Impolitic Corpses

by Paul Johnston

  ‘And in the meantime?’ asked Rory.

  ‘Let’s see about that. Quint?’

  I glanced at Davie. ‘We’ve got people trying to find out if the dead woman in the warehouse had some connection to Morrie the Nut.’

  Lachie gave me a quizzical look.

  ‘The point being that she might also be a link to this Sebastian guy – the teratologist.’

  ‘He gave me the willies,’ said Lachie. ‘Peered at me like a specimen to be dissected.’

  I’d told him on the phone that the Nor-English also knew Sebastian. There was no telling if that was significant.

  ‘Do you think Shotbolt would really start a war if the energy contracts aren’t signed?’ I said. ‘Billy Geddes has been known to exaggerate.’

  Lachie opened his hands. ‘Who knows?’

  ‘I think Gemma Bass wears the trousers in that trio,’ Rory said.

  ‘Not when I last saw her,’ put in Davie.

  I gave him the eye. ‘We need surveillance on them.’

  ‘Already arranged,’ said Rory. ‘My people are in a room on the other side of the street so we can see if they leave.’

  ‘Isn’t there more than one exit to Goose Pie?’ I said.

  ‘They’re all covered,’ he said.

  ‘No ScotPol presence?’

  He shook his head. ‘They’ve got other things to worry about, Quint.’

  ‘You realize they’ll be tracking the boat from Anstruther.’

  ‘Aye. And they’ll be down in Newhaven.’ He grinned. ‘But we’ve already told the Dundonians to head for the marina at Silverknowes. They’ve got a second boat that’ll act as a distraction.’

  ‘You’ve got closer ties to other regions than you’ve let on, haven’t you, Lachie?’

  ‘Essential in this problematic democracy, wouldn’t you say, Quint? The guys from Dundee are pissed off enough, but it’s not us they want – it’s Duart and the rich scumbags who fund his party.’

  ‘But we don’t know it was them who shot hairy Dougie,’ said Davie.

  Lachie smiled. ‘No, but Dougie’s pals think they did.’

  Edinburgh’s municipal leader had always been devious, but he was excelling himself.

  ‘Is this another revolution?’ I asked.

  ‘Not exactly. There’s a decent malt over there, Davie.’ Lachie pointed to the far corner. ‘No glasses.’

  ‘No worries,’ was the response.

  Despite the hour, we all took a swig and then gathered round the map.

  ‘Is the Lord of the Isles here?’ I asked.

  Lachie raised a finger and placed it on his lips vertically.

  ‘Fair enough,’ I continued. ‘Lady Margaret – our only hope is that the Nor-English lead us to her. But they may leave her wherever she is and head back south. They said they’d do that if Angus doesn’t sign the contracts.’

  ‘Lady Margaret is undoubtedly a problem,’ said Lachie, ‘but not the most important one.’

  ‘Really?’ I said. ‘What else have you got?’

  ‘The Finns. Until recently we’ve had good relations with the Norwegians, the Swedes, the Danes and the north Germans.’

  ‘Until recently?’

  ‘Yes, Quint. They need energy. You know the Norwegians’ reserves ran out two years ago. We have oil, gas and sustainable technology. We’ve done separate deals with each country or federation, but the Finns – sick of having to fend off murderous Russian gangs – have been pushing for a union of the countries.’

  ‘Like the old EU?’ I said. It had collapsed in 2003 after most of its members’ governments fell, initially to far-right nationalists and then to organized and later disorganized crime.

  Lachie nodded. ‘Yes, but much more selective about who can join. The Finns have wood and mineral resources, so they think they’re eligible. There are several differences, though – for a start, they want joint armed forces. It doesn’t take a genius to work out that sooner rather than later someone’s going to convince the rest of them to invade us and cover their energy needs for free.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said Davie. ‘Where are our friends?’

  ‘Good question, big man,’ said Rory. ‘Andrew Duart’s been negotiating with various states – at least so he says – but he won’t confirm which ones. And in any case, no one else in Europe has significant armies, navies or air forces.’

  ‘And the Americans and Canadians have split themselves up into micro-states,’ said Davie, who was party to that kind of information in ScotPol. ‘There’s no shortage of weapons, but they mainly use them against their fellow citizens.’

