Death's Jest-Book (68 page)

Leaving the other mums to get the
kids into a rough kind of line, Ellie went outside to summon Rosie
and her friend. Little Mary came instantly, but Rosie yelled, 'Just
one more go,' and vanished into the Dragon. The sound of sirens was
nearer, coming from all sides. Along the walkway beyond the play
area, Ellie saw four men running, two of them in some kind of
uniform. One of the uniformed men and a short square man in overalls
were carrying a crate between them. The other uniformed man was
jogging alongside another man in overalls who was huge and carried
something in his right hand.

It looked like a gun.

'Oh Jesus,' said Ellie. Then she
screamed, 'Rosie!'

Her daughter had appeared on top
of the dragon. She waved at her mother and launched herself down the
switchback neck. The beast roared, the crimson smoke belched, Rosie
vanished into it and, when she reappeared through the fumes, she was
caught up under the big man's left arm.

'Mum!' yelled the little girl.

Ellie began to run forward. Their
paths must intersect. The gun began to wave in her direction but she
knew it didn't matter. It would take more than a gun to stop her now.

But before her suicidal bravado
could be put to the test, there was the sound of a siren behind her
and a police car came round the side of the Jumbo Burger Bar.

The fleeing men changed
direction, now heading away from the play area towards the crowded
commercial shopping area of Estotiland.

Ellie went in pursuit, but as
they disappeared through a sliding glass door, she felt herself
seized from behind.

She turned on her captor,
swinging her fists, but stopped struggling when she saw the
unmistakable features of Edgar Wield.

'They've got Rosie’ she
sobbed.

'It'll be OK, Ellie,' he said
urgently. 'There's nowhere for them to go.'

She wanted to believe him, she
wanted to run after her daughter, she wanted .. . above all - fuck
feminism - she wanted her husband.

'Wieldy,' she said. 'Get Peter,
for me. Please. Get Peter!'

‘It's
funny,' said Roote. 'You know where the quotation comes from?'

'Death's
Jest-Book,'
said Pascoe. 'What's so funny about that?'

'Just the context. A message of
love from Sam. But if you look at the context of the quote, we're
back with that tragic irony you were talking about, Mr Pascoe. Here
it is.'

He took down the other volume of
Beddoes' works and opened it at a page which was marked by what
looked like a sheet of writing paper.

He said, 'Athulf, the Duke's son,
is talking to his brother, Adalmar. He says "I have drunk myself
immortal." His brother replies, "You are poisoned?"
And Athulf says,

I am blessed, Adalmar. I've
done't myself,

'Tis nearly passed, for I
begin to hear

Strange but sweet sounds, and
the loud rocky dashing

Of waves, where time into
Eternity

Falls over ruined worlds.

Beautiful, isn't it?'

'I'm not here to discuss
aesthetics,' said Pascoe wearily. 'If you've got a point, make it,
then I'll arrest you.'

'Yes, I'm sorry. My point is.. .
.I think you'd better read this, Mr Pascoe.'

He removed the bookmark and
handed it over. Pascoe now saw that it was indeed a sheet of writing
paper which was enclosed in a piece of transparent plastic through
which he could see writing.

He looked up at Roote, who nodded
encouragingly. And sympathetically.

Don't read this, Pascoe told
himself. It's another spell this evil sorcerer is laying on you. Take
him in, hand htm over to Fat Andy, the Witchfinder General!

But even as he told himself not
to read, his eyes were taking in the scrawled words.

Darling Sam its all too much
its not just the work though thats more than I can get through
without the help you promised me its what you said to me I thought
you loved me more than that Im looking at the watch you gave me as I
write well my worlds really broken now why did you do this to me
youve been carrying me for two years now you always said that as long
as you were around I didnt need to worry about grades or anything
whats changed Sam except that you stopped loving me or maybe all I
ever was to you was an easy way of getting your gear theres no other
explanation and I cant bear it I wont bear it Jake

'What's this supposed to be?'
said Pascoe, trying for mocking scepticism and failing. In any case
Roote looked beyond reach of such weak weapons as he began talking in
a rapid low drone, as if returning somewhere he didn't want to be and
wanting out fast.

