And maybe, just maybe,' said Higgins, 'after that, I'll take you to the zoo.'
Mark looked up at her, unimpressed. 'Couldn't we go to the UCI? Home Alone Three starts today. It's on at one-fifty and at four-twenty. Daddy would have taken me there,' he added, wistfully and persuasively.
His godmother looked down at him. 'If that's what you'd like, that's what we'll do. Tell you what — maybe we'll go to McDonald's for lunch.'
Mark nodded his head. 'Yes, please. Daddy would have taken me there too.'
His mother smiled at her friend. 'That's your day taken care of. In that case, I'll make a meal for you later, once the reception is over. Then we can crack a bottle and you can help me plan the next three weeks of my life. They will surely be busy!'
SEVENTY-SIX
‘Hello again, Superintendent,' said Brian Mackie.
Paula Whittingham looked up in surprise. For once she was alone in her glass-fronted office. 'Hello, there. I didn't expect to see you chaps again, at least not so quickly. Have you come to canvass for our candidate, or do you have some more questions?'
Ìt's business like before, I'm afraid, Miss Whittingham. We want to bounce a name off you.'
`Whose name?'
`Bryn Sawyer. He's Managing Director of a company called Breakspear, in Cumbria.'
In an instant the colour drained from the woman's face. `Paula,' she muttered to herself.
'It's as well you retired from the Force. Why the hell didn't you think of him?' She looked up at Mackie. 'Yes, Chief Inspector. I've heard of Mr Sawyer. I wanted to set the local Force on him, in fact.'
'Why?'
`Because of a letter which Colin received. It was just after he had announced his decision on that missile, the one which caused all the fuss. We get quite a bit of hate mail through here, on a whole variety of topics. Most go straight to the dustbin, but we pass one or two on to the police, as a precaution. The letter from Sawyer was vitriolic, and it was threatening. Sawyer's Company lost out on the missile contract, and he was not a happy man. I wanted to hand it over to our local CID, but Colin wouldn't. I suggested that he give it to the Ministry's security people, but he wouldn't do that either.'
‘Did he say why not?' asked Mario McGuire.
`Yes, he told me that there had been enough fuss over the damn contract, and he wanted it just to die down and go away, He said that if Sawyer sent any more nasty mail he would do something about it, but that for the time being he would ignore it.'
`Do you know what happened to the letter?'
She nodded and started towards her private room. 'Yes. I've got it. It's through here. Come on.'
They followed her into the small back office, where she pulled open the second drawer of a huge wooden filing cabinet, and began to leaf through folders. At last she produced a sheet of blue notepaper, and waved it in the air. 'Here it is. Short, offensive and to the point.'
She handed it to Mackie, who took it from her and began to read aloud.
Dear Davey,
All politicians are slime in my book, but you are beneath that. In pursuit of what corrupt end I know not, you have sold out your country. By common consent of every specialist who has assessed it, including your own, the Breakspear missile which you have rejected represents a major advance in guidance technology and in battlefield capability.
The spurious reasons for your inept decision do not fool me for a second. It is quite obvious that you have either been bribed or bullied into putting Britain's interests aside.
Because of you, my company may well fail. Because of you, a substantial number of jobs may well be lost, in an area which can ill afford it. Because of you, servicemen's lives will be at greater risk than need be. I will not sit meekly and accept such treatment, especially not from a man like you. If my company goes under, then I promise you, sir, on behalf of all the people who will suffer, that I will stop at nothing to ensure that you are punished for your wickedness.
Yours very sincerely,
Bryn Sawyer, Managing Director.
He handed the letter to McGuire. 'That sounds pretty specific to me,' he said. 'In the light of that last part particularly, I don't think we've got any choice but to pay a visit on Mr Sawyer, when he's least expecting it.'
`What do you mean, about the last part?' Paula Whittingham asked.
`Bryn Sawyer called in a Receiver last week,' said Mackie.
`Four days before Colin Davey was killed.'
SEVENTY-SEVEN
‘I must tell you again, Bob. Without a willing subject, hypno. therapy is rarely successful.
So, are you completely committed to this procedure?'
