DEAD AND BURIED
QUINTIN JARDINE
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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
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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.
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eISBN : 978 0 7553 5098 8
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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.
‘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?’