Death dap-20

by Reginald Hill

  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.

  'Not yet. There's a phone up there. We keep on ringing but no one's picked it up yet.'

  'Can we see anything on the closed circuit?' asked Pascoe, staring desperately at the wall of screens.

  'Sorry. Those two there, B3 and 4, cover that area of the top floor.'

  'Shot them out, did they?'

  'Don't think so’ said a man in a black suit. 'I'm Kilroy, Head of Security for Estotiland. I think they've got someone who knows his electronics. I think they simply disconnected th
em.'

  Ellie said to Pascoe, 'But they saw them arrive before the monitors went. Rosie was with them, she looked OK, isn't that right?'

  She was asking for a repeat reassurance for herself as much as for her husband.

  One of the security men monitoring the screens turned round and nodded reassuringly.

  'Yeah, she was walking with one of them, he was holding her hand, but she didn't look distressed or owt. In fact she seemed to be talking away ten to the dozen.'

  'That's my girl,' said Dalziel. 'She'll be grand.'

  Ignoring him, Pascoe said, 'Any other hostages? The place must have been packed with people.'

  'We sounded the fire alarm,' said Wield. 'Got everyone out double quick. We'd no idea where they were headed and it seemed best just to clear the whole complex.'

  'Drills worked a treat,' said Kilroy. 'Everyone safely out in eight and a half minutes.'

  'Nice to know your fire drills work so well,' grated Dalziel. 'Likely you'll get a bonus.'

  'Sir, one of Mr Kilroy's men's in hospital, critical,' said Wield warningly.

  'Is that right? I'm sorry for it, Mr Kilroy.'

  The radio Wield was holding crackled into life.

  'Control to Serpent 5.'

  Dalziel seized it and said, 'Fuck serpents. Dalziel here. What?'

  'We've got all four now, sir. You know we picked up the first two when they dumped the security van

  'Don't waste my time telling me things I bloody well know!' roared Dalziel.

  'Sorry, sir. The pair in the transit spotted the arrest and took off. Pursued them for fifty miles, then crashed on the Al, no serious injuries.'

  'More's the pity. That it?'

  'Just hearing from Sergeant Bowman and the team that went round to interview Mr Belchamber. Bit odd.'

  'I like odd’ said Dalziel. 'Patch me through. Bowman, Dalziel here. What's the situation?'

  'We're outside Belchamber's house. His car's here, open. There's a bag in it with a bunch of money and a plane ticket for Malaga. OK to break the front door down, sir?'

  'With a bulldozer if you like,' growled Dalziel.

  He looked at the others. He could see on the Pascoes' faces the thought that this was an unnecessary diversion. He wasn't about to tell them it was necessary for him, to give himself time to work out what the hell to do next.

  'Sir, Bowman here. We're inside. We've found Mr Belchamber. He's wearing fancy dress. Some sort of Roman soldier's outfit, I think. And he's got a sword stuck in his belly. Ambulance on the way.'

  'Not dead then?' said Dalziel.

  'Not yet, but it don't look like it's going to be long, sir.'

  'Oh, tell him to take as long as he likes,' said Dalziel. 'Keep me posted.'

  He tossed the radio back to Wield and said, 'All right, Mr Kilroy, you're the on-the-spot -expert. How do you see the situation here?'

  'From the point of view of containment, we've got them bottled up,' said the security man. 'No way out. But no easy way in either to take them by surprise. Defensively, they've picked the best spot in the complex.'

  'He's right,' said a new voice.

  The door had opened and a man in ARU gear had come in.

  'You Curtis?' said Dalziel.

  'Yes, sir.'

  'So what's the problem? There's only four of them, right?'

  The newcomer, a crop-haired man who looked like he worked out between work-outs, glanced frowningly at Ellie.

  'It's all right’ said Dalziel. 'You can talk in front of Mrs Pascoe. She's one of us.'

  Meaning, thought Wield, if I could think of any way of getting her out of here, I would, but I can't, so let's set on with it!

  "Four's enough, depending on how many of them are armed’ said Curtis.

  'Only saw one weapon’ said Wield.

  'You want to bet money they don't have more?'

  Wield shook his head.

  'Me neither. The point is, where they are there's no windows. There's an office with one door on to the retail floor. Behind the office there's a series of stock rooms with a service lift. They've immobilized the lift, so our only approach is full frontal on the office door across the display area, which we reckon they've got full CCTV coverage of.'

  'All retail sections have their own monitors for on-the-spot surveillance for shoplifters and so on’ explained Kilroy. 'All they had to do was disconnect our link.'

  'We could cut off power, but the one thing we've heard from them was someone yelling out, "Anyone touches the electrics and we come out shooting with the little girl leading the way."'