'I was round at Sam's that night,
it was supposed to be a review session on my thesis but he wasn't in
any state to review anything except his own psyche. He drank and
rambled about Jake and what he meant to him. There are plenty of
nasty people around in the academic world, Mr Pascoe, and when it
became known that Jake's assessment work was way behind schedule, it
was made clear to Sam that this new deadline was absolute and
unextendable, and if there were the slightest hint that Sam had been
offering any special assistance, either by way of writing the
assignments or grading them, it wouldn't just be Jake's head on the
block. So he'd given him a real talking to and tried to shock him
into a realization that he had to find his own salvation. Now he was
beginning to feel he'd gone too far. You should never talk to someone
you loved like that. He wanted to go round and see Frobisher and
apologize. What did a stupid degree matter anyway? They could set up
house together, Jake could act as his research assistant, happiness
ever after was still a possibility, lots of maudlin crap like that.'

'I can see how it would have
touched your heart’ said Pascoe sarcastically.

'I'm not pretending I was sorry
to see the relationship heading for the rocks,' said Roote. 'I
stopped him going out, he kept on drinking and in the end I put him
to bed about midnight. Then the phone started ringing. I answered it.
It was Frobisher. He just assumed I was Sam and started off with all
these incoherent ramblings. I remember thinking, Christ, I just get
shot of one self-absorbed monologue, and now I'm right into another.
Then what Jake was actually saying began to get through. He'd taken
something, lots of things from the sound of it. My first reaction
was, good riddance! I'm not proud of it, but there you go. Finally he
stopped speaking, and then I got to thinking what this really meant.
And I knew I had to go round there.'

To make sure he'd done the job
properly?' said Pascoe.

Roote smiled wanly but ignored
the crack. ‘I got round there, found his door unlocked and him
lying on the floor. He was dead.'

'Well, that was handy.'

'It was disastrous’ said
Roote coldly. 'I found this note. I knew that Jake's suicide would
devastate Sam. Plus the knives were out for him in the university,
and the reference to Frobisher supplying him with dope would finish
him professionally. So I had to do whatever I could to tidy things
up. I sat Jake at his table and dug out all his unfinished work and
set it round him, making it look like he'd been really trying to get
it into shape. Then I put the jug and glass by his hand. I put some
pill bottles there too, empty of everything except a few uppers. I
checked I'd done everything I could to make it look accidental, and
left. I took the note for obvious reasons, and the watch because I
didn't want some smart cop making connections with Sam, and the drug
stash to stop awkward questions being asked around the house. The
rest you know.'

Pascoe sat in silence for a long
while. Once more it seemed he was cast as Tantulus; the closer to the
prize he came, the more bitter the pain of seeing it snatched away.

He said, 'And you kept the note
because ....?'

'Because if it ever emerged that
I had been there that night, I needed something to back up my story.
You can check it's Frobisher's handwriting, and of course it'll have
his fingerprints all over it. As I'm sure you'd agree, Mr Pascoe,
without it, I might have a problem persuading some people that all I
did was help a friend in need.'

'That's true,' said Pascoe,
looking at the note thoughtfully.

Roote smiled.

'Another man, Mr Daziel might be
tempted to lose this note. Or bum it.'

'What makes you think I'm so
diffrenet?’

Roote didn't
reply but took the unresisting fingers and removed it from Pascoe’s
unresisting fingers
.
Then he rifled through the contents of
desk drawer which Pascoe had deposited on the carpet. with a
cigarette lighter and nicked on the flame.

'What are you doing?' said Pascoe
unnecessarily. He knew what was going to happen but he had no
strength to stop it.

'Just clearing up,' said Roote.

He held the flame beneath the
paper till it shrivelled up and fell away in ashes.

'There,' said Roote. 'Now you can
proceed without any risk of contradiction, Mr Pascoe. If you are so
convinced of my guilt, the way is clear. You've proof I was there. I
admit I interfered with the scene. As for the rest, it's just the
word of a convicted felon. Sounds like you've got a pretty good case.
Shall we go down to the station now?'

