Reginald Hill

“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 the 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.