Reginald Hill - An Advancement of Learning

He pulled himself up. It was foolish to let these people get up his nose. These people! There, he was doing it now. It was just that, somehow, a shared background and many shared interests seemed to separate rather than bring them closer. He might have ended up like them if… if what? If there hadn’t been something in him which made it necessary to be a policeman.

In any case, as a policeman he could be conciliatory and seek information at the same time.

“I’m sorry,’ he said with his best smile. ‘ just wanted a word with Mr. Fallowfield, that’s all, and as he’s not at home, I wondered if I might have missed him in the dunes. You haven’t seen anything of him today, have you?”

Again the exchange of glances and the shaking of heads.

“In that case, I’ll go back and wait a bit,’ he said. ‘ a nice swim.”

He smiled once more. Ellie rolled her eyes again, but this time in a mock amazement at his performance which invited him to be amused with her. He grinned warmly. Marion remained impassive.

He had only gone a few steps when Halfdane overtook him.

“By the way, Sergeant, I wanted to have a quick word with you.”

“Yes?’ said Pascoe, rather brusquely he realized as he saw Halfdane’s eyes narrow.

But, Christ! why did he have to be grateful just because people condescended to talk to him?

“It’s probably nothing. I would have mentioned it to your superintendent, but his manner’s a bit off-putting.”

Suddenly Pascoe was fed up.

“What is it you want to tell me? Sir?”

“There’s a lot I could tell you,’ said Halfdane ironically, ‘ I really wanted to ask you something. In a case like this, a serious case I mean, if some minor breach of the law comes to light incidentally, while you’re pursuing the important enquiry, what do you do?”

“I don’t follow,’ said Pascoe woodenly.

“I think you do.”

“We don’t make bargains. And we don’t make judgments.”

“No? But you pay informants, don’t you?”

Pascoe shook his head, not in denial but in sheer impatience.

“Look,’ he said. ‘ you’ve got information, it’s your civic duty to pass it on, no matter what it is.” “Get knotted,’ said Halfdane, turning back to where the two women waited.

Pascoe did not wait to hear more but set off smartly back to the cottage.

“Well?’ said Dalziel.

“They’ve seen no one.” “There’s none so blind,’ said Dalziel. ”m beginning to think they’re all in a gigantic conspiracy.” “Perhaps so,’ said Pascoe, trying (unsuccessfully he was sure) not to let his chief see his own annoyance at the encounter. ‘; where’s Fallowfield? That’s the big question.”

“It’s bigger than you think,’ said Dalziel. ‘ and see what I’ve found.”

He led the way into the bedroom where he had obviously done a fairly comprehensive search.

“Look,’ he said, pointing into a suitcase which lay open on the bed.

In it were a flowered mini-skirt; some underwear; a pair of sandals.

Pascoe looked at the superintendent who nodded.

“They fit the description,’ he said. ”d lay good money they’re Anita Sewell’s.”

Pascoe snapped the case shut.

I’ll check it out,’ he said.

“Hold on a minute!’ said Dalziel. ”ll keep. No, you keep on sniffing around here for a bit. See if you can do a bit of detecting for a change. You should be well up on the psychological stuff. Well, tell me what kind of person would tear up a place like this? And what kind of person would have a place like this to tear up?” “All right,’ said Pascoe cautiously, uncertain how serious Dalziel was.

He went back downstairs to the living-room. Behind him he heard the bed creak protestingly. Dalziel was a great believer in taking rest when and where you got the chance. Pascoe was always ready to recognize the wisdom of others. He turned the slashed cushion of the deepest armchair upside down, gathered up an armful of paper from the floor and sat down.

Something about the drawings which defaced the walls caught his attention first. Some had been done in some kind of chalk. Bright yellow. There had been no sign of it during the search. He made a mental note to look more closely.

Other drawings and pieces of writing had been done more primitively by scoring the plaster with a sharp edged object. The brass candlestick on the mantelshelf? He stood up and looked more closely. The corners of the square base were scratched and smeared with powdered plaster.

Perhaps the chalk had just run out. It had been laid on pretty thickly.

He sat down again and began looking at the papers he held. It was a disappointing task at first. The only sheets which were not out of books were typewritten lecture notes, or at least so he assumed from the subject-matter. The books from which the majority of the pages had been ripped were again mainly text-books, easily identifiable as the pages had merely been torn whole from their covers. But here and there he noticed were smaller fragments of pages, some reduced almost to confetti, and he began to fit some of these together to see why they had been given special treatment.

It wasn’t an easy task and after a few minutes he chucked the whole lot on the floor in annoyance and began to do what he ought to have done in the first place — look for book covers.

It didn’t take long to sort out the odd ones — or rather the non-biological ones, for they were not particularly odd in themselves.

Huxley’s The Doors of Perception, Leary’s Politics of Ecstasy, Professor Thorndike’s History of Magic and Experimental Science (only three volumes out of eight), Aleister Crowley’s Magic in Theory and Practice and the same writer’s translation of Eliphas Levi’s The Key of the Mysteries, Allegro’s The Sacred Mushroom and the Cross (particularly badly damaged — Pascoe could find no piece of a page larger than a postage stamp), Eros and Evil by R.E. Masters; the covers from these and a score of others on related topics Pascoe stacked in the space he cleared on the floor in front of him. He heard the stairs creak and Dalziel appeared in the doorway.

His eyebrows went up when he saw what Pascoe had been doing.

“Pornography?’ he said hopefully.

“No, sir,’ said Pascoe with a poorly muffled groan.

“No?’ said Dalziel, poking around. ‘, it’s odd, isn’t it? A bit bent.”

“I’ve read most of them myself,’ said Pascoe challengingly.

“Still, you thought it was worth picking out this lot specially,’ said Dalziel mildly. Pascoe found he didn’t have a reply.

“Anything else?’ Dalziel went on. ‘. Let’s get things moving. First thing is, where’s Fallowfield? Failing that, who did this lot? Perhaps he’ll know where Fallow field is.”

“Unless it was Fallowfield himself,’ suggested Pascoe. Dalziel looked unimpressed.

To confuse the picture, I mean, while he makes off,’ the sergeant added.

“But why make off at all? And he was a bit careless leaving those clothes lying around, wasn’t he?”

“I suppose so.”

“Still not happy?’ said Dalziel sympathetically.

“Yes. That is, well, I don’t know, sir. There’s something… “

“Perhaps it’s the fact that two people did the wrecking that bothers you,’ Dalziel went on, the sympathy oozing out now.

Oh God, thought Pascoe. I’ve missed something. I should have known as soon as he started sounding pleasant!

“You noticed the drawings, of course?”

“Why, yes. You mean some are done in chalk, others scratched?”

“Partly that. But have another look. It’s not just the instrument, it’s the style.”

Pascoe looked. It might be true, though he had reservations. One piece of graffiti looked much like another to him.