torn part of the scalp away. The result had been a scar and a small bald patch. Hence the wig.
"Now we can ask the question,' said Dalziel. It was nearly 10 p.m. He was sitting at Lander's desk. In his hands was the commemorative plaque removed from the base of the statue.
"And the question is, what is Miss. Girling doing here, under her own memorial, when best report places her firmly in some Austrian cemetery?" "That's a good question,' said Pascoe. ' you, it did strike me as odd that she should have been left over there in the first place. Why not bring her body back to be buried in the land of her fathers with all due military and civic honours?"
"Expensive."
"She can't have been short of a bob or two, a single woman with a job like this. Someone must have got it."
"What do you know about the way she died?' asked Dalziel. ' was supposed to have died?"
"Nothing. I just assumed she'd run into a tree or over a cliff or something. If I'd known she'd had two broken legs and a stripped scalp, it wouldn't even have surprised me. It's not possible, I suppose, that she could have cracked her head in the accident and some nut had her corpse brought home and secretly buried here?"
"It's bloody unlikely,' said Dalziel. ', we can't sleep on this.
Someone must know. There must be a doctor's report. A death certificate.
Something. I know. That woman, the senior thing."
"Miss. Scotby?"
"That's right. She was a great mate, wasn't she? Get her over here." "I thought it was Miss. Disney who claimed to be the bosom friend, sir?"
Dalziel groaned.
"I couldn't bear them both at once. Scotby preferably, but Disney if you must."
There was a list of staff numbers beside the internal phone. Neither Miss. Scotby nor Miss. Disney answered.
"They keep later hours than I'd have thought,' said Pascoe.
"Or else they're in bed. Look, scout around see if you can dig up either of them. I've got some phoning to do."
Pascoe left, not certain where he was going. The building they were in seemed completely deserted. Outside, his gaze was immediately attracted to a row of brightly-lit windows in one of the new buildings. The curtains were only partly drawn and inside he could see what looked like a colourfully decorated lounge bar.
Ellie! The memory of their appointment for a drink after dinner rushed back into his mind. Their first encounter had not gone particularly well. This could kill it dead, he thought as he pushed open the door.
He was certain she would have left long before. Five minutes had always been her limit even in the days of their closest relationship.
But she was still there. His mind had become used even in their short previous meeting to the changes half a dozen years can make; and now, comparisons over, he was suddenly reminded of how attractive she was.
She looked up and smiled. For a moment Pascoe thought she had seen him, then he saw a tall, slim young man moving from the bar clutching a couple of glasses before him.
He would have retreated at this point, not wanting to compound unpunctuality with unwanted interruption, but Eleanor glanced his way and he was forced to go on, though the smile had faded and the line of her jaw became set in an aggression as memory-stimulating as her beauty.
"Sorry,' he said. ' was work to be done."
"A bore,' sympathized the young man putting a gin in front of Ellie. He looked with interest at Pascoe.
"I'm Halfdane,' he said. ' Halfdane."
"This is Sergeant Pascoe. I was telling you about him,' said Ellie, making it sound unpleasant.
"Can I get you a drink?' asked Halfdane.
"No, thanks,' said Pascoe.
"Duty,' murmured Ellie. ' on the telly."
"It's quiet in here,' said Pascoe, attempting the light touch. ' expected wild revelry."
"It usually is pretty quiet mid-week. But even the regulars haven't turned up tonight. Roote and his mob haven't been in, have they?" "No,' said Ellie. ' since I arrived and that was a long time ago.
Perhaps there's a party." "Roote?' said
"Now we can ask the question,' said Dalziel. It was nearly 10 p.m. He was sitting at Lander's desk. In his hands was the commemorative plaque removed from the base of the statue.
"And the question is, what is Miss. Girling doing here, under her own memorial, when best report places her firmly in some Austrian cemetery?" "That's a good question,' said Pascoe. ' you, it did strike me as odd that she should have been left over there in the first place. Why not bring her body back to be buried in the land of her fathers with all due military and civic honours?"
"Expensive."
"She can't have been short of a bob or two, a single woman with a job like this. Someone must have got it."
"What do you know about the way she died?' asked Dalziel. ' was supposed to have died?"
"Nothing. I just assumed she'd run into a tree or over a cliff or something. If I'd known she'd had two broken legs and a stripped scalp, it wouldn't even have surprised me. It's not possible, I suppose, that she could have cracked her head in the accident and some nut had her corpse brought home and secretly buried here?"
"It's bloody unlikely,' said Dalziel. ', we can't sleep on this.
Someone must know. There must be a doctor's report. A death certificate.
Something. I know. That woman, the senior thing."
"Miss. Scotby?"
"That's right. She was a great mate, wasn't she? Get her over here." "I thought it was Miss. Disney who claimed to be the bosom friend, sir?"
Dalziel groaned.
"I couldn't bear them both at once. Scotby preferably, but Disney if you must."
There was a list of staff numbers beside the internal phone. Neither Miss. Scotby nor Miss. Disney answered.
"They keep later hours than I'd have thought,' said Pascoe.
"Or else they're in bed. Look, scout around see if you can dig up either of them. I've got some phoning to do."
Pascoe left, not certain where he was going. The building they were in seemed completely deserted. Outside, his gaze was immediately attracted to a row of brightly-lit windows in one of the new buildings. The curtains were only partly drawn and inside he could see what looked like a colourfully decorated lounge bar.
Ellie! The memory of their appointment for a drink after dinner rushed back into his mind. Their first encounter had not gone particularly well. This could kill it dead, he thought as he pushed open the door.
He was certain she would have left long before. Five minutes had always been her limit even in the days of their closest relationship.
But she was still there. His mind had become used even in their short previous meeting to the changes half a dozen years can make; and now, comparisons over, he was suddenly reminded of how attractive she was.
She looked up and smiled. For a moment Pascoe thought she had seen him, then he saw a tall, slim young man moving from the bar clutching a couple of glasses before him.
He would have retreated at this point, not wanting to compound unpunctuality with unwanted interruption, but Eleanor glanced his way and he was forced to go on, though the smile had faded and the line of her jaw became set in an aggression as memory-stimulating as her beauty.
"Sorry,' he said. ' was work to be done."
"A bore,' sympathized the young man putting a gin in front of Ellie. He looked with interest at Pascoe.
"I'm Halfdane,' he said. ' Halfdane."
"This is Sergeant Pascoe. I was telling you about him,' said Ellie, making it sound unpleasant.
"Can I get you a drink?' asked Halfdane.
"No, thanks,' said Pascoe.
"Duty,' murmured Ellie. ' on the telly."
"It's quiet in here,' said Pascoe, attempting the light touch. ' expected wild revelry."
"It usually is pretty quiet mid-week. But even the regulars haven't turned up tonight. Roote and his mob haven't been in, have they?" "No,' said Ellie. ' since I arrived and that was a long time ago.
Perhaps there's a party." "Roote?' said
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