  He glanced apologetically at Ellie.

  'So they can see us but we can't see them? Bloody marvellous’ said Dalziel. 'So what are your recommendations, Inspector?'

  'Limited options, I'm afraid. Either the long game or direct assault full frontal

  'You mean stun grenades and CS gas?' said Ellie. 'Andy, for God's sake, tell them!'

  'It's OK. We'll do nowt that will risk harming Rosie’ assured the Fat Man. 'What about listening devices? Photo optics? We need to know what's going on in there’

  'We're working on it’ said Curtis. 'Like I say, it's hard getting any kind of access’

  'He seems to be managing’ said one of the security men before the monitors.

  Everyone looked. On one of the screens a figure was striding boldly through a display of men's outdoor clothing towards a line of lifts. A man in plainclothes intercepted him and spoke. He took something out of his pocket, showed it, said a few words, then entered one of the lifts and the doors closed behind him.

  'Christ almighty, it's Roote!' exclaimed Dalziel. 'Who's that plonker he spoke to?'

  'He's one of mine’ said Rose, pulling out his mobile.

  He did a quick dial. The man on the screen took out his phone and put it to his ear.

  'Joe’ said Rose, 'that guy you just let get into the lift.. ‘

  He listened then said, 'He says it was DCI Pascoe. He showed him his warrant.'

  Pascoe slapped his hand to his pocket.

  'Shit!' he said. 'The bastard had hold of my jacket.'

  'Where's he going?' said Dalziel.

  There he is, top floor. Looks like he's heading for the lingerie department’ said Kilroy.

  'We'll soon stop him’ said Curtis, raising his radio.

  'No!' cried Ellie.

  Curtis looked at her, looked at Dalziel.

  'Andy’ said Ellie, 'he's doing something. Nobody else is.'

  The Fat Man said, 'Pete?'

  Pascoe rubbed his hand across his face. Pale before, now all colour seemed erased by the movement.

  He said, hopelessly, 'Let him go. Why not? Perhaps… Let him go.'

  'Inspector, tell your men not to get in his way’ ordered Dalziel.

  'Your decision, sir’ said Curtis, in a tone which said just as clearly, And your career.

  He spoke into his radio. They watched as Roote walked off the edge of the monitor.

  'He's into the area covered by the dead cameras’ said Kilroy.

  Curtis, his radio clamped to his ear, said, 'Sir, my men have him in sight. He's standing looking towards the door of the stock area like he wants to be seen. Now he's walking across the display area. He's at the door. It's opening. He's gone inside.'

  'So what do we do now?' said Stan Rose.

  They all looked at Dalziel.

  He scratched his left buttock like the Count of Monte Cristo beginning to work on the walls of his cell.

  'We wait’ he said. 'Pete, lad, you always said yon Roote could talk a rabbi into sharing a packet of pork scratchings. Let's hope that for once you're right about the sod!'

  Franny Roote! It really is you. Here, what do you think?'

  Mate Polchard was sitting behind a desk on which he had placed a travelling chessboard with magnetic pieces.

  On the floor, seated against an open packing case, was Rosie Pascoe, eating a chocolate bar. On her head rested a cirque of gold in the form of two snakes. She glanced a
t the newcomer, decided he didn't look much fun, and returned her full attention to the chocolate. Nearby a short squat blockhouse of a man in blue overalls was watching. a couple of security screens on which the lingerie retail floor could be seen in its entirety. Of the other two gang members, there was no sign.

  Roote advanced and looked at the disposition of pieces on the chessboard. It was an early middlegame situation, the pieces developed, no losses yet on either side, but Black had a bit of a problem in the centre.

  'Samisch – Capablanca 1929,' he said. 'Black's knackered.'

  'Bit early to be saying that, isn't it?' said Polchard, frowning.

  'That's what Capablanca thought. Played on for another fifty moves. He still lost’ said Roote. 'He'd have done better to give in gracefully and go off for a bit of shut-eye.'

  'That's how it looks to you, is it?'

  'That's how it is, Mate,' said Roote. 'Like you once said to me, the thing about chess is it teaches you to see things that have happened before they've happened.'

  'I said that? Must be true. How've you been, Fran? Never came to see me in Wales.'

  'You know how it is,' said Roote. 'Out on licence, they see you associating with the king of crime, they don't listen when you say we're just playing chess. Then, later on, I got a new life going. I'm an academic now. A teacher, sort of.'

  'I know what a fucking academic is,' said Polchard.

  'Do you? Wish I did,' said Roote placatingly.

  'Much money in it?'

  'If you know where to look.'

  ‘That's the secret, isn't it? Knowing where to look. That kid there, she's got more money on her bonce than you'll ever see, I'd guess.'