“But you just said you have their statements, their confessions?”
“Which are very contradictory. It looked as if Cargo was going to crack completely at first, but she pulled herself together in the end. She’s too clever to go back to absolute denial — we’ve dug up all kinds of circumstantial evidence to tie them in together. We can prove they spent that Christmas together, for instance, so it would be foolish of her to deny it. But she’s hurling all the mud back at Roote that he’s slinging at her.”
“And who do you believe?”
Dalziel shrugged.
“Roote, I think. Mainly because he seems to have been motivated by something less or more than mere self preservation all the way through.
I don’t know whether this makes him a more or a less horrifying character. This is the way I read the story, though God knows if we’ll ever get the real truth.
“Roote and Fallowfield arrive together on that Friday in December.
Fallowfield’s a bit of a weirdo, king of the kids, one of your modern nothing-istoosacredorwayoutto-try philosophers who go down big with some youngsters. There was probably more than a touch of the queer there too. Anyway, they’re spending part of the Christmas vac together and Fallowfield, who probably persuaded Roote to apply for admission here when he knew he himself was being interviewed, drives them both up.
Roote has his interview. Is accepted. Even at eighteen he seems to have had a way with women, of all ages. He runs into Marion Cargo, practically the only student left in the place. She’s hanging on because she’s going skiing with Girling, remember. She’s three years older than he is, though I doubt if she was anything like as experienced. Perhaps enough to make things easy for him, though he’s obviously a very smooth operator anyway. By Monday, after a weekend of considerable delight, she is thoroughly infatuated. He asks her to spend Christmas with him — he was joining a party of friends, we’ve got all the details and the prospect pleases. But Girling has to be told. Just how much she was being the mother-figure and just how much she fancied her chances with Cargo for a romp in the snow, we’ll never know.”
Landor pursed his lips in distaste. Dalziel scratched his belly-button voluptuously and went on.
“Cargo gave me some story about Disney intervening: Disney denies it absolutely, though there’s probably just a speck of truth in it, enough for Cargo to build on. Anyway she goes along and tells Girling the trip’s off. Girling is furious, flies into a rage, cancels the bookings instantly, a kind of see-if-I-care gesture. Later that afternoon, after the governors’ meeting and Fallowfield’s appointment, Girling sends for Cargo again. Perhaps to plead with her, perhaps she has got wind of what’s going on and wants to put the bubble in, perhaps Cargo herself let something slip. Anyway, Roote is summoned to the presence also. When he arrives there is a full-scale fight going on. I’ve no doubt he quite enjoyed it. Anyway, his version is that finally Girling slapped Marion’s face in her fury. The girl retaliated by pulling her hair. It was a wig and it came off. Roote says he fell about laughing. Quite beside herself with rage, Girling flew at Cargo’s throat and she pushed her away so that she fell into the fireplace and cracked her head open on the sharp corner there.”
Dalziel pointed dramatically across the room. Landor stirred uneasily.
He had obviously forgotten that these events took place in this very room.
“Accidental death,’ he said. ‘ suppose that’s… “
“Well, it might be. But Cargo denies it and says Roote came up behind and struck the old woman on the head with the poker. I’m sure a compromise will be reached eventually.
“At this point, Fallowfield seems to have walked in. Whatever the truth of the matter he was given the accidental death story, I should think.
And the way a man with his kind of mind would see it, he had a choice between ruining or protecting the careers and futures of two young people, one of whom he obviously thought was very special. It’s remarkable how stupid you bloody intellectuals can be,’ he snorted.
“Quite,’ said Landor drily. Why don’t you spit in his eye? wondered Pascoe.
“But how did Miss. Girling apparently get to Austria?”
“A diversionary plan was put into operation, once Fallowfield agreed to help. First they lugged Girling out of that window and over the lawn to where Cargo knew there was a nice deep hole already dug. Remember there was thick fog. No one was going to be about to see them. A thin covering of earth. Cargo knew the concrete would be poured in the following day.
