An Advancement of Learning

by Reginald Hill

  He was in his final year now. There was a career in protest these days for the dedicated true-believer, which was what he was. They thought highly of him at the International Action Group HQ. But despite all his efforts, little of note in the world of student politics had taken place here. Poor Anita had seemed the best bet, though it had been Franny who masterminded that. In fact in his more pessimistic moments, Stuart sometimes felt that his pretence of lieutenantship was becoming a little too real.

  But tonight, if he moved with care, they might get some concerted action at last.

  The interrupter sat down and Stuart resumed his speech.

  ‘I think we have been patient long enough; there comes an end to patience. We have delayed action long enough; there comes a time for action. Anita Sewell’s death was a terrible thing; but it should not be allowed to obscure the authoritarian, anachronistic and cavalier fashion in which she was treated before her death. And since her death, arising out of it in fact, we have had other instances of the relatively insignificant and subordinate role we are expected to play in this college. At the principal’s request, the staff are kept fully informed of the developments of this unpleasant business. But what of us? It’s one of us who is murdered, it is the rest of us who may still be in danger. What danger? you ask. How can I tell you when no one will tell us anything? No; the only approaches made to any of the student body by the police have been high-handed, arrogant, and worse still, they have often revealed a depth of background knowledge about individuals which can only have come from their getting access to so-called confidential files of a type we have been assured does not exist!’

  There was very satisfying uproar at this point. Franny and Stuart permitted themselves a brief shared smile, and rumours of the noise were once again borne on the still air to Pascoe’s room, but neither of the inmates was in the least disturbed.

  Chapter 14

  For the mind of man is far from the nature of a clear and equal glass, wherein the beams of things should reflect, according to their true incidence; nay, it is rather like an enchanted glass, full of superstition and imposture if it be not delivered and reduced.

  SIR FRANCIS BACON

  Op. Cit.

  Dalziel was used to being dragged from the black depths of sleep by untimely summonses. But it didn’t make him any sweeter when it happened.

  Usually it was the telephone. This time it was a sharp double knock at his door. He glanced at his watch as he rolled out from under the solitary sheet that was all the warm night required. It was twelve thirty-five.

  ‘Who’s there?’ he snarled as he began to pull his trousers over his muscular, tortuously-veined legs. He was expecting to have to go out. He had spent many years training his subordinates - and some superiors - in this if nothing else. Nobody ever woke him up on business not urgent enough to take him out.

  ‘Simeon Landor. May I come in?’

  Dalziel paused, surprised by the light, academically - diffident tones where he had expected the official brusqueness of Pascoe or one of the others.

  ‘Wait,’ he said, slipping his braces over his bare shoulders. It took him a couple of minutes to find the key which had fallen from beneath his pillow down the back of the bed. He had slept behind locked doors ever since his wife left him. Perhaps before. Perhaps that had been one of the reasons. He had managed to forget everything except the pain and surprise. Nothing ever surprised him now without casting that shadow of pain, even when the surprise was pleasant.

  ‘What’s up?’ he asked as he opened the door. He felt uneasy. Landor wouldn’t come running himself unless it was urgent. On the other hand Landor had never undergone the Dalziel training course. Perhaps he could have stayed in bed.

  Landor’s first words confirmed his suspicions.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you, Superintendent, but I thought you ought to know, there’s a student demonstration going on.’

  Dalziel groaned and started back towards the bed.

  ‘You know the rules. I thought people in your position got special training courses for this kind of thing now? If they move off the college campus, or if there’s danger to persons or property and you wish to make a complaint, then wake up my sergeant and he’ll sort it out.’

  He sat on the edge of his bed and began looking for his pipe. Landor took an uneasy step into the room.

  ‘No, there is no damage. Not yet. But they’ve got into the administration block and are staging a sit-in.’

  ‘Same applies. Watch ‘em like hawks when they come out though. They usually steal anything loose, like typewriters, photo-copiers, that kind of thing. What are they after, anyway. Files?’

