Stephen Leather - Dead Men

‘Killing?’

Stockmann nodded.

‘Every time it’s happened, there’s been no doubt in my mind that what I was doing was legally and morally right. When I was in the SAS I had to follow rules of engagement, and when I was a cop I had to follow PACE, the Police and Criminal Evidence Act. It’s a bit greyer now that I’m with SOCA because I’m effectively a civil servant rather than a police officer, but there are still rules that have to be followed. If at any point I were to break the law I’d be out of a job and probably facing criminal charges.’

‘And providing you’re within the law, there’s no guilt?’

‘Pretty much, yeah. But there’s more to it than just following the law. More often than not, when I took a life it was because my own was threatened. Either at the point of a gun or because the person I shot was about to detonate a bomb. It was self-defence, pretty much.’

Stockmann held up her glass. ‘Half full again,’ she said. ‘The Belfast job’s a bit different from what you normally do, isn’t it?’

‘I’m not trying to penetrate a gang, but basically it’s the same old routine, getting a person to trust me so that I can betray them,’ he said. ‘It’s what I do, and I do it well.’

‘It can’t be easy,’ she said.

‘Winning their trust is easy,’said Shepherd. ‘It’s the betrayal that takes its toll.’

‘This latest job is a woman, right? That must make it harder. And it’s not as if she’s a drug-dealer or gangster.’

‘We’re not supposed to get specific about operational matters,’ said Shepherd.

‘That was when you were a policeman. SOCA has different rules.’ She smiled. ‘Actually, we can pretty much make up our own,’ she said, ‘and I do have a very high security clearance. Higher than yours, actually.’

‘Because you worked for MI5?’

‘I still do, from time to time,’ she said. ‘So, this woman you’re trying to get close to, she might not be guilty of anything?’

‘True.’

‘Which makes it a very different job, because normally you’d be targeting hardened criminals, wouldn’t you?’

‘Yeah, we’d know in advance that the target was guilty. I’d be put in to gather the evidence. This case is different because at the end of the day she might not be a killer.’

‘But she might be, so it’s a valid investigation.’

Shepherd smiled ruefully. ‘If she’s guilty, what I’m doing is justifiable. But if she’s just the widow of a hero cop, I’m a piece of shit for lying to her as I am.’ He raised his glass in salute to her, then drained it and waved at the barmaid for a refill. Stockmann was looking at him anxiously. ‘I’m fine, Caroline,’ he said. ‘It’s what I do, but it doesn’t get any easier. They’re targets, but that doesn’t make them less than human. Civilians probably assume that villains are villains, end of story, but they’re sons, they’re often fathers, they have friends, they go to weddings, they buy presents, they tell jokes. Some of the villains I’ve helped put inside have been great guys, guys I’ve got drunk with, guys who would have helped me without hesitation if I was in trouble. I’m not always proud of what I’ve done, but at the end of the day they’re villains, and villains belong in jail.’

‘I can’t imagine how it must feel to live a lie.’

Shepherd shrugged. ‘It’s probably what acting’s like, but there’s no director to shout,“Cut.” And no script. Everything’s off-the-cuff, spur-of-the-moment stuff, reacting to what’s going on around you.’ The barmaid put a fresh drink in front of him and looked questioningly at Stockmann. She shook her head. ‘You know what the hardest thing about it is?’ he said. ‘It’s remembering what you don’t know.’ He smiled. ‘I know that sounds crazy but it’s true. It’s easy enough to remember what you’ve been told, or what you’ve said, but as an undercover cop you know things about the target that your character wouldn’t. So when you’re in character a mental wall has to divide what you know from what you’re supposed to know.’

‘It sounds positively schizophrenic,’ said Stockmann.

‘It is,’ said Shepherd. ‘There’s a constant battle between your two selves, a constant checking and rechecking. And while that’s going on, you have to appear calm and collected.’

‘The proverbial swan,’ said Stockmann. ‘Serene on the surface, paddling like crazy under the water.’ She sipped some beer. ‘Have you thought that the same would apply to the woman you’re targeting? She has to be playing a part, too.’

‘If she’s guilty.’

‘Agreed,’ said the psychologist. ‘But if she is, she’ll also be playing a role. Like you, she’ll be running anything she says through an internal filter, constantly checking her reality against how the world perceives her.’

‘I hadn’t thought of it that way,’ said Shepherd. ‘The thing is, she doesn’t seem to be playing a part.’

‘Can you tell?’ asked Stockmann.

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Because if you can, isn’t it possible that someone you’re targeting can tell that you’re playing a role? Surely the only way you can function as an undercover agent is by being totally convincing.’

‘But I’m a professional. It’s my job. If she’s guilty, she’s an amateur who’s killing the men who killed her husband. There should be signs, shouldn’t there?’

Stockmann grinned. ‘Like looking up to the left when she’s lying? Or scratching her nose? It’s not as easy as that, Dan. If it was, I’d be making a fortune playing Texas Hold ’Em. And she could be a sociopath, of course.’

Shepherd laughed. ‘Now, that I would spot.’

‘Actually, I doubt it. Sociopaths are natural mimics. They lack feelings of empathy with others and are totally uncaring about their effect on people, but can behave completely to the contrary. That’s why serial killers are so effective. They can appear charming. And paedophiles can appear genuine and caring. If they looked like monsters, kids would never go near them.’

‘What are you saying? That you can’t judge a book by its cover?’

‘It’s a cliche, but it’s true,’ said Stockmann. ‘You can’t tell a murderer by looking them in the eye.’

Shepherd smiled. ‘I’m not sure that’s so,’ he said.

‘You can tell if someone’s killed by looking at them?’

‘There’s a look that people who’ve been in combat have. They call it the thousand-yard stare. There’s a coldness in their eyes as if they’re looking through you.’

‘And does everyone who’s been in combat have it?’

‘No,’ said Shepherd. ‘I know men who have killed several times and they’re the most laid-back guys you’ll ever meet. But I’ve never met someone with the thousand-yard stare who hasn’t killed. I’ve seen it in the eyes of non-soldiers, too. Gangsters. Drug-dealers. Blaggers.’

‘Blaggers?’

‘Armed robbers,’ said Shepherd. ‘What I’m saying is, if they’ve got the look, they’ve killed.’

‘Unless they’re faking it,’ said Stockmann.

‘Faking it?’

‘Say there’s a hard man who wants you to think he’s a killer. He fakes the thousand-yard stare. How would you know?’

‘I’d know.’

Stockmann grinned. ‘But if they were sociopaths, they’d be good at faking it.’

‘So a sociopath would fake a thousand-yard stare to make me think he was a killer?’ Shepherd exhaled through pursed lips. ‘You’re giving me a headache here, Caroline.’

‘I just want you to understand that it’s virtually impossible to tell if someone is guilty or not by looking at them,’ said Stockmann. She beckoned the barmaid. ‘If it was possible, the police’s job would be a lot easier, wouldn’t it?’