Postscript

Barrow and Sam had a conversation which resulted in the conclusion that I had to see a counsellor. My counsellor was Pauline Byford. She was a very bright and an extremely ugly, dwarf, female psychiatrist. She was with MI6. That did worry me as I’d worked with them on interrogations. They’d the ability to get inside people’s heads and didn’t seem concerned at the psychological damage they might do. She had a large head with protruding forehead, a large bulbous nose, thick lips, no chin, very short legs and a long body, short arms and stubby, thick, podgy fingers. She was about 4 foot 6 inches tall. However, despite looking so odd, she was extremely pleasant and totally non-judgemental – unlike me, with my stupid assumptions, that because she looked odd and was a psychiatrist she would be unpleasant and judgemental. I suppose that demonstrates how screwed-up I’d become. It didn’t take long for her to get me to recognise the problems that I had.

Her office was like a mad psychiatrist film set. She had a bookcase that covered one wall and a desk that sat in front of a massive window overlooking a small, enclosed park that only residents could enter. Another area of her office wall had at least eight framed certificates. I was on a leather psychiatrist’s couch and felt like a prat and she sat out of sight behind my head. This was like a scene from the horror movie, Dr Umust Bumphimofski.

She quickly identified that I was depressed, with some other bits. Much of that was resolved by her taking me through the events of that day in the showers from my perspective and then from the perspective of the now-dead men and finally from the perspective of the other prisoners, particularly those who were later showing me respect. The biggest revelation was when she got me to celebrate killing them. If anybody had come in her office when we were doing that both of us would have been locked up. I ended up rolling on the floor, laughing so much that I thought I would wet myself. Laughter is always the best medicine or so I had been told.

I was amazed how quickly I recovered. Logic back, anxiety gone, sexual functioning restored, nightmares gone; all I wanted now was to get on with the job. I was again Jake Robinson, or was I? I now had the basics to go forward and find out why it was that Jase really killed Carmichael and to explore the question of whether Carmichael was a killer. If Carmichael was a killer, who had he killed and why? Why was that a problem for The Family? Anyway, Barrow wanted to know, because of the connection to The Family and finding answers may have helped in the battle against organised crime.

So, now I’d another project to drive: to hunt the killer.