Stephen Leather - Dead Men

‘It’s complicated,’ said Shepherd.

Liam scowled. ‘You always say that when you can’t be bothered to answer my questions,’ he said.

Shepherd sat down beside his son. ‘Have you studied the Irish situation at school?’he asked. Liam shook his head. ‘Okay, here’s a crash course. Ireland used to be Ireland and everyone was Irish. Then the English took over the country and from the twelfth century we ruled it. Then in nineteen twenty-one the country was divided into the North, run by Westminster, and the South, which was Ireland. That’s the way it is now. Under the law, anyone born in the North, the bit controlled by the British, is both Irish and British. But there’s always been a lot of conflict between the two groups. The Irish Irish, if you like, are mainly Catholics, and the descendants of the British that moved there are mainly Protestant.’

‘And the IRA are Catholics, right?’

‘They are, but it’s not really about religion. It’s about who runs the country. Over the last few years they’ve hammered out a deal whereby both groups share power so they’ll run the country together.’

‘Why do they need you there?’

Shepherd sat back in his chair. ‘Because Belfast is a relatively small city so everyone knows who the cops are. They needed a fresh face.’

‘You’re hardly fresh,’ Liam giggled.

‘Less of the cheek,’ said Shepherd. He glanced at his watch. ‘I’ve got to be going.’

Liam had noticed the plastic Casio wristwatch with its tiny calculator keyboard. ‘That is such a lame watch,’ he said.

‘It’s got lots of functions,’ said Shepherd.

‘It’s a watch,’ said Liam. ‘All it has to do is tell the time.’

‘You could say that about your expensive mobile phone,’ Shepherd said. ‘All it needs to do is make calls but you want it to take photographs and videos and play all sorts of stupid games, don’t you?’

‘It’s not the same.’

‘Tomato, potato,’ said Shepherd.

‘What?’ said Liam, frowning.

‘It’s an expression,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s from an old song.’

‘Oh, back in the days when dinosaurs roamed the earth?’

Shepherd patted his son’s head. ‘Get ready for school. I’ll take you today.’

The pub Caroline Stockmann had chosen for their meeting was half a mile from Shepherd’s house, and as it was a warm evening he decided to walk.

When he arrived she was sitting at the bar with a half-drunk pint of beer. Shepherd grinned as they shook hands. ‘What’s so funny?’ she asked, as he sat down next to her.

‘I was thinking your glass looked half empty, then wondered if I should pretend I’d thought it was half full, thereby showing a more optimistic frame of mind.’

Stockmann smiled. She picked up her glass, and drank the rest of the beer. ‘No argument now,’ she said. ‘Empty, plain and simple. So, is everything okay?’

‘Peachy keen,’ said Shepherd.

‘See, I’ve never understood that expression,’ she said. ‘Why are peaches keen? Lemons are zesty, bananas are bent, but what’s keen about a peach?’

Shepherd caught a barmaid’s eye. ‘Jameson’s, ice and soda,’ he said, ‘and whatever my friend’s having.’

‘You’re in Northern Ireland, I gather,’ said Stockmann.

‘Belfast,’ said Shepherd.

‘Interesting part of the world,’ she said. ‘The enemies of the past now working together to bring about peace.’

‘So much for not negotiating with terrorists,’ said Shepherd.

‘You don’t think that peace is worth any compromise?’ The barmaid brought their drinks, and Shepherd paid her.

‘The IRA, a.k.a. Sinn Fein, wants a united Ireland,’ said Shepherd. ‘Nothing has changed on that front. They laid down their weapons because they sensed that the British Government’s position on Ireland was weakening. But they’re still the same heartless killers they always were. And if things don’t continue to go their way, they’ll buy new weapons.’ He sipped his whiskey and put his glass on the bar. ‘This isn’t supposed to be a political discussion, is it?’ he said. ‘I thought I was here for a psychological assessment?’

‘So, what would you like to talk about?’

Shepherd shrugged carelessly. ‘Have you heard the one about the runaway wagon and the guy standing at the points? If he does nothing, six people die, if he changes the points just one dies.’

‘Sure,’ said Stockmann. ‘It’s first-year philosophy material. Then you make it more difficult by bringing in the fat guy on the bridge, right?’

‘What’s the right answer?’

‘It’s philosophy. There’s no right or wrong answer. What’s interesting is the way in which people consider the options. In the case of changing the points, most decide to sacrifice the one person and reach that decision very quickly. When it comes to pushing the fat guy off the bridge, the decision is more equally split but takes longer to reach.’ She drank some beers. ‘Let me give you another railway one. You’re standing on an electrified railway line, with your leg trapped. You can’t move. The power’s off, so for the moment you’re okay. But down the line a man is about to reconnect the supply. He doesn’t know you’re there, and he doesn’t know that if he reconnects the power you’ll die. Now, you happen to have a sniper’s rifle with one bullet in the chamber.’

‘We call them rounds,’ said Shepherd, ‘not bullets.’

Stockmann grinned. ‘It’s about philosophy, not ammunition,’ she said. ‘Anyway, you have a loaded rifle and you can kill the guy before he reconnects the power and kills you. Are you morally justified in killing him?’

‘You do what you have to do to stay alive,’ said Shepherd.

‘Indeed,’ said Stockmann. ‘But think about this. If you shoot him, you’ve killed him deliberately. But if he kills you, he’s done it by accident. There’s a world of difference. Do you have the moral right to kill a man who might kill you by accident?’

‘Why does morality have to come into it?’ asked Shepherd. ‘As I said, you do what you have to do to stay alive.’

Stockmann didn’t say anything, but a smile spread across her face.

‘What?’ said Shepherd, defensively.

‘You say it with such conviction, but have you thought about the ramifications?’

Shepherd toyed with his glass. ‘If I do nothing, I die.’

‘Agreed. But kill him and you’ll have killed an innocent man. A man who was doing nothing wrong. Who was breaking no law.’

Shepherd stopped playing with his glass. ‘It’d be murder, wouldn’t it?’

‘Well, that would probably be for a jury to decide. Or at least for the Crown Prosecution Service to take a view on.’

‘So, what’s the answer? I maintain the moral high ground by allowing the guy to kill me?’

Stockmann laughed. ‘As I said, there’s no right or wrong. It’s philosophy. But it’s puzzles like that which help us analyse our thought processes.’

Deep furrows creased Shepherd’s brow.

Stockmann patted his shoulder. ‘It’s hypothetical, Dan,’ she said.

‘I get that, but hypothetical or not, I’d pull the trigger, guaranteed.’

‘Because your survival instinct would kick in. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s your instinct for survival that makes you so good at what you do.’

‘It worries me that I’d kill an innocent man to survive. But what if the positions were reversed? What if I was the one doing something that would kill someone else? Even inadvertently. Doesn’t that mean he’d be justified in killing me?’

‘Justice isn’t what the conundrum is about. But it’s good that it makes you think. Is it something you think about much?’