Reginald Hill

“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?”