Quintin Jardine: Dead And Buried

‘Where did we get to?’

Bob Skinner blinked as he spoke. ‘I’m sorry, Kevin, what was that? I let myself drift away there. It must be too damned warm in here. Is that one of your head-shrinker’s tricks?’

The man opposite gazed back at him, a half-smile flicking a corner of his mouth. He made a faint sound that might have been a sigh; but then again, probably not, more likely only a simple drawing of breath. Kevin O’Malley was famous for his patience, that unshakeable, remorseless patience which made it virtually impossible to evade his questions, or to answer them in anything other than direct terms.

The deputy chief constable envied him: his own interrogation technique, successful as it had proved over the years, was based on relentless psychological pressure, rather than compassion. He guessed that in the weeks to come, he might find himself trying to adopt some of the consultant psychiatrist’s methods.

‘I asked you to think back to the other times you’ve had to use a firearm on duty.’

‘Times?’

‘We’ve had this conversation before, remember.’

‘Sure, I remember.’ Skinner scowled at him. ‘They say I’m smart, Kevin, but when I drafted the standing order that requires all officers to have counselling whenever they’ve been involved in a shooting incident, I didn’t have the bloody wit to add, “apart from me”!’

‘What have you got against counselling, Bob?’

‘You know bloody well, for I’ve told you often enough. I don’t like anyone rummaging inside my head.’

‘Maybe not, but. .’

‘But nothing. .’

O’Malley’s smile seemed slightly at odds with the look in his eye. ‘But plenty: you’ve had a crisis with buried secrets in the past. There were things in there that you weren’t admitting, even to yourself.’

‘That’s in the past. There’s nothing I can’t cope with, not any more.’

‘So answer my last question.’

‘It wasn’t a question. You asked me to think back.’

‘So do it.’

‘I’m doing it.’

O’Malley waited.

‘There was the time when we had the Syrian president in Edinburgh and some people had a go at him.’

‘Yes. And you shot one of them.’

‘I did. Not long after that there was an incident in the castle. I was there and armed, and I had to fire again. I hit him too.’

‘Both these people died?’

‘The first one died at the scene; the second was only wounded, but he died later in hospital, not directly of his wounds, something to do with the treatment. . something about an embolism, as I recall.’

‘But were you trying to kill him?’

‘I was trying to render him harmless. Since he was pointing a fucking Uzi at me at the time, that did call for something pretty terminal.’

‘And this most recent episode?’

‘There was a situation; I had no choice but to fire.’

‘Were you in mortal danger yourself?’

‘No, but someone else was. I fired, I hit, the captive got away.’

‘The person you shot this time, did he die?’

‘Yes, but I’m not sure whether I killed him or not. His group escaped in a boat, which was later taken out by RAF action. They found three bodies, but it was a Humpty Dumpty situation.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean that putting all the pieces back together was an impossible job.’

‘I see.’

Uncharacteristically, O’Malley frowned, as if the words had conjured up a vision that he would rather not have seen. He took a sip from the coffee cup on his table as he looked at his patient.

‘What are you thinking, Kevin?’ Skinner asked him.

‘You tell me.’

‘You’re thinking that for someone who’s admitting to having shot three human beings, I’m remarkably self-possessed. You’re thinking that you’ve examined psychopaths who reacted to their actions much as I have.’

‘Crimes.’

‘What?’

‘Who reacted to their crimes: you avoided the use of the word.’

‘So?’

‘Do you feel remorse for these three deaths? Do you ever have nightmares?’

‘Do their faces come back to haunt me, d’you mean?’

‘Something like that.’

‘In truth, Kevin, I don’t remember what any of them even looked like. The last one I never saw, other than through a night-sight. . and then only the back of him.’ The DCC paused. ‘Look, I have the odd bad dream, but they’re not like I’m haunted. My nightmares are usually about what would have happened if things had gone the other way, if my gun had jammed, or if I’d missed my shot.’

‘Doesn’t that make you worry that you might be a psychopathic personality?’

A ball of almost tangible tension seemed to hang in the air as Skinner stared at his inquisitor. . Then it vanished, as he laughed.

‘Bollocks, man, I’m no such thing. I react to situations in the way I’m trained to; that doesn’t make me a psycho. And you know why it doesn’t just as well as I do. . at least I hope you do. It’s because I care, Kevin. I care about society, I love my family, and I fear the impact on them if anything happened to me. That’s what gives me the strength to deal with these things, not some inner voice that says, “Hey, I’ve got a gun and a licence to shoot that bastard!” Don’t be fucking crazy, man.’

‘I’m a psychiatrist,’ O’Malley retorted. ‘Of course I’m crazy, we all get that way in the end. Don’t worry, Bob, your self-analysis is spot on. If it wasn’t, I’d be in a difficult position, for when I report to the chief constable I’d have to recommend that you never had a firearm placed in your hand again, and maybe even that you were compulsorily retired.’

‘Some might thank you for that, but Sir James Proud wouldn’t. . I hope.’

‘It’s not long to his own retirement, so I guess that losing you is the last thing he’d want.’ The psychiatrist paused. ‘Getting back on topic, Bob, we’ve dealt with the effect this and other incidents have had on you, but what about your family? How has your wife dealt with them, and Alex, your daughter?’

Skinner’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’m not sure that it is “on topic”. Why do you ask?’

Again, O’Malley seemed to lose a little of his self-possession; he shifted in his chair. ‘Come on, Bob,’ he protested. ‘My concern is with your total welfare, and your ability to function in a very responsible job. If people close to you are damaged by what’s happening to you, it’s relevant.’

‘Like hell it is. My family life is my own business, for better or worse. Did you ask Neil McIlhenney or Bandit Mackenzie that same question when you interviewed them?’

‘Yes, I did, and they both gave me straight answers, unlike you.’

‘What did they say?’

‘Don’t try to shift the ground. That’ll be included in my reports to you, as far as it’s relevant. It’s you I want to talk about.’

‘Why?’ Skinner demanded again. ‘Have you been hearing things?’ From nowhere, there was suspicion in his voice. ‘Has Jimmy been talking to you?’

‘Bob, I haven’t a clue what you mean by that.’ O’Malley seemed genuinely surprised. ‘Maybe we should move on from psychopathology and consider paranoia.’

‘No, let’s not do that. You just touched on a sensitive area in my private life, that’s all.’