DEAD AND BURIED
QUINTIN JARDINE
Copyright © 2006 Portador Ltd
Praise for previous Quintin Jardine novels:
‘Deplorably readable’
‘Well constructed, fast-paced, Jardine’s narrative has many an ingenious twist and turn’
‘A triumph. I am first in line for the next one’
‘Perfect plotting and convincing characterisation . . . Jardine manages to combine the picturesque with the thrilling and the dream-like with the coldly rational’
‘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 perfect mix for a highly charged, fast-moving crime thriller’
‘Remarkably assured . . . a
‘Engrossing, believable characters . . . captures Edinburgh beautifully . . . It all adds up to a very good read’
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; 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?’