  ‘I fear so,’ said Landor. ‘But what I felt you’d want to know is that they’ve got into the room you’re using, my old study. I fear that they are under the misapprehension that I …’

  But Dalziel heard no more. He was too busy buttoning up his trousers and shirt, pausing only to grab the phone and dial Pascoe’s number.

  A female voice answered after some delay.

  ‘Dalziel!’ bellowed the superintendent. ‘Get Cassa-bloody-nova out of bed and down to my room, the old study I mean, right away!’

  ‘I’m sure they don’t realize,’ Landor was still saying as he followed Dalziel’s ponderous rush down the stairs and out of the building.

  ‘They soon bloody will.’

  There were lights on everywhere, though there was not much noise. At least, not until he entered the Old House.

  From behind the large oak door to the study there was noise enough. Dalziel gently tried the handle. It was locked. He beckoned Pascoe who came in through the main door at that moment, still buttoning his shirt.

  ‘I want half a dozen men here in ten minutes,’ he said. Tell them to come quietly. No sirens, no lights flashing. But I want them quick. Use the pay-phone outside the dining-hall. I suppose they’ve got hold of the college switchboard?’

  Landor nodded.

  ‘Right. Now let’s see what sweet reason can do.’

  He rapped sharply on the door. Someone inside rapped back and there was a roar of laughter. Encouraged, the humorist cried, ‘Come in!’

  Dalziel stepped right up to the door and spoke loudly.

  ‘This is the police.’

  There was a confusion of noise within, some laughter, a hubbub of chatter, one or two instructions to go away and get sexually assaulted. A cry of outrage near Dalziel’s right ear told him that Miss Disney had arrived. Even non-verbally, her tone was quite distinctive.

  ‘This is the police,’ he said again. The reaction was not quite so noisy and he repeated the words yet again.

  Now there was comparative silence within except when a voice, clearly Franny Roote’s, said conversationally, ‘I think it might be the police.’

  Dalziel spoke again, very slowly, articulating each word with great care.

  ‘The room you are in is no longer part of the administration offices of this college. It is temporarily the police-headquarters of a murder investigation. Any papers, files or other material in this room is not college property and interference with it will make you liable to very serious charges. This is a police matter, not a college matter. The college authorities will not be able to exercise discretion in the matter of prosecution. That will be up to me. And, by God, if there’s any damage, I’ll prosecute every last one of you!’

  Only in the last sentence did his voice deviate from an impersonal official monotone. Pascoe had reappeared. With him was a constable in uniform whom Dalziel recognized as the local man.

  ‘Someone telephoned him,’ explained Pascoe. ‘I met him on the drive. The others will be here shortly.’

  ‘Telephoned?’

  ‘A Miss Disney, sir,’ said the constable.

  ‘I thought our lives were in danger when the noise woke me up,’ declared the lady, unrepentant before Landor’s reproving glance.

  ‘Fine,’ said Dalziel giving unexpected support. ‘It’s Shattuck, isn’t it? Get round
into the garden, unobtrusively as you can. Watch the window of this room. Anyone tries to get out of it, grab ‘em. Sergeant, wait outside for the others. Let me know when they arrive.’

  ‘Superintendent, you will be careful?’ It was Landor, worry deepening the lines of his finely drawn face. ‘If they think I’ve brought a whole gang of police in - well, records of this kind of thing show that when the police have been involved, reactions can be very violent. Panic, anger - not your fault I know, but …’

  ‘I’ll be discreet as possible, and the main body of students is in the new admin, block, not here, I gather,’ said Dalziel. ‘But I won’t let any consideration prevent me from dealing with this lot.’

  He nodded fiercely towards the door which at that moment swung quietly open.

  ‘Come in, Superintendent,’ said Franny, standing courteously by the door like a butler.

