Reginald Hill - Death

'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.