Dialogues of the Dead

In the interview room, Dalziel laid out the facts about the poisoning rather more baldly than Pascoe would have done. When he mentioned that the Midazolam had been placed first in the whisky bottle then transferred to the coffee mug, Roote interrupted. 'We didn't drink coffee. This proves it. Someone else must have been there.' Dalziel nodded and made a note, as if grateful for the suggeson. Pascoe came in. 'What did you drink?' 'Whisky. And we had sandwiches.' 'What kind?' 'I don't know. Mine was cheese, his was chicken, I think. He stopped at a garage on the way back from the pub and bought them, so they all tasted much the same, I dare say. Is this relevant to anything?' 'Just necessary detail, Mr Roote,' said Pascoe, who knew the value of grinding away at matters that irritated a suspect. 'You eat anything else? Either of you?' 'No. Yes, Sam bought a couple of chocolate bars, Yorldes. He ate his. I don't eat chocolate.' 'Why's that?' . 'It brings on migraine. What the hell is going on here? What's this got to do with Sam's death?' 'Please bear with me, Mr Roote. This Yorkie bar you didn't eat, did you take it out of its wrapper?' : 'Of course I didn't! Why the hell should I?' 'Maybe you miss chocolate and even though you can't eat it, you like to look at it, smell it, perhaps?' 'No! For God's sake, Mr Dalziel, I've lost a dear friend here and all I'm hearing is waffle about my diet!' Anyone in his seat appealing to the Fat Man for assistance was really in trouble, thought Pascoe gleefully. Dalziel said, 'Mr Pascoe's just trying to get things straight, Mr Roote. Let's get back to this coffee. You say you didn't drink any, so he must have made it after you left, right?' 'Right. Someone else must have come, someone he knew.' 'You're very keen on this other visitor,' said Dalziel doubtfully. 'But we only found one mug, and our lab has established that Johnson definitely drank from it.' 'What's that prove? It's easy to wash a mug. Which cafetiere did he use?' 'How do you know he used a cafetiere?' 'He always made real coffee. He despised instant. And he had a small one cup cafetiere he used if he was by himself and a large one if he had company. It was the large one, wasn't it?' 'You got into the room, Mr Roote. You probably saw for yourself. On the table by his chair.' 'I wasn't looking at the fucking furniture, you moron!' shouted Roote, leaping up with a violence that knocked his chair backwards and shifted the table toward his two interrogators. 'Interview suspended while the witness gets a hold of himself,' said Dalziel equably. Outside, he said, 'The lad seems upset. You weren't making faces at him behind my back, were you?' 'No,' said Pascoe. 'It's Roote who's making faces at us. We've got to get behind them.' 'Bit of plastic surgery with a truncheon, you mean? Nay, don't take on so. I just can't see if he's involved why he's so keen to cry murder.' 'He's clever and he's devious,' said Pascoe. 'Just because we can't see where he's heading, doesn't mean he's lost.' 'Wish I could say the same for us. So, this bloody cafetiere, which were Johnson using, the big 'un or the little 'un?' 'The large one. And yes, it looks as if several cups had been poured from it, always presuming he'd filled it to the top in the first place. Path. report suggests Johnson had downed a fair amount of coffee shortly before he died, but exact measures aren't on the menu.'