  Dalziel stepped forward, Landor and Disney hard on his heels, but the door was closed quietly but firmly in their faces and he found himself alone in the room with about two dozen students. Some he knew: Roote, Cockshut. Others were familiar though he had no names. Some few he had never seen before. The room itself was reasonably tidy. There was no sign of damage; the filing cabinet showed no evidence of any attempt to force it open. He walked over to it, stepping carefully across the bodies of some students who lay sprawled on the floor, and examined it without touching. The same with the desk, ignoring the couple who lay on it, fast in each other’s arms, mouths pressed together as though in violent passion, but their eyes open, following his every move.

  ‘Satisfied, fat man?’ said Cockshut who was sitting arrogantly in his chair. He had the top of a Thermos flask in his hand; there was other evidence - packets of sandwiches, crisps, blanket-rolls - that they had come prepared for a lengthy stay. Dalziel locked eyes with Cockshut and leaned so close to him he could smell the whisky fumes rising from his plastic cup.

  ‘I will be before I leave,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Ah, get stuffed!’

  Roote coughed politely behind him.

  ‘I’m sorry, Superintendent. We didn’t realize that this was no longer the principal’s study. If we had known that the police had taken over the room absolutely, of course we wouldn’t have entered.’

  Dalziel turned and saw for the first time the long wall facing the window. Across it someone had scribbled his name, misspelling it but managing the accompanying four-letter word correctly.

  ‘An odd thing to write if you thought you were occupying Dr Landor’s room,’ he said with a faint smile.

  Franny returned the smile apologetically.

  ‘It was done when you started shouting at the door. I’m sorry. I’ll send someone in to wash it off.’

  ‘I’d be obliged,’ replied Dalziel.

  ‘Fine,’ said Franny. ‘We’ll leave quietly now and go and join the others in the new block. This is purely an internal dispute, of course. I’m extremely sorry you’ve been fetched from your bed. Right, everybody. Pack up! We’re leaving.’

  There was a general bustle round the room, everybody moving except Cockshut who sat glowering at the superintendent. Roote walked over to the door, unlocked it and opened it. Landor and Disney were still outside, joined by a group of other members of staff now. Ellie Soper was there, Marion Cargo and Miss Scotby. Also Pascoe who nodded at Dalziel, and received a slight jerk of the head in reply. He turned and went out of the main door.

  ‘Good evening, Dr Landor,’ said Franny. ‘We’re just leaving.’

  A look of relief passed over the principal’s face, but did not linger long.

  ‘No,’ said Dalziel.

  Everyone stopped. Everyone looked at him.

  ‘No one’s leaving.’

  For a second nobody moved, then there was a general surge towards the open door.

  ‘Sergeant!’

  Through the main entrance came Pascoe accompanied by half a dozen uniformed policemen. They filled the study doorway in a very solid fashion. There was only one of Constable Shattuck who came and stood outside the window, but seen through a glass darkly, he looked even more stern and unpassable than those within.

  Dalziel spoke.

  ‘I am holding everyone in this room on suspicion of illegal entry, of interfering or being accessories to interfering with evidence and statements in an official investigation -

  ‘But we’ve touched nothing!’ protested Franny.’

  ‘I really think,’ began Landor nervously, but Dalziel ignored them both.

  ‘- of causing damage to property by defacing a wall and -‘ he sniffed the air ‘- I think we might add illegal possession of the drug, cannabis. Sergeant. I want the names of everyone here, I want them cautioned individually, I want their statements and I want their fingerprints.’

  ‘He can’t do it,’ said Cockshut, mockingly. ‘The fat bastard’s bluffing.’

  He lifted the cup to his lips. Dalziel moved swiftly across and took it from his hand, careful not to spill the contents.

  ‘I want this analysed as well, Sergeant. If, as my sensitive nose tells me, it is Glen Grant that’s being debased in this coffee, I think we’ll add a charge of theft against Mr Cockshut. Right, now, who’s got the keys?’

  Again a stunned silence.

  ‘Keys?’ said someone tremulously.

  ‘The set of duplicate, or master keys,’ said Dalziel patiently. ‘The ones you used to get into this room, to unlock my desk and my filing cabinet. Those keys. Oh come on, Mr Roote, you’re an intelligent man, I hear. There’ll be fingerprints over every bit of paper you touched in there. And over my whisky bottle too I’ve no doubt.’

