Reginald Hill

The inner office was sparsely furnished. A desk, a couple of chairs, a filing cabinet and a small safe.

Pascoe took this in at a glance and felt uneasy. There seemed little space here for long-term storage of old records.

“How can I help you?’ said Aird, putting on the serious, cooperative look Pascoe usually associated with the desire to make a good impression in court.

“You can tell me first of all how far back your records go, Mr. Aird.”

“To the beginning. To when it all started, my dear fellow. To the day I took possession.”

Pascoe felt relieved.

“I’m interested in a woman who booked a skiing holiday through you. It wouldn’t be the first time, you understand; it was something she did every Christmas, but I believe your firm handled the arrangements.”

“Aha,’ said Aird. ‘, let’s see. Let’s see.”

He jumped up and strode across to the filing cabinet which he unlocked.

“Now,’ he said opening a drawer.

“I’m interested in her flight number,’ said Pascoe, delighted by this display of efficiency. ‘ I wondered if for instance it was a charter flight, you might not have had a courier who would have made his own check list at the airport. It’s a Miss. Alison Girling. And the date was Christmas 1966.”

Aird’s reaction was surprising. He crashed the drawer shut with a flick of his fingers and returned to his seat, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘ can’t help you there.”

“Why not, sir?’ asked Pascoe, half-suspecting the answer.

“I’ve only been here three years,’ said Aird. ‘ March ‘68. You’re before my time, Inspector.” “Sergeant. But you said … “

“Ah. I see your difficulty. No. The Super-Vacs you want went out of business in ‘67. No scandal, nothing like that, you understand. The parent firm in Leeds folded up, so their half-dozen branches went too.”

“But the name?” “As I said, there was no scandal. No dissatisfied customers, not here anyway. So when I became interested in the premises for my own agency, well, among other things I found stored here enough stationery for four or five years. All with the Super-Vacs heading, of course. So I just kept the name.” He smiled again, brilliantly, apologetically.

“What about the rest of the stuff that was here? Files, records, that kind of thing?”

“We had a clearing-out. And a bonfire. I’m sorry, Sergeant.”

He stood up and escorted Pascoe to the door. Disappointed though he was, Pascoe still sensed the man’s relief at getting rid of him.

Vindictively, he promised to mention Aird’s name to the locals. There might be something there.

But that didn’t help his own present investigations. Nor would Dalziel be very impressed.

Perhaps the academic life wasn’t so bad after all.

When, on his return to Headquarters, he found waiting for him a message from Doncaster saying that Miss. Jean Mayflower had died four years earlier as a result of a brain tumour, the academic life appeared as a very desirable haven of peace in a storm-battered, thunder thrashed, Dalziel-haunted sea of troubles.

Chapter 10.

… the arts which flourish in times while virtue is in growth are military; and while virtue is in state, are liberal; and while virtue is in declination, are voluptuary.

SIR FRANCIS BACON Op. Clt.

That gentle voyeur, Harold Lapping, would have found much to please him in the college precincts that night. Al 7.30 p.m. the sun was still bright and warm and young bodies turned towards it on every patch of greenery. Even the staff garden, once patrolled with protective fury two or three times an evening by Miss. Disney, was now regarded as common ground in its state of limbo between holy land and a building site. The area immediately around the hole left by the statue was for reasons of decency or superstition unoccupied. But half a dozen small groups were scattered around the rest of the lawn, many stripped for sunbathing, those in swimming costumes practically indistinguishable from those who had merely taken off their outer garments, happy with the doubtful protection of their underclothes.

If Harold, dissatisfied with anything less than total nudity, had been able to glide unnoticed through the college buildings, he would not have been disappointed there. It had been a long, very hot day and there was a growing heaviness in the air, promising thunder. The pleasures of a cold or at least lukewarm shower were attractive even to the least Spartan. The shock to an incorporeal Harold of drifting through the walls of Miss. Disney’s flat would have been great, but not prolonged.

The advantages of complete nakedness while actually showering were too great to be ignored, but it was not a state she chose to remain in for longer than was necessary. Two minutes after turning off the water she was sufficiently clothed to be able to face herself in the mirror.