Reginald Hill - An Advancement of Learning

“I sat up till after midnight but she didn’t appear. Then I went to bed.”

“I see,’ said Dalziel. ‘ is your cottage, sir?”

Again the other man’s voice was low, almost inaudible.

“Just above the shore. About a quarter of a mile down from the end of the golf course.” Well now, thought Dalziel. I should have known that. Someone should have told me that by now.

There was a brief silence which did not have the chance to stretch into significance because Saltecombe leaned forward and tapped the desk.

“You see what that means, Superintendent? She might have been on her way there when this terrible thing happened.”

Thank you, sir. Indeed she might. Mr. Fallowfield, have you any idea what the girl wanted to see you about?”

“No. No idea.’ The man looked quite ill.

“When did you last have any communication with her?”

Fallowfield shrugged, as if forcing his memory to function.

“Weeks ago,’ he said. The last time I spoke to her privately was when she came back at the start of this term, or rather not at the start but several days late. She had been under discussion at staff meetings. I wanted to tell her personally that I could not in conscience grade her practical work as of a satisfactory standard.”

“How did she take this?”

“Quietly. She knew I was right, you see. She is — was a very bright girl.”

“And since then?”

“I have seen her, of course; but never alone. Since the appeal, of course, we have consciously avoided each other.”

“She gave you no warning of the appeal; made no threat about its nature?”

Fallowfield hesitated a split second.

“None,’ he said.

“You’re certain?”

“Quite certain,’ he said.

Dalziel felt this was just a beginning, but there was other information he’d like before going further. And he didn’t like interviewing two by two. It was a case he was building, not a bloody ark.

I’ll keep this if I may,’ he said, waving the note. ‘ you for coming, gentlemen. Perhaps we can talk again later.”

They stood up, both he was interested to note looking relieved.

“Tell me, Mr. Saltecombe,’ he said as he walked them to the door. ‘ the candidates for the principal’s job were being interviewed five years ago, who was your favourite for the appointment?”

Henry laughed unforcedly.

“No question,’ he said. ‘ was me!” Another gap in my knowledge, thought Dalziel. I’m slipping.

“But the popular favourite was Scotby,’ went on Henry. ‘ for me though. I always reckoned a man. Female emancipation results in free competition and in ninety cases out of a hundred, that means a man. So Simeon stepped in.”

“I see,’ said Dalziel. ‘ else applied internally?”

“Just the three of us.”

The three?”

“Yes. Scotby, Dunbar and myself. The women thought it was bloody arrogant of Dunbar and me. We were the only men on the staff at the time. But, apart from Simeon, another four started the following September, including you, eh, Sam?” “That’s right,’ said Fallowfield. ‘, I think we’d better move now.

The superintendent must be frightfully busy.”

“All right. Cheerio, Super.” “Goodbye to you,’ said Dalziel, again whipping open the door very smartly.

Standing there, his fist upraised as though to knock, was a slim blond youth dressed all in white.

“Hello, Franny,’ said Henry. ‘ look like a symbol of White Power.”

He stared incuriously at Dalziel who found himself vaguely intimidated.

“Wrong place. This is police HQ now,’ said Henry.

“The principal’s in the new admin, block,’ said Dalziel.

Thank you, sir,’ Franny said politely. ‘ day.”

He padded silently away in his tennis shoes.

“What was that?’ asked Dalziel.

That was Roote, our student president. An interesting boy,’ said Henry.

“Don’t you think so, Sam?” But Fallowfield, Dalziel observed, was only half listening, staring after Roote with a troubled look in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,’ said Sergeant Pascoe helplessly. ‘ you say that again?”

Up till now his sympathy with those living near airports had been casual, unthinking. But for the past hour, ever since he had arrived at the airport, he seemed to have been interrupted either in his talking or his hearing every five minutes.

It wouldn’t have mattered so much if he had been getting anywhere, but the net result of all the repetitions and amplifications was so far nil.

Only the presence at one of the reception desks of a Giant, Unrepeatable Offer, Super-Size pair of breasts had prevented his visit from being utterly pointless. Noting his interest as they walked by to the sound-trap they rested in now, the airport’s Deputy Executive Officer, a cheerful, middle aged man called Grummitt, told him that the girl had wanted to be a hostess, but according to rumour no airline was willing to risk her presence on a plane.

Grummitt remembered the Christmas in question quite well. He had been lower down the airport hierarchy then, out at one of the desks himself.

“It can be hell if you get a bit of fog just as the holiday planes are starting. It’s bad enough in the summer, but at Christmas it’s always worse, not just because it’s more common, mind you, but because it’s so bloody short for most people.

It’s… “

The rest was noise.

“I’m sorry?’ said Pascoe.

“I said, it’s a matter of four or five days for many of them, so if they get held up here for half a day or even a few hours, they see a substantial chunk of their holiday disappearing. And they get mad. Now, I’ve checked as much as I can, and if my memory is correct, that particular day it was thick. Hardly anything got off till the early hours of the next morning. But it was a late-night flight you were interested in, wasn’t it?”

That’s right.”

“Not that that makes any difference if I’ve got the right day.

Everything would have piled up. There’d be bodies lying around everywhere.”

“That’s what we’re interested in,’ said Pascoe drily.

Grummitt looked puzzled, but continued, ‘ course, as you’ll realize, even in normal conditions, after all this time it’s unlikely anyone would recall your Miss.-whatsitgirling? — but in circumstances like that, it’s impossible.” “Flight lists? Customs?’ suggested Pascoe without hope.

“No use, I’m afraid. It’s too long ago. Contrary to popular belief, no one stores up great sheaves of paper for ever. Do you know what flight she was supposed to be on?”

“No,’ said Pascoe gloomily.

“Not to worry,’ said Grummitt, trying to cheer him up. ‘ if you did, it probably wouldn’t help. Everyone would be desperately trying to jump up in the queue, trying to get an earlier alternative flight. It’d mostly be families, of course, and they would stick together. But someone alone would stand a better chance. She was alone, you say?”

“Yes. We think so.’ Pascoe realized guiltily he had not really thought about it at all. Had Dalziel? Naturally.

“What do you mean, an alternative flight?”

Another metal cylinder full of fragile human flesh lifted itself laboriously into the air.

“I’m sorry,’ said Pascoe. ‘, please.” “I said, if you were due on a flight at midnight and shortly after midnight the mid-day flight finally got away — to your destination of course — you’d obviously be interested in getting a seat on it. Or you might even take a flight to another airport and hope to move on from there.”