  ‘There are Finns in Edinburgh now,’ I said.

  ‘I’m talking to them,’ Lachie said, ‘but they’re stalling.’

  ‘Do they know about the Nor-English?’

  ‘And their army? I don’t know. I wouldn’t be surprised.’

  ‘For Plato’s sake,’ I said, reverting to Enlightenment speak. ‘Hang on, do you think the Finns might have taken Lady Margaret? Do you think they’re behind BirdMammon?’

  ‘The Luxembourg shell company?’ said Rory. ‘Don’t be funny.’

  Lachie shook his head slowly. ‘It’s not even mildly amusing. That must be a possibility, Quint. The Finns only arrived yesterday, but they could have had local scumbags working for them.’

  ‘What about the tongueless man who shot Dougie?’ I said. ‘He’s got blond hair. Maybe he’s a Finn.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Lachie.

  ‘So we follow them too,’ said Rory, anxious to please his boss. ‘And monitor their communications.’

  ‘Do you know how many people in Edinburgh speak Finnish?’ Lachie asked acidly.

  Given the lack of free movement during the Enlightenment, I guessed the number would be closer to one than ten.

  ‘Plus,’ Lachie went on, ‘they’re speaking a dialect that the woman we found working as a prostitute in the New Scotland Hotel says is incomprehensible. Any thoughts?’

  ‘Only one,’ I said. ‘Do they have Bosch cults in Finland?’

  No one replied. Then an unpleasant thought surfaced in my mind.

  ‘How about this?’ I said.

  I spoke for long enough to persuade them. It wouldn’t have been longer than a minute.

  Lachie nodded.

  ‘Let’s go then,’ I said to Davie.

  We went.

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ Davie said, at the wheel of the ancient Land Rover that was waiting for us when we were dropped off in Morrison Street. ‘It seems reckless even by your standards.’

  ‘You’re drooling at the prospect of using that machine pistol Rory gave you.’

  ‘True. I mean, only if I have to. Which, let’s face it, I probably will.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ I watched as he turned down Lothian Road. ‘Just keep it concealed when we go in. We won’t have much time.’

  He was smiling in anticipation. My gut was tying itself in a European death knot.

  A few minutes later Davie pulled up in front of the New Scotland Hotel. It had been built at the junction with Princes Street, where the Independence used to be till it was burned down in 2020. Which made my internal organs tighten even more. The arsonist had a connection to the ENT Man. Why had that finger been left in the Lord of the Isles’s bed, and by whom?

  ‘Come on, Quint,’ Davie said, waving his ScotPol ID at the taxi driver and the kilted doorman who’d come up to protest. He stormed to the reception desk.

  Under a minute later we had the room numbers – four single rooms and a suite.

  ‘Might as well go for broke,’ I said, as we set off up the stairs to the second floor.

  ‘The suite, then?’

  ‘Aye.’

  My breathing was rapid by the time we made it to the door. Fortunately, there was no sentry. I knocked on the door lightly. There was no spyhole.

  ‘Hello?’ said a female voice.

  ‘Complimentary champagne,’ I said, hoping that Finns were like most northern European
s – very keen on booze.

  There was a brief conversation that I couldn’t make out. I raised two fingers at Davie and he nodded. We both knew there could be more people inside.

  Then the door was opened. Davie piled through, landing a tall young woman on her backside. I stopped to help her to her feet, then pulled her forward by the arm – it wasn’t the time for good manners. He kept going, into a large sitting room. Three men were sitting round a blazing fire, glasses in their hands. Davie had the machine pistol in one of his.

  ‘What’s this?’ said the oldest of the three, though he was probably only in his early forties. His hair, like those of all four Finns, was blond.

  ‘What does it look like, pal?’ Davie said.

  ‘Robbery?’ said another of the men.

  There was no sign of weapons, which made me suspicious. I pushed the woman towards the nearest sofa and checked the two bedrooms and their en-suite bathrooms. I even checked the walk-in cupboards. No one and nothing. I pulled all the phones I found from the wall and crushed the plugs under my heel.

  There was an uneasy silence in the main room when I returned. I saw why – one of the guys was holding the side of his head, blood coursing between his fingers.

  ‘Tried it on,’ Davie muttered. ‘Which one?’

