Reginald Hill

“One question,’ he said. ‘ you think these two dreadful businesses are connected in any way? Or is it merely some terrible coincidence?” Pascoe had asked this. Dalziel wondered how he was getting on at the airport. Even if he got nowhere, he’d get there thoroughly. He would probably have made a damn sight better job of this side of the business as well. He might have some understanding of these people. Dalziel tried not to despise them because that could easily lead to underestimation of ability (criminal, of course), and misinterpretation of motive. But six months’ holiday a year and a working life centred on reading books … I The scientists he could go along with to some extent, but surely someone, some day, was going to sort out the rest!

“As a policeman, I distrust coincidence,’ he replied.

“And I, as a historian,’ said Saltecombe. Those about him smiled. He must have made a funny, thought Dalziel.

The woman who might be Pascoe’s friend now rose with a suddenness that suggested she had been hurled by a spring through a stage trapdoor.

“What I’d like to know is how we’re expected to maintain hard fought-for personal relationships with our students in an allegedly democratic institution when we permit the civil authorities to so blatantly take control of our decision-making. I would remind the principal that his loyalties ought to be to the college and its members,’ she rattled out at a great rate, then sat down as abruptly as she had risen.

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.