Pascoe busily made notes.
Dalziel knew he had to move quickly now. The last thing he wanted was for his investigations to be complicated by a full scale student-police confrontation. While it had seemed possible to isolate this small group, he had been happy to see they got what he firmly believed they deserved.
But the moment Roote had been allowed to lift the telephone, he knew that it would require swift thinking to avoid either a retreat or a battle. Personally, he didn’t give a damn how unpopular he was; in fact at times he gave the impression of revelling in it. But the job he was here to do was nothing to do with student politics and he had no desire to get involved at that particular moment.
Disney was coming to the end of her recital of names now, oblivious to the abuse which was being directed at her from one or two quarters.
Privately, Dalziel appreciated the aptness of many of the epithets, but he was too busy talking to the uniformed men to pay full attention.
“Move away quietly. Wait outside the main gates for half an hour, but don’t come back in unless you get a message direct from me. All right? And keep out of sight, eh?” Roote watched them disappear with an amused smile on his face.
“Finished, Sergeant? Right, Mr. Roote, if you and your friends will kindly leave, we’ll sort out this matter in the morning.”
“You’ve changed your tune, blubber-gut,’ jeered Cockshut.
“Yes, I have,’ said Dalziel quietly. ‘ I can start playing another, laddie, that’ll make you dance if I have much more of your lip.”
Cockshut looked as if he was going to indulge in another outburst, but Roote silenced him by making for the door.
“Come along, my dears,’ he said. ”s go and see the t others.”
He too knew when to make a diplomatic withdrawal. Dalziel followed them out into the warm night and took a couple of deep breaths. They had been just in time. A large and noisy group of students, some hundred he reckoned, was making its way down the drive from the new admin, block.
Franny and the others were greeted with rapturous cheers.
“Shall we get inside?’ suggested Pascoe at his shoulder.
“No. There’s just a lot of wind in that lot. Get back in. Here’s my keys. Check there’s nothing missing. I doubt if there will be, they’re not quite daft. In fact Roote looked a sight too complacent. I doubt if we’ll find a print. Not his anyway, but the others are probably less careful. And check my whisky, eh?”
“Why did they want to do it anyway?’ asked Pascoe.
“That’ll bear thinking about. Give me a ring if anything turns up. I’m off to my bed. You’d better make yourself a bed up in the study and spend the night there. I doubt if they’ll be back, but you never know.”
“Right, sir,’ said Pascoe, moving back into the building.
“And, Sergeant, by yourself, mind. You’re on duty, and on duty you sleep by yourself.”
On or off duty you sleep by yourself, thought Pascoe viciously as he went through the door wondering how many of those in the hall had heard.
Dalziel chuckled to himself as he walked towards the block in which his room was situated. The students saw him and a cry of mockery and abuse went up.
“Sieg Heil! shouted some wit. ‘ bastard!”
Roote detached himself from the crowd.
“Is there something else, Superintendent?”
“No, thank you, Mr. Roote. I’m just away to my bed.”
“You’re not so brave without your bully-boys, are you, Dalziel?’ said Cockshut. ”t there enough of them? Have they gone for help?”
“It’s provocation that’s what it is!’ shrieked a hysterical little girl.
“Bloody deliberate provocation.”
She was an ugly little thing, hardly coming up to Dalziel’s chest and he felt a pang of pity for her. This was obviously the most exciting experience she had ever had in her life.
“Provocation! Provocation!’ Others took up the chant. It only lasted a minute, however, and as it died down Dalziel shouted, using all the projection power of his large lungs, ‘, if I can provoke all you lot just by myself, I’d better become a pop-singer! Now I’m off to my bed.
Good night!”
There was a ripple of laughter, then someone started singing, ‘ night, Dalziel, Good night, Dalziel. Good night, Dalziel, it’s time to say goodbye.”
They all took it up and opened up an avenue through their midst.
Feeling relieved, though showing nothing on his face, he began to walk towards the now very attractive sanctuary of the entrance to his block.
He had nearly reached it when another sound became audible above the singing, which died away as the students too became aware of it. Dalziel’s first reaction was incredulity, followed immediately by anger.
It was the noise of a siren, swiftly approaching, and the glare of strong headlights was already visible at intervals along the main road which swung in a broad curve away to the west.
The bastards are coming back,’ said someone.
“You rotten lying pig.”
Tat, stinking… “
“Liar! Shitting liar!”
“Bugger bugger bugger!”
It was the little ugly girl again. She began to rain futile blows on his chest with little fists clenched like pigs’ trotters. The others began to press round and Dalziel felt himself being shoved and pulled with increasing violence. He did not retaliate, concentrated on keeping his balance, mentally promising to do a grievous injury to whoever had brought in this police car with all systems blaring. Disney again? Very probably. Stupid bitch. But at least the men waiting at the main gate would stop it.
But the noise got nearer and he realized it must be in the college grounds now. Fools! he groaned. ‘,’ he shouted aloud. But someone else was shouting now, a girl’s voice, a cry taken up by others.
“It’s not the police! It’s not the police!”
The headlights swept round the last bend in the long driveway which wound through the college precincts, lighting up the struggling mob of students and dazzling the eyes of those who stared into them. But the vehicle was close enough now to be identified.
It was an ambulance.
The students parted before it and it slowed down almost to a stop. A girl ran out and spoke to the driver. It was Sandra Firth and Dalziel realized it was her voice he had heard before. The ambulance swung off the drive and ploughed across several yards of lawn towards one of the teaching blocks, with Sandra Firth running ahead, a strange unearthly figure in the luminance of the headlights. She disappeared inside, followed by the ambulance men. Dalziel began making his way after her, but his progress was impeded by the press of students, mostly completely oblivious of his presence now. By the time he forced his way to the front, the men were coming out again, carrying someone on a stretcher. The onlookers went quite silent except for an excited voice which said over and over again, “Who is it? Who is it?”
The ambulance lights touched the face of the figure on the stretcher, but it was not just their brightness which made the skin seem unnaturally white and drawn. The face was like a rubber mask which had slipped awry and no longer clung to the outline of the bones below. But it was still recognizable.
It was Sam Fallowfield and as he was carried swiftly by, Dalziel found himself unable to say whether he was alive or dead.
Sandra Firth came out of the building after the stretcher and Dalziel seized her arm as she went by.
“Did you call the ambulance?’ he demanded.
“Yes.”
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” “Could you bloody cure him?’ she asked scornfully, pulling herself free.
“Where’d you find him? Show me,’ he said. The girl hesitated, looking at the ambulance which was now ready to depart.