Skinner looked up into the eyes of Kevin O'Malley as they peered at him over gold-rimmed spectacles. 'Looking at the choices you set out for me on Wednesday, too damn right I'm committed.'
`Very good — then let's get on with it. Will it help, do you think, for Sarah to be present, or would you rather that she left us?'
He glanced round at his wife, and smiled. 'There's nothing that I wouldn't say in front of Sarah, conscious or otherwise.'
O'Malley raised a finger in a lecture-room gesture. 'Unconsciousness doesn't come into it.
I don't propose to go in for deep hypnosis. I don't think that's necessary in this case. I want to use a technique that is really more like relaxation therapy, in which you are in a light sleep, or trance, but in which the memory behind the dream will be unlocked, stage by stage.'
Ànd will I remember, afterwards?'
`Yes, you will, but it will be a normal memory, not one which shock has made you repress. You will be able to recall it in daylight, and never again will it come back to haunt your dreams. I intend to progress slowly and carefully. Depending on what's in there . . .'
he tapped Skinner's head lightly .....we might need two, or even three sessions before we've got to the bottom of this thing, and cured the mental toothache. Whenever I think you’ve had enough, I'll bring you back up.'
He pulled a chair up to the bedside and sat down. 'Let's begin. ; First of all, Bob, you have to be completely comfortable.
Are you?'
Skinner settled even deeper into his mound of pillows. 'All things considered, I couldn't be better.'
`Good. Right, this is step one. I want you to look up at the ceiling, and pick out a single point on it. Found one?' Skinner nodded very slightly. 'Good. Now I want you to focus on it, completely. Close in on that spot, and don't let your gaze break away.
`That's it, that's it,' said O'Malley softly, in a gentle lulling voice. 'Now as you're doing that, I want you to begin to relax your whole body, as much as you can. Just let yourself sink into those pillows.' He paused. 'Now, still keeping your gaze focused on that immovable point, I want you to bring into your mind the happiest moment of your life.'
Skinner felt as if he was floating, as if he was tethered to the ceiling by the single black dot at which he was staring. Unbidden, a time came into his thoughts, the moment when he and Sarah, both tearstained, had held their newborn son for the first time. Part of him wanted to call out to her, but he knew instinctively that at that moment they were sharing the same memory.
`Fine,' said O'Malley. 'Now as you look at that spot you're seeing that happy picture, and that's what you will keep in your mind as you fall lightly asleep. Relax, relax . . . that's it ..
`Now, Bob, I'm going to count slowly to five. As I do, your eyes will close. When I want to bring you up, I will count back from five, and you will awaken, remembering everything that has happened. Carry on for a bit yet relaxing and gazing at the Ceiling, at your happy picture . .
His voice fell away as he spoke and silence filled the hospital room. He waited for almost half a minute, then said softly. ' One. Two. Three. Four. Five.'
Sarah, watching from her chair in the corner, saw he husband's eyes close.
Òkay, Bob,' said O'Malley, in the same gentle voice. 'We're going to walk into the edge of the dream. You won't see me, but I'll be there. As we go
, I want you to tell me what we see ... Let me know when we're there.'
A few seconds passed. 'We're there now, Kevin, at the edge of the circle.' Skinner's voice was soft, and sounded almost melodic. `What is in the circle?'
`Wreckage; the wreckage of an aeroplane. It's all over the place. Some of it is still smoking.'
`How far away is it?'
À hundred yards or so, maybe a bit more.'
`We're going to walk towards it. And as we walk, I want you to describe the whole scene to me.'
As Sarah watched him, on the bed, she saw his eyebrow twitch.
Ìt's flat,' he said. 'As far as the eye can see, it's flat. And it's muddy. All muddy. Deep, deep mud. Everyone's wearing wellies. Except me!' Suddenly his voice rose in volume, and strangely, in pitch. It was as if suddenly, he had become younger, and was in distress.
'The mud's getting on my fucking uniform and they haven't given me any fucking wellies!'
The psychiatrist stared at him. He turned to Sarah, but when she looked up at him her eyes were wide and bewildered. She shrugged her shoulders. 'I don't know,' she mouthed.