  ‘You’re mistaken, I assure you,’ said Franny, spreading out his hands before him, the picture of injured innocence. ‘But I do think if you’re going to make this absurd fuss, lovey, we ought to have some legal representation. We’re entitled, aren’t we?’

  He picked up the telephone before anyone could stop him. Obviously someone was sitting at the ready at the other end of the line.

  ‘Hello, love,’ he said softly. ‘Franny here. We’re having a bit of trouble with the police down in Simeon’s old study. Yes, the police. Just tell the others in case they’re worried, there’s a dear. And get Mr Pearl, the solicitor, on the line. Ask him to come over. Many thanks.’

  He replaced the receiver. Dalziel had made no attempt to interrupt, but his face was hard.

  ‘Dr Landor, these students’ names please.’

  Landor’s face was a mask of misery as he hesitated whether to speak or not, but he was saved from the decision and its attendant obloquy by Miss Disney who pushed forward, majestic in her voluminous, quilted dressing-gown, and said, ‘This is outrageous!’

  For a second, Dalziel thought she was referring to him. But instantly she followed it up by beginning a recital of the names of those present. Pascoe busily made notes.

  Dalziel knew he had to move quickly now. The last thing he wanted was for his investigations to be complicated by a full-scale student-police confrontation. While it had seemed possible to isolate this small group, he had been happy to see they got what he firmly believed they deserved. But the moment Roote had been allowed to lift the telephone, he knew that it would require swift thinking to avoid either a retreat or a battle. Personally, he didn’t give a damn how unpopular he was; in fact at times he gave the impression of revelling in it. But the job he was here to do was nothing to do with student politics and he had no desire to get involved at that particular moment.

  Disney was coming to the end of her recital of names now, oblivious to the abuse which was being directed at her from one or two quarters. Privately, Dalziel appreciated the aptness of many of the epithets, but he was too busy talking to the uniformed men to pay full attention.

  ‘Move away quietly. Wait outside the main gates for half an hour, but don’t come back in unless you get a message direct from me. All right? And keep out of sight, eh?’

  Roote watched them disappear with an amus
ed smile on his face.

  ‘Finished, Sergeant? Right, Mr Roote, if you and your friends will kindly leave, we’ll sort out this matter in the morning.’

  ‘You’ve changed your tune, blubber-gut,’ jeered Cockshut.

  ‘Yes, I have,’ said Dalziel quietly. ‘But I can start playing another, laddie, that’ll make you dance if I have much more of your lip.’

  Cockshut looked as if he was going to indulge in another outburst, but Roote silenced him by making for the door.

  ‘Come along, my dears,’ he said. ‘Let’s go and see the others.’

  He too knew when to make a diplomatic withdrawal. Dalziel followed them out into the warm night and took a couple of deep breaths. They had been just in time. A large and noisy group of students, some hundred he reckoned, was making its way down the drive from the new admin, block. Franny and the others were greeted with rapturous cheers.

  ‘Shall we get inside?’ suggested Pascoe at his shoulder.

  ‘No. There’s just a lot of wind in that lot. Get back in. Here’s my keys. Check there’s nothing missing. I doubt if there will be, they’re not quite daft. In fact Roote looked a sight too complacent. I doubt if we’ll find a print. Not his anyway, but the others are probably less careful. And check my whisky, eh?’

  ‘Why did they want to do it anyway?’ asked Pascoe.

  ‘That’ll bear thinking about. Give me a ring if anything turns up. I’m off to my bed. You’d better make yourself a bed up in the study and spend the night there. I doubt if they’ll be back, but you never know.’

  ‘Right, sir,’ said Pascoe, moving back into the building.

  ‘And, Sergeant, by yourself, mind. You’re on duty, and on duty you sleep by yourself.’

  On or off duty you sleep by yourself, thought Pascoe viciously as he went through the door wondering how many of those in the hall had heard.