  I’d taken a name badge from the suit jacket that was on a chair in the larger bedroom. It had a photo on it. The older guy turned out not to be the ‘Delegation Chief’. That was the bleeding one.

  ‘Him,’ I said, pointing.

  Davie grabbed him, handing over the weapon. ‘Cover me,’ he said.

  I did my best, brandishing the gun with its long silencer at the remaining Finns as Davie manhandled the chief, whose name was Aku Koskinen, to the door. Then I remembered.

  ‘Mobile phones,’ I said. ‘All of them.’

  The woman was sobbing now. I felt sorry for her, but at least we hadn’t done her serious injury. I gathered four mobiles, then found another in a discarded jacket pocket.

  ‘If you make a sound,’ I said, looking at the red fire-alarm box, ‘any kind of sound, he dies. Got it?’

  They nodded avidly.

  I left at speed and caught Davie up on the stairs. He took back the machine pistol and jammed the muzzle into Koskinen’s side, covering it with a jacket he’d picked up in the suite.

  ‘You really don’t want to draw attention to us,’ Davie said to the Finn, as we reached the ground floor.

  The blond man held his head high, showing no sign of fear. That made me apprehensive. Did he have a plan?

  We walked at regular pace through the reception area towards the main doors. The guy in the kilt saluted Davie and ushered us out, raising an eyebrow at the Finn’s lack of coat but saying nothing.

  The Land Rover was where we left it, but there was a uniformed ScotPol officer by the driver’s door. That was not good, especially as he recognized Davie with a nod. We were about to find out if Hyslop had put a red star against our names.

  I moved closer to Koskinen and opened the rear door. Now was his chance to call out, but he didn’t take it. The officer opened Davie’s door for him. We were in, seatbelts on and away in a matter of seconds.

  ‘Whew,’ I said.

  ‘That’ll get back to the queen wasp,’ Davie said, driving down a back street. ‘Here,’ he said, handing me the weapon between the seats.

  ‘That really isn’t necessary,’ said the Finn. ‘I didn’t resist when I could have. Why would I do so now?’ His English was perfect and without an accent. ‘But I’m curious. Why have you abducted me?’

  I decided to be civilized. ‘This isn’t an abduction. Davie up front is a senior police officer.’

  ‘And what are you?’ Aku Koskinen’s pale-blue eyes took me in, his gaze unwavering.

  ‘A consultant.’

  ‘I thought as much. You’re that fellow Dalrymple.’

  Davie stifled a laugh. I knew the word ‘fellow’ would be cast in my direction for weeks.

  ‘I read one of your books in Swedish. Was it really like that during the dictatorship?’

  We passed the Tomb Builders, a pub notorious for raucous folk music and lethal lock-ins.

  ‘Wasn’t a dictatorship, pal,’ said Davie.

  ‘He’s right,’ I said. ‘The Council was at heart benevolent, at least after order was restored. There are citizens who would like it back.’ That was true, but I would do anything I could to prevent such a development. In any case, once the genie of commercialism had been let out, people lived to shop. Unless they were from Dundee. I wondered what was going down on the shore of the Forth.

  ‘Balaclava on,’ Davie said.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said, pulling mine back to front over the Finn’s face. Ten minutes later we arrived at a detached house off Newington Road. It was one of Rory’s alternative bases.

  And in the basement, I soon learned, was a makeshift torture chamber.

  Koskinen was led down the stairs by two rebels. Lachie stood watching from the other side of the hall. Near the ceiling was a frieze depicting Scotland’s celebrated authors – Scott, Burns, Douglas and so on. I was surprised it had survived the Enlightenment, which was dead set against symbols of national pride. Everything was about Edinburgh, not the country. Maybe the presence of Robert Fergusson had saved the wall painting.

  ‘They’ll put the fear of Odin up him,’ Lachie said, once the door was closed.

  ‘Did the Finns worship the Viking gods?’ I asked.

  ‘Who cares?’ said the wee man, with a smile that made his moustache move oddly. ‘Rory’s made contact with our friends from Dundee. They’re holding back for now. We’ve got a place near the landing site where they can eat, drink and sleep.’

  ‘We’ve got decisions to make,’ I said. ‘Any movement by the Nor-English?’

