Reginald Hill - An Advancement of Learning

Dalziel pointed dramatically across the room. Landor stirred uneasily.

He had obviously forgotten that these events took place in this very room.

“Accidental death,’ he said. ‘ suppose that’s… “

“Well, it might be. But Cargo denies it and says Roote came up behind and struck the old woman on the head with the poker. I’m sure a compromise will be reached eventually.

“At this point, Fallowfield seems to have walked in. Whatever the truth of the matter he was given the accidental death story, I should think.

And the way a man with his kind of mind would see it, he had a choice between ruining or protecting the careers and futures of two young people, one of whom he obviously thought was very special. It’s remarkable how stupid you bloody intellectuals can be,’ he snorted.

“Quite,’ said Landor drily. Why don’t you spit in his eye? wondered Pascoe.

“But how did Miss. Girling apparently get to Austria?”

“A diversionary plan was put into operation, once Fallowfield agreed to help. First they lugged Girling out of that window and over the lawn to where Cargo knew there was a nice deep hole already dug. Remember there was thick fog. No one was going to be about to see them. A thin covering of earth. Cargo knew the concrete would be poured in the following day.

There was an element of risk there, but it was worth it. After this, the diversion. Remember that eventually they believed Girling would be missed. The farther away she seemed to have got from the college, the better for them. Where better than the airport, a hundred miles away, to which everyone knew the principal was travelling that evening? Her cases were packed, they soon found her tickets, passport, everything. Remember they had access to her living quarters through that door and up the stairs. They had to move fast before anyone in college came to see Girling. I don’t know who initiated everything, they both picture themselves as the passive member of the trio, merely carrying out instructions. But it was probably Roote who had the bright idea of going one step further when they reached the airport he had driven her car there, by the way, in convoy with Fallowfield; it must have been a hell of a journey on a night like that.

“Still, they made it and, as I say, they pushed their luck a little further. Cargo, dressed in one of Girling’s coats and wearing her spare wig, checked in the luggage. Things were chaotic with the fog and it seemed a clever move to establish the presence of a red-headed woman like Girling at the airport by more than just circumstantial evidence.

“After that, it was just a matter of waiting. If there was no report of the body having been found at the college, they could go off to spend Christmas with some ease of mind. But when the report broke in the paper of the avalanche, and Girling was one of those listed as having possibly been on the bus, this must have seemed like an act of God. They were in the clear. The statue was up, for ever it seemed. Everyone was satisfied about Girling’s death. The brief nightmare was over.” Not for Fallowfield, thought Pascoe looking down at the letter once more.

“How could they bear to come back here?’ asked Landor.

“Why not? They could keep an eye on things. Every time they saw the statue, it stood as a surety for their own safety. There’s something fascinating about such a secret. It’s a truism that criminals always return to the scene of the crime. All it usually means is that people often commit crimes in places which are familiar to them. But the pull is there. Look at the way Cargo came back for a job here when she got the chance. Though something of her infatuation with Roote probably remained.”

“What happened next? All this business with that poor girl, Anita, I mean… “

“You happened for one. And Franny Roote grew older and wilder.

Fallowfield had learned a little discretion, I think, especially among his colleagues. Perhaps Girling’s death had made him seriously question his own philosophies. But here with Franny’s help, a little cell of soul mates, earnest seekers after the truth, was soon set up. It must have seemed the attainment of an ideal to Fallowfield for a while. But with Franny, the search for the truth was a lot less important than the kicks you got on the way. Fallowfield was delighted to discuss freely how drugs, or certain rituals, or sex, can bring about an enlargement of human awareness — have I got it right, Sergeant Pascoe?”

“Yes, sir,’ said Pascoe, though he knew the question was rhetorical. ‘ was interested in isolating those elements which all these sources of spiritual release and greater sensitivity to our environment had in common. Roote was more interested in the experience than the theory.” “Nicely put,’ said Dalziel appreciatively. ‘ gradually they drifted apart. And in Roote’s eyes became rivals. He had a great advantage — he was young, he was quite amoral, he was persuasive and he was sexually very attractive. The girls went for him; the young men were for him too, because he laid on lots of crumpet for them. Fallowfield hung on to one or two. Anita Sewell was one, but she leant more and more to Roote, despite all that Fallowfield could do. She had some kind of conscience crisis at the start of the summer. That’s why she got back late. But she’d made up her mind by then. She was with Roote all the way. So when it seemed her division of loyalties had so ruined her academic work that she was going to be slung out, Fallowfield probably felt relieved. At least she would be out of Roote’s way. Then came the appeal. She must have taken some persuading to lie, but Roote was a great persuader. Cockshut too, all the political bit. He’d got himself attached to the Roote bandwagon and pushed him for the Union Presidency, thinking he could use him. The poor bastard, he was the one who was being used all the time.”

“But why did Fallowfield appear to accept the story?”

“How to disprove it? He knew how the whole relationship between himself and Roote, and all the other young 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.”