`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.'
And 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.
Okay, 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?'
A 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.
It'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.
Okay, 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.'
I'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 fiancee'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?'