Two
There were days when Sir James Proud could not help but agree, reluctantly though it may have been, with his wife. He could retire at any time he chose, with a pension that would fund a lifestyle that would be the envy of most, and with the certainty that he would be able to top it up by accepting one or two of the offers of directorships that would be bound to come his way.
He could have gone, honourably, after the warning shot of his coronary incident. Instead he had lost weight, taken sensible exercise, and resumed his duties.
Proud Jimmy had been a police officer for all of his adult life, and had been the chief constable of Scotland’s capital city, of which his father had been Lord Provost, and of the green lands around it for far longer than any of his predecessors. Indeed, only one of them was still alive, and he was in his mid-eighties.
In his heart of hearts, he had never expected to make it to the highest rank in the service, and certainly not to the command of Scotland’s second largest force. When he was appointed there had been whispers that his elevation owed much to his connections to people of influence, but he had ignored them. He knew his strengths: he was a good administrator, a first-class personnel manager, and he had an authoritative appearance, with bearing to match, that made him stand out in a crowd. Strangely, the virtue which he valued least, the natural diplomacy he had inherited from his father, was the one that had been crucial in taking him to the top. Never, at any time in his service, had he been known to upset anyone, other than certain members of the police advisory board, and even then, only when it had been absolutely necessary.
On the other hand he was aware of his weaknesses: he was old fashioned in his attitudes, almost his entire career, after four years of beat-pounding, had been spent behind a desk, and he had no background in detective work. He had spent his early years protecting public order and preventing crime, usually from a distance, but he had never been a thief-catcher and, in truth, had never really understood what made a good one stand out, not, at least, until he had met Bob Skinner.
He had understood from the outset that there was something exceptional about the young man, whose very early promotion to detective sergeant had been sent to his office for approval. He had seen it first in his personnel file. Graduate officers were unusual in those days, but one who came from an affluent professional family was unique in Proud’s experience. And then, of course, there was his father. The young Skinner’s promotion would be likely to take him into sensitive areas, and so, without his knowledge, he had been vetted. The screening had revealed that William Skinner was far more than an ordinary Scottish solicitor. During the Second World War he had been a member of the Special Operations Executive, and although the Ministry of Defence had refused to divulge any details of his service, they did reveal that he had been decorated three times, the last being the award of the George Cross. Because of the nature of the SOE’s work, none of the citations had been made public, and there had been no mention of them on the younger Skinner’s original application to join the police service. At the time, Proud had found this slightly strange: it was some years later that he discovered that Skinner himself had been unaware of his father’s distinctions until after his death.
His imposing deputy was on the chief constable’s mind as he sat at his desk that Friday morning, staring at Kevin O’Malley’s ‘Eyes Only’ report. The psychiatrist was not one to mince his words.
Deputy Chief Constable Skinner [Proud read] has come through another testing operational situation with flying colours. He shows no sign of emotional or psychological damage; indeed, the calmness and detachment which he showed in discussing the events which led to his discharging his weapon mark him out once more as an exceptional person.
In my years in practice, during which I have counselled many officers following potentially traumatic experiences, I have never encountered an individual, not one as rational as he is, at any rate, with such self-control. And yet, that in itself gives me cause for concern. Every person has an emotional breaking point. With most, it is easy to predict when this is likely to occur. With someone who is as tightly wrapped as DCC Skinner it is virtually impossible.
I am aware, since he was willing to discuss it during our session, that he is facing the imminent, and apparently irreversible, break-up of his marriage. I have to say that he appears to be handling this with the same calmness that he shows in professional situations. He and his wife seem to have reached an amicable parting of the ways in which the interests of their children will be paramount, and this is to be welcomed. Nevertheless, the arrangements which he described mean that he is about to become, for the second time in his life, a single parent, throughout the school term at least. Even with domestic assistance, this will impose a further burden upon him.
Mr Skinner has done a great deal in his career, for his force and indeed for his country. He is at an age and in a position of seniority where any other individual would be content to stand back entirely from any operational role that might place him at risk. Yet he is unwilling to do this, arguing that if a situation similar to that with which he has just dealt were to arise again, it would be his duty to assume field command in the absence of anyone with equal experience and skill. It would be easy to say that it is unlikely that such a crisis will occur again in this area, but given the times in which we live such a prediction would be foolish.
I have known Mr Skinner for many years. I would not like to be in a position of having to counsel or, worse, treat him, after he has found where his breaking point lies. I believe that it is in his interests for him to be taken away for a period from any chance that he might have to lead another active operation. I understand from our discussion that he is about to go, for a short period, on special assignment to London. This is timely, and may serve the purpose, but from what I gather it is not likely to be enough. Short of a complete reorganisation of your command structure, and reallocation of responsibilities, I recommend that DCC Skinner, on his return to Edinburgh, be given sabbatical leave for a period of six months.
Proud Jimmy sighed as he finished the report and tossed it into his pending tray. ‘Certainly, Kevin.’ He groaned. ‘Maybe you’d like to try telling him.’
Yes, this was a Chrissie moment, all right, one of those times when his wife’s wish, unspoken but crystal clear nonetheless, seemed very attractive. He enjoyed gardening. His golf clubs were gathering dust in his locker at the Royal Burgess. . not that they had ever seen much use, but he had always promised himself that there would be a time when they did. There was the book that he wanted to write, the one about the history of policing in the city of Edinburgh. And there was Lady Proud herself, above all, and the time that he knew he owed her.
The moment when he would have no choice but to retire would come soon enough, in a little more than a year, in fact. Christmas was on the way: he would have, potentially, one more of them in post, but by the Easter after that, he would have to be gone. What more could he achieve, he asked himself, between now and then?
Nothing, he answered.
Nothing, other than his most cherished wish: to see Bob Skinner appointed his successor. Normally a deputy would never succeed in his own force, but Proud’s diplomacy had overcome that hurdle years before, by having Skinner’s spell as security adviser to the Secretary of State recognised officially as outside experience.
So what had kept him in the job? Paradoxically, it was Skinner himself, and his ambivalence, his refusal to commit himself to applying for the position. For a while it seemed that he had decided firmly against it, but a wise counsellor had persuaded him to consider where his duty really lay. But still, Proud could not be sure whether, when he did give up the baton, his anointed successor would pick it up.