of ” drugs in the autopsy on Anita’s body. And the dancing as described by Lapping had seemed to be sex rather than drug-centred. Of course it depended on the drug. And if these people had access to anything more sophisticated than cannabis, despite any assurances Halfdane might imagine had been given, he and Dalziel were going to be very interested indeed.” “Right,’ he said, closing his book.
“I’d better get back and see if your boss has finished with Marion,” said Halfdane with slightly nervous jocularity.
That’s what he’s really worried about, that Bruiser Dalziel is going to stick something on his girl. So anything which seems to lead elsewhere he’s now happy to give me.
Pascoe didn’t know whether the thought made him like Halfdane more or less. But another thought came swiftly and unbidden into his mind.
Poor Ellie!
“Right you are,’ he said. ‘ we want to talk to you again, we’ll let you know.”
He was damned if he was going to thank the man.
He resumed his walk towards the pavilion and Henry Saltecombe.
“And that’s all he said?’ asked Dalziel sounding as incredulous as stout Cortez looked on stumbling across the Pacific.
I didn’t have my Iron Maiden handy, thought Pascoe; but what he said was, ”s all. Yes, it was his porkpie hat; no, he hadn’t been wandering round the dunes at midnight last Thursday, he’d been sitting up late at home after all his family had gone off to bed so that he could watch a documentary on medieval industry. Anyway, if Anita was going into Fallowfield’s cottage a couple of hours later, what does it matter who disturbed the dance?”
“There’s a porpoise close behind me and it’s treading on my tail,’ said Dalziel thoughtfully. ‘ course those kids might have been dreaming. Or for that matter, it might have been some other long-haired beauty that Fallowfield’s having it away with. We won’t know till we find the man, will we?”
“No, sir.”
“And of course, if the kids are right, then everyone’s going to need new alibis, aren’t they?”
“That’s right,’ said Pascoe, brightening. ‘ these bloody students.”
Dalziel eyed him sardonically.
“Watch it, Sergeant,’ he said. ‘ forget, the country’s full of wonderful young people who stand up for pregnant women in buses and run errands for the aged and decrepit. The Daily Mirror said so last week.
Or was it the Express?”
“Then it must be true. What now, sir?”
Dalziel glanced at his watch. It was nearly a quarter to seven. It had been a quick day and he still wasn’t sure whether they had advanced or gone back. But first things first.
“Dinner,’ he said with satisfaction.
After dinner, Pascoe sat in his room and contemplated the rest of the evening. He felt lonely. His meal had been brought to him on a tray as usual and used though he was to eating by himself, it always seemed a particularly lonely thing to have to do. He supposed no one would have thrown bread-rolls at him if he had appeared in the dining-hall, but he doubted if he would have felt less alone.
He suddenly thought how lonely such a life could be for many of those permanently committed to it. Perhaps it just seemed so on the surface.
Perhaps the seeming lonely like Disney or Scotby really had troops of friends, tribes of loving relations, acres of exciting interests, at their beck and call.
But it wasn’t just them. It was people like Marion, and Ellie as well.
Halfdane too, even Fallowfield. The unmarried. Those for whom home was — this. He looked around the room. It was at least as comfortable as his own minute flat. And, God knows, he knew what it was to be lonely even in a job which often kept him at it for anything up to twenty hours a day.
Therefore, he said, if all people are lonely some of the time and some people are lonely all of the time, it is not merely self-indulgence to thrust myself at them, it may even be a social service.
