“And this doesn’t strike you as unusual?”

“Not at all. It’s all pretty much standard operating procedure within the division. I’ve been in tighter spots than the swallowing, I can tell you.”

“Such as?”

“Probably the incident with the troll—or the attack by Dr. Quatt’s genetic experiment. Or the Gingerbreadman. Or arresting King Midas—and Rumpelstiltskin didn’t take my closing down of his straw-into-gold dens too well.”

“And did any of these make you feel anxious or worried?”

“Of course.”

“Feelings of delayed shock?”

“Nope.”

“Guilt?”

“Only on a failed conviction—guilty that I didn’t present a robust enough case.”

Kreeper looked mildly disappointed and tried another tack. “Your marriage is good?”

“Couldn’t be better.”

“How do you feel when you think of beautiful Pippa in the control room?”

“That she’s very pretty and young enough to be my daughter.”

“And who do you think she’s going out with?”

“Is this part of the test?”

“No, I was just interested like everyone else.”

“She showed an interest in Sergeant Pickle, but I’m not sure how far it’s gone.”

Virginia held up a picture of an inkblot.

“What does this look like to you?”

“It looks like a vagina. No, just kidding—it looks like a Rorschach inkblot test.”

“And what about this?” she asked, showing him another.

“It looks like the one you just showed me.”

“And this?”

“Ditto.”

“O-kay. Word association. I want you to tell me the first word that comes into your head. Ready?”

“Steady.”

“We haven’t started yet. Okay, here we go: Jack?”

“Yes?”

“No, we’ve started now. Jack?”

“Jill.”

“Dish?”

“Spoon.”

“Boy?”

“Blue.”

“Baa, baa?”

“Black sheep.”

“Ring around the rosies?”

“All fall down.”

“Porridge?”

“Bear.”

“Nursery?”

“Crime.”

“Bluebeard?”

“Crime.”

“Humpty?”

“Crime.”

“Crime?”

“Nursery.”

Kreeper wrote another note, leaned back in her chair and then asked, “Being swallowed. What did it feel like?”

“Constricting to begin with, then quite warm and womblike.”

“Aha!” muttered Virginia triumphantly, leaning forward again.

“How do you get on with your mother?”

“She’s a monumental pain in the ass, but I love her—I suppose.”

“When you were a little boy, did you ever walk into your parents’ bedroom when they were making love?”

“No!”

“Beaten as a child?”

“No.”

“Humiliated? Other siblings favored over you?”

“No.”

“Potty trained too late?”

“No.”

“Potty trained too early?”

“No!”

“Shame,” she said a little sadly. “That would have made it all a lot easier. This car of yours. You say it mended itself?”

“No, I don’t think I ever said that.”

“I distinctly heard you tell Sergeant Mary.”

“I meant it in… in… an ironic manner.”

“What sort of ironic manner?”

“I’m not sure,” said Jack, beginning to get a trifle annoyed and wanting to skip to the “clean bill of health” part. “Listen: I sleep well, eat well, have no problems with anyone except for people who… want to stop me from doing my job.”

“Eat well?” asked Virginia, consulting Jack’s medical records.

“That’s what you said? ‘Eat well’?”

“Ye-e-es,” replied Jack, trying to figure where this was going.

“And your name is Jack Spratt?”

“You know it is.”

“Who eats no fat?”

“A lot of people don’t eat fat,” replied Jack defensively, suddenly realizing what Kreeper was up to. The interview had started out quite innocently, but now she was probing right under the skin, and he didn’t like it—not one little bit.

“And your wife—your first one—she ate no lean, is that correct?”

“Do you have to bring my first wife into this?” said Jack, rubbing his hands together because they had begun to itch. “You know she died?”

“I’m sorry, Inspector, but it might be important.”

“Yes, she only ate the fat. Only ever ate fat. What of it?”

“So together,” said Kreeper in a meaningful tone, “you licked the platter clean?”

“Metaphorically speaking—you could say that,” snapped Jack, rubbing his brow. The room had suddenly grown hot, and he pulled at his collar to try to stop his shirt from sticking to him.

“Are you feeling okay, Inspector?”

“Of course.”

“You don’t want to stop and carry on another time?”

“No.”

“And none of that ‘eat no fat / eat no lean / platter clean’ stuff strikes you as unusual?”

“Not at all.” replied Jack. He looked down at his hands and noticed a slight tremor. He tried to smile and clasped his fingers together, then felt an itch on his neck that he had to scratch but didn’t in case Kreeper thought he was acting strangely. If this was a test to see if he would crack and admit his PDRness, it was a good one.

“Have you heard of the Jack Sprat nursery rhyme?”

“Never,” he replied angrily. “Is there one?”

“Yes. Do you want to hear it?”

Jack felt his heart thump heavily in his chest, and his scalp prickled. “No, I don’t.”

“I see,” replied Virginia with infuriating calm. “So, Jack, what is the meaning of all this… GIANT KILLING?”

Jack jumped to his feet. “Station tittle-tattle!” he exclaimed, more forcefully than he had intended. “Yes, yes, there were three of them, but only one was technically a giant; the rest were just tall. I was cleared of wrongdoing on every occasion.”

He found himself pacing the room, stopped, gave a wan smile, then seated himself with his hands under his thighs to keep them from fidgeting.

“Is that all you need to know?”

“I’m only just beginning,” replied Kreeper with a unpleasant smile. “Tell me about the beanstalk.”

“What beanstalk?”

“The one that grew in your mother’s garden. The one that grew after you swapped the Stubbs cow for the ‘magic’ beans. The one you chopped down to destroy that giant… thing.”

“Oh, that beanstalk.”

“Yes, that one. Doesn’t the whole scenario ring with even the slightest familiarity to you?”

“What do you want from me, Kreeper?”

“Nothing,” she replied evenly. “I’ve just been asked to do a psychiatric evaluation to see if you are mentally fit enough to continue your duties, and I think it’s important to understand why it is that you are so suited to nursery crime work.”

He stared at her, and she stared back. He took a deep breath and calmed himself. Something about her manner wasn’t right. She had brought her own selfish agenda to the meeting. This wasn’t an evaluation; it was simply a hurdle in the narrative. And as soon as he realized that, he knew he could go on the attack. He remembered some advice that DCI Horner had given him when he had passed the NCD reins across to him. “Remember, m’boy,” his old boss had said, eyes twinkling, “that if anyone tries to get the better of you, stand up straight and say to yourself in an imperious air, ‘I am the new Mrs. de Winter now!’ You’ll find it works wonders.” Jack stared at Kreeper and narrowed his eyes.

“Mrs. de Winter,” he murmured.

“I’m sorry?”

“Nothing. In answer to your question as to why I’m so suited to NCD work: After many years working among the nursery characters living in Reading, I have grown to have an affinity with their way of thinking. Call it intuition if you like, but there it is, and I can’t explain it.”

Kreeper’s face fell at Jack’s recovery. She thought she’d gotten him. “Nothing else?”

Jack felt his heart stop thumping and was suddenly calmer.

“Nothing at all. Tell me, what kind of parents named Kreeper give their daughter a name like Virginia?”

She scratched her chin and looked away.

“Virginia Kreeper is a plant, isn’t it?”

“Possibly. But this interview isn’t about me, Inspector.”