Òkay, Bob,' said O'Malley. 'We're going to stand where we are for a while. I want you to tell me how old you are.'
Ì'm twenty-two.' He sounded scathing, as if it were obvious'
The anxiety had gone from his voice, but the youthful lilt remained.
'What's your rank?'
‘Constable. Full Constable,' he added proudly. 'Finished my probation a few months back.'
'Are you married?'
'Not yet. Just engaged. We're getting married next year though.'
`What's your fiancée's name?'
`Myra, Myra Graham.'
`Tell me what the two of you have been doing lately.'
`We're just back from Estartit. Two weeks of San Miguel, sun and shaggin'!
' The corners of his mouth turned up in a satisfied smile.
`Where are we just now, Bob?' asked O'Malley, quietly and carefully.
'It doesn't have a name. It's on the Solway Coast, in Dumfriesshire.'
`Why are you there?'
`Lots of us are here. The local Force couldn't cope. Some guys came down from Glasgow, and some of us from Hawick.'
`Why were you in Hawick?'
His tone became impatient. 'Because I'm stationed there for six months!'
`The plane that's crashed, Bob. Where was it coming from?'
`From Girona, in Spain. I can see the numbers on the tail, where it's stuck in the mud. I noted them down at the airport last week, just for fun! It's the same plane that Myra and I were on.' Suddenly his eyes wrinkled, and his face creased.
All right, Bob. That's all for today. I'm going to bring you up now. Five. Four. Three.
Two. One.'
Skinner's eyes opened, on the stroke of the last number. They were moist with tears. Sarah jumped to her feet and came over to the bed. She took his hand and pressed it to her breast. 'Bob I never knew. You never told me.'
He looked up at her. His face was drained of colour and he seemed exhausted. 'I never told anyone, love. Not even Myra
Especially not Myra. I haven't spoken about it from that day on, not to a living soul. I find it incredible, but I'd blocked out even the fact of it. All my recollection of it had gone. And I still can only remember the parts that Kevin showed me just now.' He turned to look at O'Malley. 'I never imagined that the mind could do that.'
The psychiatrist looked down at him. 'There are no rules for the mind. It constructs its own safety mechanisms, and we don't have a bloody clue how it does it. In this case, I would say that it has protected you . . . or itself, whatever . . . from harm by building an amnesiac wall around this entire incident, within a few months, even weeks of it. It's worked.
You've functioned perfectly well over the years. Your career and your life haven't been damaged at all, when otherwise . . . Who knows what the long-term effects could have been? I'd surmise that what happened to you last weekend is that the Lammermuirs accident knocked a couple of bricks out of the wall, and let through dream memories from deep in your subconscious.'
Skinner gazed up at him. 'What about the rest of it, Kev? Will it come back of its own accord?'
The psychiatrist ran his fingers through his bushy hair. 'Some of it might, given time. But I'm not going to allow that. We'll have another session tomorrow, if you feel up to it. I want to clean out all of this abscess as quickly as I can. Today was a remarkable beginning, astonishing even, but I have a feeling that we may still have quite a way to go.'
SEVENTY-EIGHT
‘So you’re quite certain that we can take Agent Robin off our list of possibles, Captain Arrow?' drawled the American.
Òne hundred per cent, Mr Doherty,' said the soldier coldly. `That situation has now been resolved, permanently. I've had it under control for some time, in fact. I just couldn't say so earlier. Agent Robin has been neutralised, deactivated; whatever term you'd like to use, Robin is no longer functional.'
The sallow-faced man looked at him shrewdly. 'Sounds pretty terminal,' he said. 'Might I guess that it's tied in with that Iraqi your police arrested the other day in London, and to the civil servant they found dead around the same time? He's been charged with her murder, hasn't he?'
Ì believe so,' said Arrow, looking him in the eye.
`Whatever,' said Andy Martin, interrupting. 'That leaves us with three open lines of investigation . . . live suspects you might say, if one of them wasn't dead. Joe, I'm glad you could make it up for this briefing. I promised to keep you in touch, even though this looks like staying a purely British affair. And Adam, I'm glad you're here too. I want MOD
involved on two fronts this weekend.'
