Reginald Hill

“Yes. I saw him today. Cockshut. Mr. Fallowfield was passing. Some very unpleasant things were said. Mr. Fallowfield looks quite ill which was a blessing in a way as I don’t think he heard them. But he ought to see a doctor.” “I’ll speak to him,’ said Landor. ‘ it’s a hard one this. He’s still officially suspended, but now of course … ” “With the girl dead,’ concluded Miss. Scotby, ”s not much that can be done.”

“No. Well, I think that’s all, isn’t it? Shall we go in?”

They turned back to the house. Behind a closed upstairs window, the pale gleam of a face was visible, staring down at them. Landor raised a hand in acknowledgement and it turned away.

Among the roses the principal and the senior tutor stood still for a moment before moving over the lawn to the open french window.

“Nice of you to come back,’ said Dalziel. ‘ was beginning to think you’d bloody well gone to Austria.”

It wasn’t as bad as Pascoe expected. Dalziel listened to his report with hardly a comment till he came to the end.

“So,’ he said. ”re no further on? What about her car?”

Pascoe was ready.

“At the airport in the long-term car-park. Where you’d have expected it to be.”

“You spoke to the attendant?” “It’s five years, almost,’ said Pascoe protestingly. ‘ can you remember about that Christmas?”

It was, to say the least, an unwise question. By itself it smacked of impudence when directed at a superior officer. In terms of Dalziel’s broken domestic life, God knows what significance it had. Once again Dalziel’s reaction was surprisingly mild.

“Not much,’ he agreed. ‘ you asked?”

“Yes. Nothing.”

“So all we have is that Disney saw her drive off into the fog that night, and that is that, till her bones turn up back here two days ago.”

“What about the girl, sir? Anything there?’ asked Pascoe hoping to strike a more promising vein.

“Not much. What there is is bloody puzzling.”

Briefly Dalziel filled his sergeant in on the events of the day.

That’s very interesting!’ said Pascoe when he heard Harold Lapping’s story. ‘ sounds like a coven.”

“A what?”

“Witches, sir.”

“You mean black magic? That stuff? Perhaps.”

“What did the autopsy say?”

“If you’re thinking it’s a nice ritual murder, you can forget it. It was a straightforward case of jumping on her back and holding her face in the sand till she stopped breathing. No frills. No white cocks, black candles or any of that how’syour-father.”

“No. Well, there wouldn’t be, would there? Obviously something or someone disturbed them and it was after they all split up that this happened.” “Likely. The time fits,’ said Dalziel without much enthusiasm.

“Do we know who else was in on it?’ asked Pascoe.

“Nothing definite. I’ve a feeling this girl, Firth, can tell us something. But everyone seems to have shut up tight as a virgin’s knees.

We’ve been asking around. Nothing. Landor expresses amazement at the thought of such

goings-on. I’m beginning to think he’s as wilfully blind to realities as Disney and Scotby. Perhaps more.”

Moodily the superintendent pulled a bottle of scotch and a couple of glasses out of a desk drawer. He filled them both and pushed one towards Pascoe who took it quietly and raised it to his lips.

He had seen this pessimistic, almost self-doubting mood come upon his superior before but was still at a loss how best to deal with it. Nor was he certain whether his presence at these sessions was a mark of favour or a potential source of disfavour when Dalziel recalled his own weakness.

The sun was still bright outside, though now the shadows lay long. Very distantly there came the mumble of thunder.

The sound seemed to rouse Dalziel.

“Look,’ he said. ”ve a feeling I’m missing something about this bloody place. Perhaps that’s what comes of leaving school at fourteen. I talked to those buggers this morning but I’m not sure we really made any contact. They’re meant to be educating these kids about society, but all the time I could feel they didn’t trust me themselves. Not that I give a toss about that. I’m not looking for love.”

Pascoe essayed an expression which he hoped could pass for either amused appreciation or serious agreement depending on what Dalziel’s comment required.

“But it worries me, not knowing what makes the place tick. I thought I had it sorted out. An old guard, represented by Disney and Scotby and what-have-you, and a new guard represented by Landor and his supporters.

Reaction and radicalism. Christ, I come from a good trade-union background, I know all about that. But suddenly people start making nasty cracks at Landor, as if he belongs in the dark ages. And he’s obviously shit scared of the students. Someone wants to tell him about appeasement in the thirties.”

“He has a degree in history, I believe,’ ventured Pascoe.

“Christ, what’s that mean? Flint axes, stately homes and kitchen gossip!

That’s the trouble, most of these sods have spent all their bloody waking lives in schools and colleges and universities. It’s all inbreeding, like a Welsh village’