‘What do you want to know?’
‘Everything.’
‘That’s a rather wide scope, Sergeant. Could you be more specific?’
‘Did you ever meet Mr Paton face to face?’
‘No. Never.’
‘So all your conversations were by email?’
‘And occasionally by telephone.’
‘So I assume that you will have copies of the emails he sent to you for your records.’
Irving shook his head.
‘No. That would be quite unprofessional and would breach the Data Protection Act. I deleted each email once I’d responded to it. I believe Laurence did the same.’
Narey had a strong urge to slap Irving’s face but resisted it.
‘What was troubling Mr Paton?’
Irving made a great play of sighing and letting his head fall to his chest before replying. He was clearly going to be as difficult as possible and make it obvious he was acting under duress.
‘Laurence was suffering from depression as a result of antecedent conflict.’
It was Narey’s turn to sigh. Psychobabble, here we come, Narey thought.
‘The concept of antecedent conflict is that it is categorised as resulting from a trauma suffered in childhood,’ she argued. ‘Are you saying that was what happened in Mr Paton’s case?’
Irving’s eyes grew wide but he kept his mouth firmly closed.
‘Which university did you graduate from, Dr Irving?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Which university did you get your doctorate from?’
‘I don’t really see what that has to do with anything.’
‘I was just curious.’
‘Grantchester University.’
Narey feigned puzzlement.
‘I must admit I’m not familiar with that particular establishment, Dr Irving. Is that one of the colleges that got upgraded to university status?’
The man squirmed uncomfortably but held his chin high.
‘No. It’s actually an American university. It’s rather highly regarded.’
‘Really? That must have been quite an experience, studying in the US. Which city were you in?’
Irving shook his head in exasperation and Narey could see his anger growing.
‘I wasn’t actually there,’ he conceded irritably. ‘It was a correspondence-based curriculum but nevertheless…’
‘Ah, I see,’ she let her words linger in the air for effect. ‘As I was saying, are you telling me that Mr Paton’s problems stemmed from an incident in his childhood? Or was it perhaps something later in his life? Which was it, Mr Irving?’
The man bridled at the lack of title and Narey relished his indignant fury.
‘Doctor Irving,’ he corrected her, his attempts at hiding his emotions crashing on the rocks of his ego. ‘It’s Doctor Irving.’
‘My apologies, Doctor. Did you acquire that title from the same university as your degree?’
‘Sergeant, I…’
Narey didn’t want to hear his bleatings.
‘When did this supposedly traumatic incident take place?’
‘Later.’
‘In his twenties?’
‘Yes.’
‘At the Lake of Menteith?’
Irving’s eyes widened again. ‘Yes, I think so. Yes.’
‘Tell me what you know.’
Irving ran his hand anxiously through his thinning hair and his eyes scrunched closed.
‘Laurence suffered from chronic sleep deprivation as a manifestation of trying to avoid particular recurring dreams. This had a damaging consequence on his health and his ability to function properly within a work environment. Criticism from school management was increasing his issues with self-esteem and also provoking unmanageable levels of stress, as he feared losing his job. I was helping him deal with these concerns.’
‘What were the dreams?’
Irving looked into a corner of the ceiling as if seeking an escape route.
‘Laurence told me he would constantly dream about walking on water. This is typically a dream indicating the subject has complete control of his or her emotions yet this was clearly not the case with Laurence. He…’
‘Cut the bullshit, Doctor. We both know the water was frozen over.’
‘Yes. He said that in his dream he was walking on a frozen lake. There was a girl by his side and they walked together to an island. They were surrounded by other people at first, who gradually left until there was just the two of them. He wouldn’t dream about what happened on the island but the next thing he knew he would be walking back on his own and every footstep he took the ice would melt completely behind him and he would always be only inches away from falling into the lake.’
Narey was aware of the hairs standing up on the back of her neck.
‘Was it your belief this dream was based on something that did actually occur?’
Irving’s eyes fell to the floor.
‘Did Paton ever tell you that he killed the girl on Inchmahome Island?’
‘No.’
Narey stared hard at the therapist, forcing him to return her gaze.
‘Did he ever tell you he didn’t kill the girl?’
‘No.’
‘Did you ever ask either of those questions?’
‘No.’
‘Why the fuck not?’
‘Because that wasn’t my job. My brief wasn’t to investigate the legal or moral questions of what may or may not have happened but rather to deal with the psychological consequences.’
‘Yeah? Well, you should have fucking asked him anyway.’
Narey was still standing on the doorstep, her eyes boring into Irving’s, when the man slammed the door in her face. She was left with her nose inches from a white door that was in dire need of a paint job.
‘We’ll talk again, Mister Irving,’ she announced loudly, a grim but satisfied smile on her face. ‘You can count on it.’
CHAPTER 20
‘Irving is a fraud. A snake oil salesman with a pretend degree from a pretend online university and a doctorate you can bet he bought in hard cash. The man’s no more a therapist than I am.’
They were sitting round Rachel’s dining table again, their three-strong council of war reconvening after her meeting with Irving and Tony and Danny’s return from investigations of their own.
‘You didn’t like him much then, Rach?’
‘I wouldn’t piss on him if he was on fire.’
‘Very ladylike.’
‘Oh sod off, Tony. The guy’s a creep and I’ve not had the best of days.’
Winter could hear the tension in her voice. He was well used to dealing with the fallout from the stress Rachel worked under on a daily basis but this was different.
‘So apart from really disliking the guy, what did you get from him?’
‘He says Paton never admitted to killing Lily but I’m not sure I believe him. In fact, I don’t think I believe a single word that came out of his mouth. What did you get on him, Danny?’
Neilson had spent the previous two days chasing paper trails all over town and talking to people who knew people who would know things about the likes of Irving.
‘Okay…’ Danny cleared his throat theatrically. ‘Presenting Mr Kyle Irving.’
Rachel and Tony sat back in their chairs, their body language letting Neilson know he had the floor and their complete attention.
‘He’s fifty-five years old. Divorced, with one daughter he doesn’t see very often. Before he decided he was a psychologist, he used to work in sales, moving around between a couple of insurance companies and a medical supplies business. He was born and bred in Glasgow and, except for a short spell in London in the nineties, he hasn’t wandered very far from home.
‘As Rachel learned when she visited him, Irving’s degree and his title aren’t exactly what they seem. In fact, they are a pile of shite. Not worth the paper they’re written on, which is a few quid and nothing more. There’s nothing illegal about what he’s doing but it’s pretty dodgy all the same. It’s the poor saps he’s scamming money from that you have to feel sorry for.’