people involved, would sound. He was certain that reason could still prevail, especially with Anita. He was probably right there. So he tried to take the wind out of Roote’s sails by admitting Anita was his mistress, or not denying it, but fighting the accusation of academic dishonesty as hard as he could.”
“I can’t see why Roote did it in the first place,’ said Landor.
“Partly enjoyment, plain and simple. Partly a real belief that Fallowfield was his enemy now. And doubtless other reasons we shall never know. But he overreached himself. Anita’s relationship with him was based on love. They hadn’t ever become lovers in the physical sense yet. He was saving her up for midsummer’s eve; this was probably something else he used to get at Fallowfield with. But the girl didn’t take any of his claims seriously, all this business with witchcraft and ouija boards and the rest. She went along with it for his sake, that was all. And when she and Roote together asked the ouija whose body it was that had been found under the statue, she knew very well whose finger was pushing the indicator round. When it turned out that it was Girling’s body — and Elizabeth, the girl who looked after our food for us, made sure the students got the news almost as quickly as we did — ‘
“It must have been that very night,’ interrupted Pascoe; he reckoned he deserved at least one interruption a year. ‘ know she’d already sent a note asking to see Fallowfield, so she must have been growing more and more worried about the other business. When she questioned Roote that night about Miss. Girling, he was probably a bit high on something or other and he told her the lot — blaming Cargo of course. This, we think, was after they all got back from the dunes. No one else saw her unfortunately. She probably deliberately waited till they were all out of the way.”
Dalziel took up the reconstruction again.
“Off she went immediately to talk with Fallowfield. Unfortunately for her, Cargo had been there already. It was her the neighbour’s kiddy saw going up the path. She’d wanted to discuss the discovery of the body with Fallowfield. God knows what they decided, but on the way back she met Anita. Once Cargo realized that she knew the truth, the girl was dead.”
“Oh my God,’ said Landor, putting his head between his hands.
Embarrassed, Pascoe looked at his watch and stood up.
“Do you mind if…?’ he asked Dalziel.
“No. No. The principal and I will be here for a little while yet. Though it’s thirsty work this talking.” The whisky’ll come out now I’m gone, thought Pascoe as he made his way up to Ellie’s room. He felt he had to say goodbye. He wasn’t really looking forward to it, but anything was better than sitting going over all the horrific details of the case again. He must be going soft.
As it happened, he wasn’t even spared that. Ellie treated him as some kind of impersonal information bureau, shooting questions at him from all angles, insatiable for analysis of motive, reconstruction of event.
“I don’t know any of this,’ he protested. ‘ everything I say to you is theory. The two versions we’ve got conflict in so many particulars, all we can do is keep on digging till we see which the circumstantial evidence fits best.” “All right,’ said Ellie. ‘ understand. I’m not stupid. But at least you can make an educated guess. Which of them wrecked the cottage? That’s what you’d just found out on Saturday afternoon, hadn’t you? When we met you on our way to the beach. Christ, to think of that girl — I If she’d really taken me for a rival, God knows what she might have done!” “You were very lucky,’ said Pascoe ironically. ‘ was Roote. He admits it. He was gilding the lily a bit. After Marion told him what she’d done to Anita, he went out again and shifted the body nearer to the place where they’d been dancing, and took off her clothes. He was just trying to confuse things, make it look as though it had happened immediately after the dance was disturbed. Later he got the idea of planting the clothes on Fallowfield and he wrecked the cottage, hoping Fallowfield would call us in and we’d be the ones to find the clothes. Which we did, of course, but poor Fallowfield by this time had given up the struggle.
Inside, he must have been quite certain that Marion and/or Franny had something to do with Anita’s death. But the poor bastard just wasn’t equipped to deal with such knowledge, not after the first time. Anyway, we were left with the interesting question, why would anyone want to mess up his cottage?”
“So it turned your attention away from Fallowfield rather than brought it closer on him?” “In a way,’ said Pascoe. He wasn’t going to mention Disney’s part. There was nastiness enough around without helping it to breed.
“It’s incredible,’ she said after a pause.
“Read your newspapers,’ he answered. ‘ incredible’s happening all the time. There’s nothing that human beings haven’t managed to do to one another, however vile. And no motive, however slight, which has not brought someone to murder.”
Another pause.
“What happens now?”
“Like I say, read your newspapers. We just collect facts, solve problems. Then the public prosecutor decides.”
“I mean about us. I take it you’re on your way now.”
“Yes. Shortly.’ He tried the light touch. ”s only thirty miles; I’m not off to shoot big game.”
“No.”
She made a little motion with her hand.
“Do you want to go to bed with me before you go?”
The light touch was a bit heavy now.
“I’d better not. I don’t like to rush. And it’s a bit early for me, really.”
“It’s a bit late. For both of us.” Pascoe said the thing that he had promised himself not to say.
“Why? The field’s clear for you now, isn’t it?”
“Halfdane, you mean? That poor sod. Have you seen him? If the way he’s cut up is anything to go by, I never had a chance there. I certainly haven’t now. There are some rebounds you just don’t try to catch.”
She laughed.
“Who cares? I’m not desperate for a husband. I’ve got all this.’ She jerked her head in a gesture which included the whole college.
“Listen, Ellie,’ said Pascoe urgently. ‘ it’s too late for me, it doesn’t matter. All I’ll do is grow up into a hard, beery, old cop. It doesn’t matter. Besides the country needs hard, beery, old cops. But you’ll end up like Disney. Or Scotby. An academic old maid, which is to womanhood what a Scottish professor is to golf. That’s not for you. Not you. It’s such a waste.”
“Christ Almighty! I’m only thirty-one! I’m not glued to the shelf yet.”
“No, of course not,’ he said, slightly embarrassed by his own fervour.
He wasn’t really sure why he was getting so worked up. Other people’s lives. Policemen couldn’t afford to become involved in other people’s lives.
“As long as you don’t think… I mean… “
She laughed at him again. Quite convincingly.
“You know, sermons are for priests, not cops. You’ll be sorry you said all this when I’m a famous novelist, pursued by all.”
“As long as you don’t forget your friends.’ He glanced at his watch. He could get out now, shake hands and go, leaving things between them much as he had found them. That would be the wise move. But sometimes the wise move just left you standing still.
Time to go?’ she asked, lighting a cigarette.
“No. Not yet. I was just thinking. That offer you made.’ He imitated her small hand motion.
“Is it still open?”
She stubbed out her cigarette.
As they drove slowly along the drive, Dalziel heaved a great sigh of relief.
“That’s that then.”
“Yes.”
“So that’s what I missed when I didn’t get a college education.”
Behind them in the driving mirror, Pascoe could see Landor standing before the Old House, watching them go. By his side, slightly behind him, was Miss. Scotby who had turned up as they left. Would she make some move now or be content with her dreams on horseback? It was none of his business. And Disney, now her archenemies were defeated, what would she do in the future? Probably set about destroying Dunbar! Not a nice woman.
