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.
She saw her husband and came to him in a rush. They embraced like lovers on a sinking ship, each other's last hope in a disintegrating world.
Dalziel said, 'Situation?'
He spoke to Wield, not to Rose.
The sergeant said, 'There's four of them. They're on the top floor, back of the building, lingerie department.'
'Lingerie!'
'No significance. Just happens to be the section you arrive at if you keep heading up towards the roof, which was what they were after, I reckon. It's a flat roof with several fire escapes. By the time they showed there, we'd got the escapes covered, though. DI Rose's quick thinking saw to that.'
For the first time Dalziel looked at the South Yorkshire DI.
'Stan, isn't it?' he said. 'Stan the Serpent. How do you see things, Hissing Stan?'
Poor sod, thought Wield. He's tracked dirt on to Andy Dalziel's carpet and he's going to have his nose rubbed in it.
Rose said, 'We've got an Armed Response Unit in position, all exits covered, Inspector Curtis in charge, he's out there doing a recce at the moment.'
Pascoe and Ellie had broken apart now.
Pascoe said, 'What about contact? Have they made any demands?'
He was still looking like shit, thought Dalziel, but not such bad shit. Nothing like being at the front to stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood.