the Deja Vu. I get that sort of treatment a lot, so it is hardly indicative of your psychiatric state.”
“Ah!” said Jack, highly relieved.
“My evaluation will be based on objective and unbiased observation.”
“Well, that’s good.”
“But,” she said, staring at him over her spectacles, “give me any more of your sarcastic backchat and I’ll recommend enforced retirement. Do you understand?”
“Perfectly.”
“Good,” she said, putting aside his file and picking up a pencil. “I’ve been asked to conduct this appraisal, as your commanding officer is concerned that too much exposure to unusual policing situations in a department requiring an open mind and imaginative thought processes might be aggravating a long-held psychosis, which may render you incapable of distinguishing between reality and fantasy and thus seriously compromise your abilities to conduct meaningful investigations.”
Jack frowned and said nothing for a few moments. “Run that by me again?” he asked at last.
“Briggs thinks you might be bananas.”
Jack leaned back in his chair and put his hands in his pockets.
“Now,
“Then I fear for the next man,” she said, tapping his record with an index finger. “I am here to report on whether you are mentally fit enough to continue to work as an effective officer of the law.”
“Great!” said Jack, looking at his watch. “Let’s get to it.”
Kreeper stared at him again. “Okay. I understand you are head of what you call the ‘Nursery Crime Division.’ Is this true?”
“Spot on.”
“And you were swallowed, alive, by a wolf a week ago?”
“Right again.”
“And this doesn’t strike you as unusual?”
“Not at all. It’s all pretty much standard operating procedure within the division. I’ve been in tighter spots than the swallowing, I can tell you.”
“Such as?”
“Probably the incident with the troll—or the attack by Dr. Quatt’s genetic experiment. Or the Gingerbreadman. Or arresting King Midas—and Rumpelstiltskin didn’t take my closing down of his straw-into-gold dens too well.”
“And did any of these make you feel anxious or worried?”
“Of course.”
“Feelings of delayed shock?”
“Nope.”
“Guilt?”
“Only on a failed conviction—guilty that I didn’t present a robust enough case.”
Kreeper looked mildly disappointed and tried another tack. “Your marriage is good?”
“Couldn’t be better.”
“How do you feel when you think of beautiful Pippa in the control room?”
“That she’s very pretty and young enough to be my daughter.”
“And who do you think she’s going out with?”
“Is this part of the test?”
“No, I was just interested like everyone else.”
“She showed an interest in Sergeant Pickle, but I’m not sure how far it’s gone.”
Virginia held up a picture of an inkblot.
“What does this look like to you?”
“It looks like a vagina. No, just kidding—it looks like a Rorschach inkblot test.”
“And what about this?” she asked, showing him another.
“It looks like the one you just showed me.”
“And this?”
“Ditto.”
“O-kay. Word association. I want you to tell me the first word that comes into your head. Ready?”
“Steady.”
“We haven’t started yet. Okay, here we go: Jack?”
“Yes?”
“No, we’ve started now. Jack?”
“Jill.”
“Dish?”
“Spoon.”
“Boy?”
“Blue.”
“Baa, baa?”
“Black sheep.”
“Ring around the rosies?”
“All fall down.”
“Porridge?”
“Bear.”
“Nursery?”
“Crime.”
“Bluebeard?”
“Crime.”
“Humpty?”
“Crime.”
“Crime?”
“Nursery.”
Kreeper wrote another note, leaned back in her chair and then asked, “Being swallowed. What did it feel like?”
“Constricting to begin with, then quite warm and womblike.”
“Aha!” muttered Virginia triumphantly, leaning forward again.
“How do you get on with your mother?”
“She’s a monumental pain in the ass, but I love her—I suppose.”
“When you were a little boy, did you ever walk into your parents’ bedroom when they were making love?”
“No!”
“Beaten as a child?”
“No.”
“Humiliated? Other siblings favored over you?”
“No.”
“Potty trained too late?”
“No.”
“Potty trained too early?”
“No!”
“Shame,” she said a little sadly. “That would have made it all a
“No, I don’t think I ever said that.”
“I distinctly heard you tell Sergeant Mary.”
“I meant it in… in… an
“What sort of ironic manner?”