  He shook his head. ‘Sitting tight.’

  Davie was on the phone to Eilidh. When he’d finished, he came over. ‘You were right, Quint. The dead woman, Janey Monteith, got her drugs from one of Morrie Gish’s dealers.’

  I thought about that. It explained how she’d ended up dead in the warehouse the scumbag owned, but not much else. Why her?

  ‘Ah, something, or rather someone, I forgot,’ said Lachie, his tone making clear he was telling what the Council used to call ‘untruths’. He looked to his left, where a door had opened.

  ‘I’m back,’ said Katharine.

  ‘Magic,’ muttered Davie.

  I was thinking of Sophia and how she’d already given me my head in my hands to play with.

  ‘He isn’t talking,’ said one of Lachie’s men. He was wearing a leather apron on which, I was glad to see, were no spots of blood. Yet. ‘He also has no tattoos or suggestive symbols on any of his possessions. He wants to see you, Mr Dalrymple.’

  ‘I’m coming too,’ said Davie.

  I raised a hand.

  ‘Maybe I can get him to speak,’ Katharine said. ‘Lachie told me about your rather desperate plan. How do you even know the Finns are involved with the abduction?’

  She was wearing a dark tartan jacket and matching trousers, and I had to admit she looked good. Her hair was down and the sharp angles of her features were less pronounced. Then again, she was still wearing heavy boots.

  ‘Take our esteemed guest along, Quint,’ said Lachie. ‘Davie, you can tell me more about what you heard from your ScotPol contact.’

  There was a high-pitched scream from the basement. Katharine was first to move towards the open door and Davie second. I let the man in the apron sprint past me and brought up the rear.

  THIRTEEN

  ‘Is he going to be all right?’ I asked.

  ‘The maniac bit a great chunk out of the sentry’s cheek,’ Katharine said, in disgust. She’d knocked Aku Koskinen out with the butt of her pistol. He was on his right side on the floor in the chair he’d been tied to, his mouth and lower face covered in blood.

  The wounded man had been taken upstairs by his colleague.

  Dav
ie was shaking his head. ‘Maniac’s not strong enough. He’s a fucking psycho. You were right though, Quint. The Finns aren’t simply traders.’

  So it seemed, but I took no joy from that. Besides, a psychopath would be unlikely to break easily.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got a truth drug,’ said Katharine.

  ‘We did have,’ I said, ‘but it was destroyed. It killed the people it was given to.’

  Davie grunted. ‘Would have been just the thing for this piece of shit. I suppose we’ll just have to beat the hell out of him now.’

  ‘We haven’t got time,’ I said. ‘Katharine, do you want to try?’

  Koskinen was beginning to come round. He looked up at us and laughed, a chilling sound. He was actually enjoying himself.

  ‘Fuck you all,’ he said, spraying blood from his lips. ‘You might as well put my corpse in the bins.’

  ‘That can be arranged,’ Davie growled.

  ‘Let’s get the chair back up,’ I said. We manhandled the piece of furniture and its cargo till all four legs and both feet were on the floor.

  ‘I’ll go and see how the guy you tried to eat is,’ Davie said, making to headbutt the Finn, but stopping just before their brows met. Koskinen bellowed out laughter.

  ‘Your turn,’ I said to Katharine.

  ‘Do you know who I am?’ she asked the confined man, keeping about a metre away from him.

  ‘Should I?’ the Finn said. ‘You’re too old to be an escort. Those Edinburgh girls, Dalrymple. They’re really something.’ He leered at me.

  ‘Because,’ Katharine continued, ‘I know you, Aku Koskinen. You’re a criminal.’

  That was interesting. I listened more intently.

  ‘You visited Stirling last July.’

  The Finn’s eyes narrowed. ‘So? A perfect shithole of a place.’ He laughed harshly. ‘Women in charge, men doing the donkey work.’

  ‘You weren’t so dismissive at the time,’ Katharine said, cracking the joints of her fingers. I couldn’t remember her doing that before. ‘In fact, you offered funding for a forestry college.’

  Koskinen looked at her more closely. ‘I recall. You were one of the leaders. You argued against our offer.’

  ‘I still am one of the leaders,’ she said, ‘and I wasn’t the only woman to take against you.’