16 - Dead And Buried Read online

  DEAD AND BURIED

  QUINTIN JARDINE

  headline

  www.headline.co.uk

  Copyright © 2006 Portador Ltd

  The right of Quintin Jardine to be identified as the Author

  of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the

  Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication

  may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any

  means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case

  of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences

  issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group in 2008

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any

  resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library

  eISBN : 978 0 7553 5098 8

  This Ebook produced by Jouve Digitalisation des Informations

  HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

  An Hachette Livre UK Company

  338 Euston Road

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  www.headline.co.uk

  www.hachettelivre.co.uk

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-one

  Thirty-two

  Thirty-three

  Thirty-four

  Thirty-five

  Thirty-six

  Thirty-seven

  Thirty-eight

  Thirty-nine

  Forty

  Forty-one

  Forty-two

  Forty-three

  Forty-four

  Forty-five

  Forty-six

  Forty-seven

  Forty-eight

  Forty-nine

  Fifty

  Fifty-one

  Fifty-two

  Fifty-three

  Fifty-four

  Fifty-five

  Fifty-six

  Fifty-seven

  Fifty-eight

  Fifty-nine

  Sixty

  Sixty-one

  Sixty-two

  Sixty-three

  Sixty-four

  Sixty-five

  Sixty-six

  Sixty-seven

  Sixty-eight

  Sixty-nine

  Seventy

  Seventy-one

  Seventy-two

  Seventy-three

  Seventy-four

  Seventy-five

  Seventy-six

  Seventy-seven

  Seventy-eight

  Seventy-nine

  Eighty

  Eighty-one

  Eighty-two

  Eighty-three

  Eighty-four

  Eighty-five

  Eighty-six

  Eighty-seven

  Eighty-eight

  Eighty-nine

  Ninety

  Ninety-one

  Ninety-two

  Ninety-three

  Ninety-four

  Ninety-five

  Ninety-six

  Ninety-seven

  Praise for previous Quintin Jardine novels:

  ‘Deplorably readable’ Guardian

  ‘Well constructed, fast-paced, Jardine’s narrative has many an ingenious twist and turn’ Observer

  ‘A triumph. I am first in line for the next one’ Scotland on Sunday

  ‘Perfect plotting and convincing characterisation . . . Jardine manages to combine the picturesque with the thrilling and the dream-like with the coldly rational’ The Times

  ‘A complex story combined with robust characterisation; a murder/mystery novel of our time that will keep you hooked to the very last page’ The Scots Magazine

  ‘The perfect mix for a highly charged, fast-moving crime thriller’ Glasgow Herald

  ‘Remarkably assured . . . a tour de force’ New York Times

  ‘Engrossing, believable characters . . . captures Edinburgh beautifully . . . It all adds up to a very good read’ Edinburgh Evening News

  Once again, this is for my lady, my gem, my lovely wife, the

  impeccable Eileen, who never did anything remotely bad

  enough to warrant ending up with me, but who tolerates me

  nonetheless. Thank you now and always, honey.

  One

  ‘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; t
he 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.’

  ‘Do you want to talk about it? Indeed, can you talk about it?’

  ‘Ah, you know both of us, so I don’t see why not. The fact is, Kevin, that Sarah and I are splitting up; she’s leaving me and going to set up a medical practice in New York. Mind you,’ he rushed to add, ‘her decision has nothing to do with the stuff you’re talking about. This is something that’s been brewing for a while.’

  ‘What about your children? I assume they’ll be going with their mother.’

  ‘Then you’re assuming wrong. We’re sharing custody; Mark, James Andrew, and Seonaid will live with me during the school term and spend their holidays with Sarah.’

  ‘How do you feel about this?’

  Skinner shrugged his shoulders, an awkward movement since he was seated. ‘I feel as well as can be expected: that would sum it up. I hate failure in any form, but failing at marriage is just about the worst. We’re both being very civilised about it, though. A confrontational divorce wouldn’t help anyone.’

  ‘You mean it wouldn’t help your career?’

  ‘Do me a favour, mate! That hasn’t occurred to me at all. Since you ask, I don’t think it would harm it, but that’s not an issue. Neither is the fact that Sarah’s a hell of a lot wealthier than I am since her parents died. If we do a conventional property split, I’d be the winner, but we won’t. No, the kids come first and that’s it.’

  ‘You’re quite sure this has nothing to do with the areas we’ve been discussing?’

  ‘I said so, didn’t I?’ the DCC snapped irritably. ‘Things have happened between us.’

  ‘There’s been a third party?’

  ‘Over the years? Third parties, on both sides, to be honest: mine even made the lower end of the tabloid market, remember.’

  ‘I was trying not to. Okay, you haven’t been a paragon. Is that why Sarah’s going?’

  The big man shook his grey-maned head. ‘No, she’s much better at forgiving than I am. I suppose that’s it. She had an affair in the States a while back. I’ve had trouble dealing with that.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why have I had trouble?’ Skinner’s voice had an air of incredulity.

  ‘No, no. That’s a male ego thing, typical behaviour, nothing unusual about that. Why did Sarah have an affair?’

  ‘Ask her. Ask her about the other times as well.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘Okay, just one other . . . that I know of. It happened that first time we were separated, and I was, I was . . . Let’s just say I don’t blame her too much for that. This one? Why? I don’t know why. She found the other fellow attractive, and they were far from strangers to each other. They’d been close at college, then gone their separate ways. Maybe she’d been carrying an Ever Ready for him all along. Or maybe it was just like she said, that I’d left her out there on her own when she needed me.’

  ‘Or maybe she just found him safe,’ said O’Malley, quietly.

  ‘Safe?’

  ‘Yes, Bob, safe. I’ve interviewed more than a few police officers’ wi
ves in my time. Their stories all have the same thread running through them. “When he goes out the door in the morning in that uniform, I can never be one hundred per cent sure that he’s coming back.” That’s what they all wind up saying, one way or another. Okay, there may be little or no statistical basis for their anxiety, but that doesn’t make it any the less real.’

  ‘If she was after safety, she got it wrong, big-time. He’s dead.’

  ‘That’s too bad, but it doesn’t affect what I’m saying.’ He paused again. ‘Bob, the women I’m talking about, they’re the wives of ordinary officers, people on the beat, in office jobs, even. You are not one of those people. Look at the things that have happened to you; man, you’re a lightning rod for trouble, and still you go charging out into the worst thunderstorms. But the irony of it is that you don’t have to. You’re a deputy chief constable, for God’s sake. You’re in the Command Corridor; you have a desk job, yet you still go out there, whenever you can from what I gather, into the line of fire. You go on about how much you care for your family, and I believe you, but did you ever stop to consider how much the professional choices you’ve been taking might be harming Sarah?’ The psychiatrist let out a long sigh. ‘I wasn’t going to bring this up, but you did. She left you once before, as you’ve just said. Didn’t you get the message then? Not at all?’

  Skinner started out of his chair. For a moment, it seemed that he would explode in anger, but he settled back down, with a calm, sad look in his eyes.

  ‘If not me, who?’ he asked.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Don’t go dumb on me, Kevin. The operation I’ve just been on: how much do you know about it?’

  ‘I know as much as was in my brief for these interviews, and what I’ve read in the papers. Why? Was there more to it than that?’

  ‘That’s irrelevant. My question is, if I hadn’t been there to lead it, who else could have done it and seen it through to success?’