Reginald Hill - An Advancement of Learning

Miss. Disney swelled visibly, as though someone was pumping air into her body through some inimaginable orifice, but she took too long about it and it was Miss. Scotby who stood up, arrow-straight, and spoke first.

“I would suggest that Miss. Soper thinks less about personal relationships and more about pastoral responsibilities.”

The sat down. Dalziel did not have the faintest idea whether this was a match-winning riposte or not. There was a small outbreak of probably ironic applause from the back of the room. Ellie Soper rolled her eyes upwards in mock despair.

Landor rose.

“Yes, I agree there are one or two purely internal and academic matters we ought to discuss, but I see no reason to keep Superintendent Dalziel from his very important duties.”

He wants me out, thought Dalziel. Before they get too rude. Perhaps he thinks I’m sensitive!

The thought pleased him and he smiled benevolently at the staff who were obviously sitting in tense expectation of the hand-to-hand fighting which seemed likely to follow his departure.

“It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Landor,’ he said. ‘, I can find my own way back. Good day to you all. Ladies. Gentlemen.”

It might be interesting to hear what they say, he thought as he closed the door behind him. But it’d only have curiosity value. He rarely questioned his own powers of perception, but he now admitted he’d probably have difficulty in taking in whatever the hell it was they were going on about. They seemed to treat words as things of power, not as tools. They could get stuffed. He had work to do.

A girl started walking by his side as he descended the stairs. He glanced sideways at her. Long hair, sallow skin, hive-shaped breasts inadequately supported under a darned grey sweater.

“I want a word with you,’ she said casually.

Lords of the bloody earth, he thought. First that lot back there. Now this.

“Why?’ he said, not slackening his pace. They passed through the main door of the building out into the sunlight. She made a concession to it by thrusting the sleeves of her sweater up over her elbows, producing as a side effect a gentle breast-bobbing, which caught his eye.

“I was a friend of Anita’s.”

She didn’t look as if she were about to cry on his shoulder, so he continued the hard line.

“So what?”

“So either bloody well listen or not.”

He stopped and faced her.

“Haven’t you got a bra on?’ he asked.

“No. Does it disturb you?”

“What’s your name?”

“Sandra. Sandra Firth.” “Oh,’ he said, disappointed. ‘ right. I can give you five minutes.”

They set off walking once more.

Thanks,’ she said. ‘ you wear a corset?”

“Please,’ he groaned as he led the way into Landor’s study. ‘ one thing. My interpreter’s away at the moment. So just keep it simple, eh?”

“All right,’ she said. ‘ you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin.”

“Hello? Hello!’ said Pascoe. ‘. Ja. Ich bin Pascoe. Pascoe! Hello!

Was ist… oh, for Christ’s sake!”

He resisted the temptation to slam the ‘ down only because he knew that the small beach-head he had achieved would then have to be laboriously reestablished.

“Hello?’ said a female voice, loud and clear.

“Yes? Ja. Ja. Pascoe hier.”

“This is the operator, Sergeant Pascoe,’ said the voice in icy tones.

“Your call to Innsbruck will be through in one moment. Please wait.” Thanks,’ he said. ‘! Hier ist Pascoe!”

He was beginning to have doubts about the wisdom of his actions in all kinds of ways.

The previous day he had with Dalziel’s authority telegraphed a request for assistance to the Innsbruck police. It had seemed a good idea at the time to suggest the information required be transmitted through a direct telephone link twenty-four hours later.

Now he recalled uneasily how keen Dalziel was on economy in matters of public money. Other people’s economies, of course; Dalziel himself was very ready to spend any money thus saved.

In addition, Pascoe was having doubts about the adequacy of his German.

It had been some years since he had used it and he was beginning to fear the old fluency had gone.

The next couple of minutes seemed to prove him right. The ” he had surrounded himself with were more of a nuisance than a help. The carefully looked-up words for ‘ list’, ‘ officer’, ‘passport control’, even ”, seemed to present considerable difficulty to the man at the other end.

“Wiedersagen bitte,’ said Pascoe for the fifth or sixth time. ‘. Ein Moment.”

He began ruffling through the pages of his English-German dictionary once more, unable to discover anything vaguely resembling the word he had just heard.

Finally there was a strange noise from the receiver which might have been a polite cough squeezed and contorted through several hundred miles of telephone cable.

“Say, Sergeant, how would you like it if I tried my English out on you?

It’s a vanity of mine and I’d appreciate the practice.”

The shame of the moment was almost lost in Pascoe’s surprise that the words were spoken with a strong American accent.

That would be fine,’ he said, with relief. He hoped the operator was not listening in.

The only difficulties now were minor variations of American usage soon overcome.

“We checked out the airport and the hotel without much joy from either.

No records of arrivals here are kept for so long and I can’t discover that anyone made a formal check that your Girling did in fact arrive that night. Why should they? If someone gets listed as dead, and they ain’t, you’d think they’d come running, wouldn’t you?”

“What about the baggage?”

“It seems the hotel bus was expecting a full load that night, both from the rail-station and the airport. It’s a distance of about fifty kilometres from Innsbruck to Osterwald. Some of the guests arrived both at the station and the airport well before midnight. We know this because when they realized they weren’t going to get on their way till well into the morning because of the delays in the English flights, some passengers insisted on hiring cars to take them or spending the night in Innsbruck and being picked up the following day. They were the lucky ones, the way things broke. Anyhow, they filled us in on the story at the time.”

“Look, Lieutenant, could the coach-driver have picked up Miss. Girling’s luggage without picking up Miss. Girling?”

It was a silly question. It must have happened unless someone had dug Al out of an Austrian avalanche and smuggled her back to England to bury her under her own memorial.

“Yeah. Why not? It’d be labelled. Do I gather you’ve got a corpse you think might be this dame?”

That’s right.”

“You don’t say! Now your other questions. No, her passport wasn’t in the baggage removed from the wreck. It seemed likely she’d have it in her hand-luggage which would be with her in the coach. At least, that’s what was thought at the time. They got the driver’s body out and a list.

Girling’s name was on it, and ticked off. But that might just have meant the luggage in the light of what you say. And that’s about it.” “Oh,’ said Pascoe. He was sure there was something else he ought to ask before cutting off finally (at least it seemed an act of finality) this connection.

“Hey, you still there?”

“Yes.”

“At the hotel there was evidently another dame, a particular buddy of Girling’s. It seems a group of them, half a dozen or more, used to meet up for the winter sports every Christmas vacation, but this one was a special friend. And they usually travelled together, the manager thought.” “Did she now?’ said Pascoe with interest. ‘ don’t suppose… “