Reginald Hill - An Advancement of Learning

Dalziel was used to being dragged from the black depths of sleep by untimely summonses. But it didn’t make him any sweeter when it happened.

Usually it was the telephone. This time it was a sharp double knock at his door. He glanced at his watch as he rolled out from under the solitary sheet that was all the warm night required. It was twelve thirty-five.

“Who’s there?’ he snarled as he began to pull his trousers over his muscular, tortuously-veined legs. He was expecting to have to go out. He had spent many years training his subordinates — and some superiors — in this if nothing else. Nobody ever woke him up on business not urgent enough to take him out.

“Simeon Landor. May I come in?” Dalziel paused, surprised by the light, academically diffident tones where he had expected the official brusqueness of Pascoe or one of the others.

“Wait,’ he said, slipping his braces over his bare shoulders. It took him a couple of minutes to find the key which had fallen from beneath his pillow down the back of the bed. He had slept behind locked doors ever since his wife left him. Perhaps before. Perhaps that had been one of the reasons. He had managed to forget everything except the pain and surprise. Nothing ever surprised him now without casting that shadow of pain, even when the surprise was pleasant.

“What’s up?’ he asked as he opened the door. He felt uneasy. Landor wouldn’t come running himself unless it was urgent. On the other hand Landor had never undergone the Dalziel training course. Perhaps he could have stayed in bed.

Landor’s first words confirmed his suspicions.

“Sorry to disturb you, Superintendent, but I thought you ought to know, there’s a student demonstration going on.”

Dalziel groaned and started back towards the bed.

“You know the rules. I thought people in your position got special training courses for this kind of thing now? If they move off the college campus, or if there’s danger to persons or property and you wish to make a complaint, then wake up my sergeant and he’ll sort it out.”

He sat on the edge of his bed and began looking for his pipe. Landor took an uneasy step into the room.

“No, there is no damage. Not yet. But they’ve got into the administration block and are staging a sit-in.”

“Same applies. Watch ‘ like hawks when they come out though. They usually steal anything loose, like typewriters, photo-copiers, that kind of thing. What are they after, anyway. Files?” “I fear so,’ said Landor. ‘ what I felt you’d want to know is that they’ve got into the room you’re using, my old study. I fear that they are under the misapprehension that I… “

But Dalziel heard no more. He was too busy buttoning up his trousers and shirt, pausing only to grab the phone and dial Pascoe’s number.

A female voice answered after some delay.

“Dalziel!’ bellowed the superintendent. ‘ Cassabloody-nova out of bed and down to my room, the old study I mean, right away!”

“I’m sure they don’t realize,’ Landor was still saying as he followed Dalziel’s ponderous rush down the stairs and out of the building.

They soon bloody will.”

There were lights on everywhere, though there was not much noise. At least, not until he entered the Old House.

From behind the large oak door to the study there was noise enough.

Dalziel gently tried the handle. It was locked. He beckoned Pascoe who came in through the main door at that moment, still buttoning his shirt.

“I want half a dozen men here in ten minutes,’ he said. ‘ them to come quietly. No sirens, no lights flashing. But I want them quick. Use the pay-phone outside the dining-hall. I suppose they’ve got hold of the college switchboard?”

Landor nodded.

“Right. Now let’s see what sweet reason can do.”

He rapped sharply on the door. Someone inside rapped back and there was a roar of laughter. Encouraged, the humorist cried, ‘ in!”

Dalziel stepped right up to the door and spoke loudly.

“This is the police.”

There was a confusion of noise within, some laughter, a hubbub of chatter, one or two instructions to go away and get sexually assaulted.

A cry of outrage near Dalziel’s right ear told him that Miss. Disney had arrived. Even non-verbally, her tone was quite distinctive.

“This is the police,’ he said again. The reaction was not quite so noisy and he repeated the words yet again.

Now there was comparative silence within except when a voice, clearly Franny Roote’s, said conversationally, ‘ think it might be the police.”

Dalziel spoke again, very slowly, articulating each word with great care.

“The room you are in is no longer part of the administration offices of this college. It is temporarily the police headquarters of a murder investigation. Any papers, files or other material in this room is not college property and interference with it will make you liable to very serious charges. This is a police matter, not a college matter. The college authorities will not be able to exercise discretion in the matter of prosecution. That will be up to me. And, by God, if there’s any damage, I’ll prosecute every last one of you!”

Only in the last sentence did his voice deviate from an impersonal official monotone. Pascoe had reappeared. With him was a constable in uniform whom Dalziel recognized as the local man.

“Someone telephoned him,’ explained Pascoe. ‘ met him on the drive. The others will be here shortly.”

Telephoned?” “A Miss. Disney, sir,’ said the constable.

“I thought our lives were in danger when the noise woke me up,’ declared the lady, unrepentant before Lander’s reproving glance.

Tine,’ said Dalziel giving unexpected support. ”s Shattuck, isn’t it?

Get round into the garden, unobtrusively as you can. Watch the window of this room. Anyone tries to get out of it, grab ‘. Sergeant, wait outside for the others. Let me know when they arrive.”

“Superintendent, you will be careful?’ It was Landor, worry deepening the lines of his finely drawn face. ‘ they think I’ve brought a whole gang of police in — well, records of this kind of thing show that when the police have been involved, reactions can be very violent. Panic, anger — not your fault I know, but… “

I’ll be discreet as possible, and the main body of students is in the new admin, block, not here, I gather,’ said Dalziel. ‘ I won’t let any consideration prevent me from dealing with this lot.”

He nodded fiercely towards the door which at that moment swung quietly open.

“Come in, Superintendent,’ said Franny, standing courteously by the door like a butler.

Dalziel stepped forward, Landor and Disney hard on his heels, but the door was closed quietly but firmly in their faces and he found himself alone in the room with about two dozen students. Some he knew: Roote, Cockshut. Others were familiar though he had no names. Some few he had never seen before. The room itself was reasonably tidy. There was no sign of damage; the filing cabinet showed no evidence of any attempt to force it open. He walked over to it, stepping carefully across the bodies of some students — who lay sprawled on the floor and examined it without touching. The same with the desk, ignoring the couple who lay on it, fast in each other’s arms, mouths pressed together as though in violent passion, but their eyes open, following his every move.

“Satisfied, fat man?’ said Cockshut who was sitting arrogantly in his chair. He had the top of a Thermos flask in his hand; there was other evidence — packets of sandwiches, crisps, blanket-rolls — that they had come prepared for a lengthy stay. Dalziel locked eyes with Cockshut and leaned so close to him he could smell the whisky fumes rising from his plastic cup.