Reginald Hill

Sandra Firth had been the only student concerned that Pascoe had been able to pick up quickly. She and Harold Lapping had very soon agreed on the location of the midnight dance. No reference had been made by either to the difference between their two versions, but Pascoe noted with interest that Sandra’s nonchalant air was beginning to wear a bit thin under the amused glances from Harold’s bright eyes.

The hollow in the dunes where Pearl had found Anita was nearly a quarter of a mile away, almost at the bottommost end of the golf course.

“Some way from where she left her clothes,’ commented Dalziel.

“Perhaps the killer picked them up and then went after her, knowing she wouldn’t go too far,’ suggested Pascoe.

“Why not just wait near the clothes?’ replied Dalziel.

“Or she might have taken them with her when she ran and have stopped here to get dressed and then he came upon her.” “Perhaps,’ said Dalziel. ”m off after some lunch, then I think I’ll watch the cricket. Thanks for your help.”

He flung the last remark over his shoulder as he strode off hack towards the college. Lapping grinned broadly after him, Sandra looked thunderstruck at his apparent callousness.

Pascoe had been about to follow when Kent had issued his invitation.

It was a pleasant lunch. Kent had chatted amiably about a variety of subjects, with golf not unbearably predominant. Pascoe who had hitherto regarded the man as a slightly risible example of what not to be in the police-force, found himself enjoying his company. When talk got round to the case (or cases) in hand, he listened appreciatively to Kent’s assessment. He didn’t say anything new, but he missed nothing out either.

“It’s motive we’re after, not murderers. Not yet. Motive. It’s a truism, Sergeant, but it’s true. Find out why and you’ll like as not find out who.” “Agreed,’ said Pascoe, starting on his second pint. ‘.”

“Your astonishingly good health,’ remarked Kent, before carrying on his theorizing. ‘ to find out why, it helps to eliminate why not. Take the girl, for instance. Obvious thing is sex. But he never bothered.

Never touched her. Now why not?”

“Perhaps it was a woman,’ suggested Pascoe.

“She’d need to be a hefty one,’ said Kent. ‘. Something else, I think.

Now who’d have a motive for killing her, if it wasn’t just a nut?”

“Fallowfield?’ said Pascoe.

“Who?”

“Fallowfield. Lectures at the college. Don’t you know?”

His new-found respect for Kent began to evaporate. Somehow the man had contrived never to have heard of the relationship between Fallowfield and Anita. It would be Dalziel’s fault partly. He didn’t believe in Spoon-feeding his men.

Certainly not Kent.

Pascoe filled him in quickly, efficiently. Kent supped his beer and chewed on his cheese and biscuits with a distantly worried look in his eyes. Finally he swallowed and shook his head.

“No,’ he said. ‘. Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

“His mistress?”

“He admits it.”

Kent began to look really concerned.

She must have brought out the father feeling in him, thought Pascoe.

They can all look so innocent when they’re lying there, dead.

“No,’ said Kent again. ‘ was a virgin.”

“Don’t be daft.” “It said so in the medical report. A virgin.” “No,’ said Pascoe in a kindly voice. ‘ hadn’t been sexually assaulted. That’s what it said. Not quite the same thing.” “A virgin. It said she hadn’t been assaulted that night. And it said she was still a virgin. I should know. I read the bloody thing to the super.”

Pascoe froze, his glass in midair.

“You read it to him?’ he asked. ”t he look at it himself?”

“I don’t know. Not when I was there. You know he hates to be bothered reading things himself. Always gets someone else to do it if he can,” said Kent defensively.

“A virgin? You’re sure?’ said Pascoe, adding ” as he saw Kent react to his tone.

“Yes! But listen, Sergeant … “

Pascoe carefully put his beer on the table and stood up.

Thanks for the lunch, sir. I’d better be getting back now.”

Swiftly he moved out of the room before Kent could reply. It might have been a kindness to let him do his own reporting to Dalziel. But one kindness a day was enough for the likes of Kent.

Someone shouted at him as he marched across a beautifully-kept green, and he broke into a trot.

Dalziel wouldn’t be pleased. Kent would have some explaining to do.

But that would be nothing to the explaining that Dalziel would surely expect from Mr. Sam Fallowfield.

“The reason the English love cricket,’ said George Dunbar in his loud, guttural voice, ‘ that it structures their bloody indolence.” “Or masks their machinations,’ added Henry Saltecombe.

“Oh aye. You all like to think you’re so bloody clever,’ sneered Dunbar.