It's always me being judged, me
being tested, thought Pascoe desperately. Shall I call his bluff, if
it is a bluff? Could be the real reason he burnt that note is that
now no one can ever check the writing and the prints. Could be he
wrote it himself against this eventuality, and now I'm the only
living person who can vouch that it ever existed!

His head felt muzzy and heavy. He
should still be in bed. He was in no state to be making this kind of
decision. What to do? What to do?

Somewhere a phone rang.

'Aren't you going to answer
that?' he demanded.

'I think’ said Roote, 'it's
yours.'

Pascoe reached into his pocket
and took out his mobile.

He didn't want to talk to
anybody, but anybody was better than talking to Roote. 'Yes’ he
croaked.

'Pete, that you?' said Wield's
voice.

'Yes.'

'Pete, I'm at Estotiland. We've
got a bad situation here.'

Pascoe listened. After a while
his legs gave way and he sat down heavily. Questions crowded his mind
but he couldn't find the words for them.

He said, 'I'm coming.'

With difficulty he stood up.

Roote looked
with alarm at his colourless face and said, 'Mr Pascoe, are
you ill?'

'I've got to go.'

'Go where? Please, sit down, I'll
call a doctor.'

'I've got to go to Estotiland. My
daughter. . .'

He began to move to the door like
a man walking on Saturn.

'You can't drive,' said Roote.
'Not without your car keys anyway.'

He picked up Pascoe's discarded
jacket, felt in the pockets, produced the keys.

'Give them here,' snarled Pascoe.

'No way,' said Roote. 'You'll
kill yourself. Tell you what, though, I'll drive you. Deal? Come on,
Mr Pascoe. You know I'm right.'

'You always are, Franny, that's
your problem,' said Pascoe, not resisting. 'You always fucking are.'

Roote
drove as Pascoe, if he'd been in a state to notice, would have
expected him to drive. Smoothly, efficiently, never taking obvious
risks, but always first away at lights, slipping into the narrowest
of gaps at intersections, overtaking slower vehicles at the earliest
opportunity, so that they were out of town and hurtling down the road
to Estotiland in the shortest time possible.

As he drove he asked questions.
Pascoe, using all his will to hold himself together mentally and
physically, had none left over to resist interrogation and answered
automatically. The whole story unfolded. Only once did Roote make any
attempt at conventional reassurance and that was when Polchard was
mentioned.

'Mate?' he said. 'Then there's
nothing to worry about. Necessary violence only. He'll know there's
no benefit in hurting your daughter.'

'Where was the benefit in
drowning Lee Lubanski?' replied Pascoe dully. 'He did it all the
same.'

As they approached the Complex,
Roote said, 'Looks like wall-to-wall fuzz ahead. You got one of those
noddy lights? Else we're going to take forever getting through.'
Pascoe reached in the back and found the lamp. He hadn't used it
since that morning he'd raced along the bus lane to get Rosie to her
clarinet lesson on time, the same morning he'd had his apparent
vision of Roote.

Even with the lamp flashing, a
couple of cops seemed inclined to check their progress but rapidly
hopped aside as Roote wove his way through the scatter of cars with
undiminished speed.

'We've got to find out where to
go’ said Pascoe, reaching for his phone.

'It's all right. I'm following Mr
Dalziel.'

Pascoe had been aware of a car
ahead of them, but now for the first time he realized who was in it.

As he watched, it skidded to a
stop by a side door in the structure holding the main shopping mall.
The Fat Man got out and headed inside. Pascoe reached over and leaned
on the horn. Dalziel paused, looked round, then waited for them to
get out and join him. His gaze touched curiously on Roote but his
main concern was for Pascoe.

'Pete, you look like shit. But
I'm glad you're here for Ellie's sake. No change as far as I can make
out. Let's get inside and check.'

They went inside. A few steps
behind, Roote followed.

They climbed a
flight of stairs till they reached a door marked security - no
admittance without pass. A uniformed constable stood outside. For a
moment he looked inclined to hinder their progress, but one look at
Dalziel's face changed his mind.

Inside they passed through a
large office into an even larger control room with TV monitors banked
up an entire wall. There were several people here, including Wield
and DI Rose. And Ellie.