There was an element of risk there, but it was worth it. After this, the diversion. Remember that eventually they believed Girling would be missed. The farther away she seemed to have got from the college, the better for them. Where better than the airport, a hundred miles away, to which everyone knew the principal was travelling that evening? Her cases were packed, they soon found her tickets, passport, everything. Remember they had access to her living quarters through that door and up the stairs. They had to move fast before anyone in college came to see Girling. I don’t know who initiated everything, they both picture themselves as the passive member of the trio, merely carrying out instructions. But it was probably Roote who had the bright idea of going one step further when they reached the airport he had driven her car there, by the way, in convoy with Fallowfield; it must have been a hell of a journey on a night like that.
“Still, they made it and, as I say, they pushed their luck a little further. Cargo, dressed in one of Girling’s coats and wearing her spare wig, checked in the luggage. Things were chaotic with the fog and it seemed a clever move to establish the presence of a red-headed woman like Girling at the airport by more than just circumstantial evidence.
“After that, it was just a matter of waiting. If there was no report of the body having been found at the college, they could go off to spend Christmas with some ease of mind. But when the report broke in the paper of the avalanche, and Girling was one of those listed as having possibly been on the bus, this must have seemed like an act of God. They were in the clear. The statue was up, for ever it seemed. Everyone was satisfied about Girling’s death. The brief nightmare was over.” Not for Fallowfield, thought Pascoe looking down at the letter once more.
“How could they bear to come back here?’ asked Landor.
“Why not? They could keep an eye on things. Every time they saw the statue, it stood as a surety for their own safety. There’s something fascinating about such a secret. It’s a truism that criminals always return to the scene of the crime. All it usually means is that people often commit crimes in places which are familiar to them. But the pull is there. Look at the way Cargo came back for a job here when she got the chance. Though something of her infatuation with Roote probably remained.”
“What happened next? All this business with that poor girl, Anita, I mean… “
“You happened for one. And Franny Roote grew older and wilder.
Fallowfield had learned a little discretion, I think, especially among his colleagues. Perhaps Girling’s death had made him seriously question his own philosophies. But here with Franny’s help, a little cell of soul mates, earnest seekers after the truth, was soon set up. It must have seemed the attainment of an ideal to Fallowfield for a while. But with Franny, the search for the truth was a lot less important than the kicks you got on the way. Fallowfield was delighted to discuss freely how drugs, or certain rituals, or sex, can bring about an enlargement of human awareness — have I got it right, Sergeant Pascoe?”
“Yes, sir,’ said Pascoe, though he knew the question was rhetorical. ‘ was interested in isolating those elements which all these sources of spiritual release and greater sensitivity to our environment had in common. Roote was more interested in the experience than the theory.” “Nicely put,’ said Dalziel appreciatively. ‘ gradually they drifted apart. And in Roote’s eyes became rivals. He had a great advantage — he was young, he was quite amoral, he was persuasive and he was sexually very attractive. The girls went for him; the young men were for him too, because he laid on lots of crumpet for them. Fallowfield hung on to one or two. Anita Sewell was one, but she leant more and more to Roote, despite all that Fallowfield could do. She had some kind of conscience crisis at the start of the summer. That’s why she got back late. But she’d made up her mind by then. She was with Roote all the way. So when it seemed her division of loyalties had so ruined her academic work that she was going to be slung out, Fallowfield probably felt relieved. At least she would be out of Roote’s way. Then came the appeal. She must have taken some persuading to lie, but Roote was a great persuader. Cockshut too, all the political bit. He’d got himself attached to the Roote bandwagon and pushed him for the Union Presidency, thinking he could use him. The poor bastard, he was the one who was being used all the time.”
“But why did Fallowfield appear to accept the story?”
“How to disprove it? He knew how the whole relationship between himself and Roote, and all the other young
