Death

Johnson's death may have been a lucky break for Roote, in more ways than one.'

‘I’m not sure he sees it like that. And certainly he doesn't see the rift between your husband and Johnson in quite the same light,' said Pascoe, finding in himself the beginnings of a serious antipathy to this woman.

He guessed she wasn't exactly crazy about him either, and now she proved it.

She said, 'Your name is Pascoe, you say? That name rings familiar. Wasn't one of the policemen who helped put Roote away called Pascoe?'

'That was me,' said Pascoe.

'And he's writing to you, you. say?' She smiled with evident satisfaction. That must be a source of concern to you, Mr Pascoe.'

'Why?'

'Because whenever he spoke of his trial, though he claimed to have sublimated any thought of revenge into other areas, particularly his academic research, I still detected an undercurrent of resentment and a feeling of having been ill done by. Of course, this was years ago, and time does, in some few cases, bring about changes 'Indeed,' interposed Pottle. 'And Mr Roote, some of whose letters I have seen, wrote specifically to the Chief Inspector to assure him he had no thought of revenge.'

Amaryllis smiled again, like a Borgia hostess seeing her guest holding out his wine-glass for a fill-up.

'Well, that's all right then. If someone as devious, as complex and as clever as Franny Roote tells you that he doesn't want to harm you, what have you to worry about? If you'll excuse me, I'm heading back' to Cambridge today and I need to get packed.' She moved away.

Pascoe said to Pottle, That sounded to me very like a vote for my interpretation of Roote's motives. She doesn't go out of her way to be charming, does she?'

Pottle smiled and said, 'Peter, you were aggressive, indeed threatening, and hinted all kinds of criticism of her recently dead husband. What makes you think that psychiatrists are above feelings of resentment and thoughts of revenge? I see you have the good Brother's book. Would you like to get it signed? I think he might welcome being rescued.'

The book-signing queue had diminished to the three female students, who were crowding round Jacques apparently hanging on to his every word and looking ready to hang on to anything else of his they could get hold of. Standing a little to one side, watching with a quizzical smile, was the beautiful blonde.

The predatory trio looked up resentfully as Pottle and Pascoe approached.

'Sorry to interrupt, but you have an appointment to keep, Brother. Ladies, I'm sure you'll find a chance to continue your conversation later in the day.'

Jacques said goodbye to the girls, who retreated, comparing inscriptions.

This appointment…?' he said to Pottle.

'With Mr Pascoe here’ said Pottle. 'Chief Inspector Pascoe who, among other things, would like you to sign his book. Let's find somewhere a little more private.'

As he led them away, Jacques shot an apologetic glance at the blonde. Pottle showed them into a small empty office, closing the door behind them.

'Pascoe?' said Jacques musingly. 'Tell me, you're not Franny Roote's Inspector Pascoe by any chance?'

'Depends in what sense you use the possessive’ said Pascoe.

'In the sense of being the policeman who forced him to confront his anti-social behaviour, understand his motives for it, pay the necessary legal penalty for it, and ultimately become the better, more mature person he is now.'

'That seems to me to be stretching the sense quite a bit,' said Pascoe.

'Yes, he told me you had some problems with coming to terms with your role in his life’ said Jacques.

'I had problems!' Pascoe shook his head vigorously. 'Believe me, Brother, the only problem I've got is dealing with Roote's problems!'

'Which are?'

'Basically that he's a sociopathic fantasist whose unpredictable behaviour makes me very uneasy about my own welfare and that of my family.'

As he spoke, Pascoe was asking himself, What happened to my plan of having a quiet chat with this guy about his crazy chum during the course of which I'd glean many interesting ears of information without him suspecting the true nature of my interest?

'These seem large judgments to make on the basis of a few presumably non-threatening letters.'

'What makes you presume that?' demanded Pascoe. 'And how do you know he's been writing to me anyway?'

'Because he told me so. And as I imagine that written threats to a policeman from a former convict would rapidly result in apprehension and charges, I presume no such threats were made. In any case, Mr Pascoe, I hope it will reassure you to learn that whenever he mentioned your name he did so in terms of great respect and admiration, bordering, I felt, on affection’

'So you talked about me’

'He talked, I listened. The impression I received was of someone exploring his feelings towards someone else and being rather surprised at what he was discovering. I am not a psychologist – Dr Pottle might well be worth consulting on this matter – but my instinct suggests that Franny matured intellectually at an early age, but emotionally and morally is still in late adolescence.'

He regarded Pascoe for a moment as if to assess how he was responding to this analysis, then went on, 'You are perhaps tempted to retaliate by quoting from his letters some deprecating comment he has made about me. But I would suspect that his initial attitude, that I was some kind of – what is your expression? – some kind of religious plonker worth being polite to for the sake of keeping in with his patroness, Mrs Lupin, has moderated somewhat. You see, one thing my line of business has made me expert in is spotting the difference between lip- service and genuine commitment. Franny, I believe, has made a genuine movement.'

'Franny's expertise lies in making people feel what he wants them to feel’ said Pascoe coldly.

'Perhaps. Shall I sign your book, or was that merely your ticket of entry, Chief Inspector?'

'No, please sign it’ said Pascoe, feeling he'd been ungracious enough for one day.

The monk took the book, opened it at the title page, scribbled a few words and handed it back.

Pascoe looked at what he'd written. It was his signature followed by Thessalonians 5, 21.

He said, 'OK, you got me. Save me having to look it up.'

' 'Prove all things: hold fast that which is good.''

That's nice, but for a cop it works out slightly different,' said Pascoe. 'Prove all things: then hold very fast that which is bad. Thank you, Brother.'

He opened the door. Outside he saw the blonde beauty waiting. Suddenly he knew who she was.

'You've made up your mind about Miss Lupin then?' he said.

Jacques didn't look surprised. '

'Yes, I have made up my mind.'

'Congratulations. I hope all goes well for you both.'

'Thank you. Franny is right, you are a sharp man, Mr Pascoe. We would prefer for the moment to keep our news to ourselves. Until people close 'to us have been told. My Brothers, Emerald's mother.'

'Will this affect your Third Thought' work?' asked Pascoe.

'Why should it? I have never ignored the existence of the two other thoughts.'

'Well, good luck. And take care.'

'You too, Mr Pascoe. And God bless you.'

Outside he nodded pleasantly at Emerald and went to find Pottle.

'So what did you get?' asked the psychiatrist.

'I got blessed. In both our languages,' said Pascoe.

The house in which Jake Frobisher had died was a large semi-detached building in monumental granite which age and atmosphere had darkened to mausoleum grey. Situated on the edge of the Fulford suburb of the city, its small front and side gardens were sadly neglected by comparison with others in the road, and the paintwork on the doors and windows was cracked and flaking too.

Pascoe, ever ready to put two and two together, read its history as rich tradesman's dwelling slowly declining towards multiple occupation till it became either by purchase or long lease wholly a student residence,