He looked across at Mackie and McGuire. 'You lads seem to have had quite a result in Chindersford. That letter shows Mr Sawyer in a pretty bad light. It's the sort of justification I need to ask for a search warrant.
`Brian, I'd like you to put that in hand at once with Cumbrian magistrates. Secure two search warrants in fact, on for the Breakspear factory, where, so the local police tell me, Sawyer is still working alongside the Receiver, and the other for his home. We'll pay simultaneous visits each at nine o'clock sharp, under the authority of the locals who'll be backing us up. Oh yes, and ask our colleagues to go to a magistrate who can be relied on to keep shtumm. I don't want us asking someone for a warrant then finding out that he's a mate of Sawyer.'
He slapped the table. 'Right, division of forces. Brian, you and Mario hit the factory.
Young Sammy here, and I, we'll interrupt Mr Sawyer's Saturday morning breakfast.' He turned to Arrow, Àdam, do you want to come with us?'
The soldier shook his head. 'No, I want to follow the other one through. If you need an MOD presence, I'll send up my oppo Swifty. He's ex-SBS and you're going to the seaside.
He'll like that.'
Òkay. Tell him to be at Police Headquarters in Carlisle at seven-thirty tomorrow morning.' He glanced at his watch. It showed 6.30 p.m. The four of us from here will go down in one car. We'll gather here at five-thirty sharp.' He glanced again at McGuire and Mackie. 'Mario, that gives you a few hours to be nice to your wife, and Thin Man, it gives you a few hours to find one!'
`Gee thanks, sir,' said McGuire.
Mackie simply scowled. 'That's another home game at Tynecastle I'll miss.
`Lucky for you, then. Now before we break up, let's update ourselves on the other enquiry.
That could be under way already for all we know. Dave Donaldson and Neil Mcllhenney are in place to track Maurice Noble's wife to her assignation with her fancy man.'
'Are you following him also?' asked Doherty.
'No need,' said Martin. 'We're assuming that they'll both wind up at the same place. Once they do we'll nail them.' He stood up, and the others followed his example. 'Tomorrow promises to be quite a day. When it's over, hopefully we'll have narrowed down our list of possibilities.'
`Let's hope we've got at least one
left,' said Mackie gloomily. `That's what I like about you, Brian,' said Martin. 'If there's a black side, I can always trust you to look on it!'
SEVENTY-NINE
‘Cheerful bugger him!' snorted Mcllhenney as the nightshift watcher shuffled off, stiff and round-shouldered back to his team-mate in their car. He had reported, morosely and without a smile, on another uneventful night in Ariadne Tucker's narrow street, where unrestricted parking made it easy for the pair to keep up observation unnoticed by their subject.
It was just after 7.30 a.m., and the light of day was only just beginning to make its presence felt. Since it was Saturday, most of the curtains in the street remained drawn.
Among the exceptions were those of Ariadne Tucker, in whose living-room window, seventy-five yards along on the other side of the street from their parking place, a light shone.
Òur girl's up and about already, then,' said Mcllhenney yawning and rubbing his eyes.
`Could be her mother,' said Donaldson.
`Doubt it, unless she's come back and no one spotted her. She left a couple of days ago, remember.'
Àye, you're right. I'm at the stage on this job where all the days are beginning to merge into one. It's getting bloody cold, too. London can be hot in the summer, but it can be freezing in the winter too, especially when the wind comes whistling up the Thames.
There was a quick knock on the back window, a door opened and Adam Arrow slid into the back seat. 'Morning lads,' he said breezily. 'No action yet?'
'Well, we're still here,' said Mcllhenney, stating the obvious. `Glad about that,' said the soldier. 'I wouldn't have fancied followingyou all in a taxi if she'd got off 'er mark before I arrived.'
'No,' said Donaldson. But you weren't far off it. Look.'
His companions followed his pointing finger, along the street. Ariadne Tucker was standing at her front door, turning a key in the lock. She was dressed in black slacks and a cream jacket, and had a canvas rucksack slung over her shoulder.
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