“It wasn’t intended to be useful,’ said Simeon Landor gently. ”s just a record of a man’s uncertainty and unhappiness.”
“It would have made me a lot happier if it had mentioned a few names,” said Dalziel gloomily.
There was a photostat of the letter on the study desk in front of Pascoe. He looked down at it again and read it for the hundredth time, still with a sense of emptiness, of loss.
Dear Henry, This is a strange letter to have to write, and a stranger way you might think to repay friendship. I am truly sorry if it is painful for you to read this. But pain is a risk we take in becoming fond of people, isn’t it? As I have found out to my cost.
I have decided to take my life, not out of despair or anything so religious as that. But merely out of confusion. These past few years have been troubled ones for me, troubled not in the way I have always felt troubled by the problems of life and humanity, but troubled by problems of mere living. I have had secrets to hide which I did not wish to know in the first place; I found that quite unbeknown to me I had become a leader and, as a leader, had to be deposed from a position I would have been only too happy to resign. I found myself admitting to accusations that were false rather than make accusations that were true.
(I was never anything more to Anita Sewell than a dear friend. At least I thought so, and I know in the end she did too.) Finally I was driven to absurd delaying tactics on points of procedure and constitutional issues — the kind of thing which has always bored me to tears as you know! — because I did not know what else to do.
In other words I had to make decisions. I really believe the majority of people are lucky enough to get through life without ever having to make a single greatly significant decision. I had to make such a one five years ago. I made it on personal grounds, unselfish I thought at the time, though I’m no longer sure, grounds of love, and respect, and hope, for an individual. The only grounds, I felt, on which such a decision should be taken.
So I concealed my knowledge of the death of Miss. Girling and felt that I had done my lifetime’s duty. No man should have to do that twice. Now five years later, because I did it once, I’m faced with the same decision again. Someone else is dead — Anita — someone much more valuable than Girling.
So, I’m confused. I acted once as I felt I had to act. I felt it was the only way to act. Out of that action came distrust, misunderstanding, contumely, slander, and finally another death. But the reasons for my original action still seem valid. So how do I act now?
Well, I’m confused. But not despairing. Living poses too many problems.
Life — and death — are simpler and there is an easy way to get at their meaning, if any. That’s the way I’m taking now.
As for this letter and any information, or hints of information, it contains, do what you will with it. Burn it, or show it to that ill-assorted pair of policemen. What you will. Me, I’ve given up decisions. Except for this last one. Your friend, Sam Fallowfield.
“It’s a terrible letter for anyone to write,’ he said aloud. The others looked at him, Landor sympathetically, Dalziel in irritation.
“It’s a bloody useless letter,’ he reiterated. ‘ tells us nowt. If Roote hadn’t been so keen to get the first blow in before the girl had a chance, we’d have been nowhere. As it is, well I suppose it served some purpose.
He leaned forward, groaned and rubbed himself between the shoulders.
“If my lad hadn’t come when he did, those two would have had all the time in the world to get rid of it. Or they might even have let us find it, for all the use it was. But unread, that was different.”
“They were both so firmly convinced Fallowfield would have told everything he knew and suspected, that they credited us with this knowledge once Mr. Saltecombe told us to read the letter,’ explained Pascoe. ‘ just kept quiet and looked confident.”
Dalziel nodded complacently.
“I told Mr. Saltecombe to look accusing and say a couple of nasty things to Roote when he appeared. That did the trick. And once he thought that Fallowfield had put the finger on him but not the girl, he went wild. I think he even felt betrayed. Imagine!”
“It was odd,’ said Pascoe. ‘ was quite happy to warn Cargo that we still had the letter, that’s why he came into the sickbay and asked about Saltecombe. But the minute he thought the letter wasn’t dangerous to her… ” “Yes,’ said Dalziel. ‘ saw her face then. And I remembered she was right on top of us when I told you I was going up to the Common Room. Also I had a sense of two other people being over me when I got clobbered up there. So when I saw Halfdane’s car making off, I wondered if she might not be in it also. So I put out a call. Poor lad. I feel sorry for him.” You sound it, thought Pascoe, remembering Halfdane’s face ravaged with shock and disbelief. You bloody sound it.
Landor shook his head in perplexity.
“It’s hard to believe… it has hurt us all in more ways than we realize, I think. When will it all be over?’ he asked.
“When someone decides we’ve got to the truth,’ said Dalziel.
“But you just said you have their statements, their confessions?”
“Which are very contradictory. It looked as if Cargo was going to crack completely at first, but she pulled herself together in the end. She’s too clever to go back to absolute denial — we’ve dug up all kinds of circumstantial evidence to tie them in together. We can prove they spent that Christmas together, for instance, so it would be foolish of her to deny it. But she’s hurling all the mud back at Roote that he’s slinging at her.”
