LITMIR.BIZ

       11

      ‘What the fuck was that all about?’ She was so angry that she didn’t try to keep her voice down.

      She had found Callan in the room at the end of the corridor, a Special Investigation Branch team room it seemed from the white boards bearing crime scene photographs, the hubbub of conversation, the manic clicking of computer keys. He was sitting behind a desk in the far corner, elbows on the desktop, cradling his head in his hands.

      Looking up, he met her gaze. He looked wrecked. Utterly wrung out. His eyes were bloodshot and she wasn’t sure if it was a product of the sickly grey light seeping through the blinds from the window above his desk, but his skin looked greyish pale, his face drawn.

      He shrugged. ‘It was about the fact that I don’t have time for cunts any more.’

      ‘Unfortunately dealing with cunts is always going to be part of your job. If you can’t handle it, perhaps you should do something else.’

      ‘Like what? Become a banker or a lawyer? I’ve probably left it a bit late, and I’m not sure the personality fit would be seamless.’

      ‘He could have you on a charge.’

      ‘He won’t.’

      ‘What makes you so sure?’

      ‘He’s not the type. He may be a murdering bastard, but I don’t think he’s a petty one.’

      Jessie slumped down in the chair across the desk from Callan. ‘And he may actually be innocent.’

      Silence. She let it stretch. Dropping his head to his hands again, Callan ground his fingers into his eyes sockets, grated them through his hair.

      ‘You’re right, I was out of order.’ His tone was sheepish. ‘And I do not have any preconceptions about Starkey’s guilt or innocence. He wound me up. After I … after what I went through in Afghanistan, I find that much harder to handle than I used to. Where is he?’

      ‘He’s left. Our conversation finished a short while after you disappeared. He said he’d see himself out. He’s not under arrest, after all.’

      ‘What do you think?’

      ‘I think you should be straight with me.’

      He ignored the inference. ‘About Starkey?’

      ‘About you.’

      ‘I just was straight with you.’

      ‘I think there’s more. I think there’s something you’re not telling me.’ Her gaze found the scar from the bullet wound on his temple.

      ‘And I think my life is no longer any of your business.’

      ‘You asked me here.’

      ‘To help with a case.’

      She watched him in silence for a moment, caught between two conflicting desires – the first to tell him to go fuck himself for walking out and leaving her with Starkey, and the second, to press him for the truth. But he was right. It wasn’t her business. He was no longer her patient.

      Crossing her arms across her chest, she sat back. ‘You said that the impression Starkey gives doesn’t reconcile with the glowing reports from his commanding officers, and I agree. But then he is Intelligence Corps.’

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘It’s not mainline Army, is it? What they do, what they’re after, the methods they use.’

      ‘Is he sane?’

      Jessie dropped her gaze to the floor, drawing a picture of Starkey to mind. The look in his eyes: intelligence definitely, but was there complete sentience? You know what really frightens me.… injustice. His fingers frantically tapping on the tabletop. Fucking amateurs and that’s how we get burnt.

      ‘He’s clever, but is he aware of what he’s doing? Yes, I believe he is.’

      ‘So he was playing with us?’

      ‘I don’t think it’s that simple.’ She sat forward. ‘If he’s deliberately playing a game, then he’s doing it for a reason. It’s not for fun. No one was having fun in that room, even him, whatever it looked like.’

      ‘So what’s his upside?’

      ‘He’s hiding something. Probably a whole range of somethings.’

      ‘The fact that he killed Jackson?’

      ‘I think it’s more complex than that. Why would he want Jackson dead? Because he didn’t like him? Everyone works with people they don’t like. And he has been in the Army long enough to have learnt self-control in the face of extreme provocation.’ She looked up. ‘Is there any history between them?’

      ‘Nothing formal. No disciplinary. Their commanding officer said that they got on fine. He also said that they were both based at TAAC-South, but weren’t working together at the time of Jackson’s death.’

      ‘What else did the commanding officer say?’

      Callan put the tips of his index finger and thumb together to form a circle, aping the gesture that Starkey had made.

      Jessie rolled her eyes. ‘Need to know.’

      ‘Right.’

      ‘Jesus. They’re certainly into protecting their own.’ She sighed. ‘I don’t think you’re going to get anything else out of Starkey. He clearly believes that he has too much to lose.’

      ‘So to move forward I need to find factual evidence.’

      ‘Yes. And if you find factual evidence, even if it’s not enough to charge Starkey, you can use it to put the thumbscrews on him. Force him to talk.’

      ‘What was that bit about “the truth will set you free”?’ The corners of his mouth twitched. ‘I didn’t know that you went to a convent school.’

      ‘There’s a lot that you don’t know about me, Callan.’

      Their eyes locked across his desk. Jessie felt colour rise in her cheeks. Glancing at her watch, an excuse to look away, she slid her chair back.

      ‘If there’s nothing more you need, I’m off. I said I’d have tea with Ahmose at six. I have some smoothing over to do after your insults regarding his gardening prowess.’

      Callan looked at his watch, too. ‘It’s only five. How about a—’ He broke off, seemed to be weighing up saying something, then changed his mind. ‘I’ll call you if I need anything else.’

      Leaning over the desk she shook his hand, the gesture feeling strangely over formal, but too late now to retract.

      ‘I’m not sure that there will be much more I can help you with.’

      He smiled, held her hand for a fraction of a second longer. ‘Perhaps. Perhaps not.’

      Jessie withdrew her hand. ‘Goodbye, Captain Callan.’

      It was dark outside, a strong wind gusting clouds over a sliver of moon. Provost Barracks’ car park was deserted. Lights on inside

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