“And who do you believe?”
Dalziel shrugged.
“Roote, I think. Mainly because he seems to have been motivated by something less or more than mere self preservation all the way through.
I don’t know whether this makes him a more or a less horrifying character. This is the way I read the story, though God knows if we’ll ever get the real truth.
“Roote and Fallowfield arrive together on that Friday in December.
Fallowfield’s a bit of a weirdo, king of the kids, one of your modern nothing-istoosacredorwayoutto-try philosophers who go down big with some youngsters. There was probably more than a touch of the queer there too. Anyway, they’re spending part of the Christmas vac together and Fallowfield, who probably persuaded Roote to apply for admission here when he knew he himself was being interviewed, drives them both up.
Roote has his interview. Is accepted. Even at eighteen he seems to have had a way with women, of all ages. He runs into Marion Cargo, practically the only student left in the place. She’s hanging on because she’s going skiing with Girling, remember. She’s three years older than he is, though I doubt if she was anything like as experienced. Perhaps enough to make things easy for him, though he’s obviously a very smooth operator anyway. By Monday, after a weekend of considerable delight, she is thoroughly infatuated. He asks her to spend Christmas with him — he was joining a party of friends, we’ve got all the details and the prospect pleases. But Girling has to be told. Just how much she was being the mother-figure and just how much she fancied her chances with Cargo for a romp in the snow, we’ll never know.”
Landor pursed his lips in distaste. Dalziel scratched his belly-button voluptuously and went on.
“Cargo gave me some story about Disney intervening: Disney denies it absolutely, though there’s probably just a speck of truth in it, enough for Cargo to build on. Anyway she goes along and tells Girling the trip’s off. Girling is furious, flies into a rage, cancels the bookings instantly, a kind of see-if-I-care gesture. Later that afternoon, after the governors’ meeting and Fallowfield’s appointment, Girling sends for Cargo again. Perhaps to plead with her, perhaps she has got wind of what’s going on and wants to put the bubble in, perhaps Cargo herself let something slip. Anyway, Roote is summoned to the presence also. When he arrives there is a full-scale fight going on. I’ve no doubt he quite enjoyed it. Anyway, his version is that finally Girling slapped Marion
’s face in her fury. The girl retaliated by pulling her hair. It was a wig and it came off. Roote says he fell about laughing. Quite beside herself with rage, Girling flew at Cargo’s throat and she pushed her away so that she fell into the fireplace and cracked her head open on the sharp corner there.”
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.”
Dalziel took up the reconstruction again.
“Off she went immediately to talk with Fallowfield. Unfortunately for her, Cargo had been there already. It was her the neighbour’s kiddy saw going up t
he path. She’d wanted to discuss the discovery of the body with Fallowfield. God knows what they decided, but on the way back she met Anita. Once Cargo realized that she knew the truth, the girl was dead.”
“Oh my God,’ said Landor, putting his head between his hands.
Embarrassed, Pascoe looked at his watch and stood up.
“Do you mind if…?’ he asked Dalziel.
“No. No. The principal and I will be here for a little while yet. Though it’s thirsty work this talking.” The whisky’ll come out now I’m gone, thought Pascoe as he made his way up to Ellie’s room. He felt he had to say goodbye. He wasn’t really looking forward to it, but anything was better than sitting going over all the horrific details of the case again. He must be going soft.
As it happened, he wasn’t even spared that. Ellie treated him as some kind of impersonal information bureau, shooting questions at him from all angles, insatiable for analysis of motive, reconstruction of event.
“I don’t know any of this,’ he protested. ‘ everything I say to you is theory. The two versions we’ve got conflict in so many particulars, all we can do is keep on digging till we see which the circumstantial evidence fits best.” “All right,’ said Ellie. ‘ understand. I’m not stupid. But at least you can make an educated guess. Which of them wrecked the cottage? That’s what you’d just found out on Saturday afternoon, hadn’t you? When we met you on our way to the beach. Christ, to think of that girl — I If she’d really taken me for a rival, God knows what she might have done!” “You were very lucky,’ said Pascoe ironically. ‘ was Roote. He admits it. He was gilding the lily a bit. After Marion told him what she’d done to Anita, he went out again and shifted the body nearer to the place where they’d been dancing, and took off her clothes. He was just trying to confuse things, make it look as though it had happened immediately after the dance was disturbed. Later he got the idea of planting the clothes on Fallowfield and he wrecked the cottage, hoping Fallowfield would call us in and we’d be the ones to find the clothes. Which we did, of course, but poor Fallowfield by this time had given up the struggle.
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