As I climbed the curved Georgian staircase, it struck me that I’d never been inside Sophia’s place before. She always came to my flat. She was probably worried that the woman on the door would have a nervous breakdown if she knew what her chief got up to with a demoted auxiliary. Not that her chief had got up to anything with me in the last couple of days.
A guardsman on the landing pointed to the far door then went back to his copy of the Inter-barracks Sports Report.
Since everyone seemed to know I was coming, I didn’t bother to knock.
Sophia raised her head briefly from her antique desk. She didn’t bother to speak or smile.
There was a bottle of water on the table in front of the fireplace so I went over to it and poured myself a glass. If she wanted silence, who was I to deny her? I sat down on one of the armchairs that guardians seem to choose especially for their lack of comfort and picked up a well-thumbed book. The senior guardian’s current leisure reading was Patricia Cornwell’s The Body Farm. In the past, Council members would have died rather than read pre-Enlightenment mass-market fiction. Now they’re desperate to acquire the common touch. I hoped that volume didn’t inspire her to rethink Agriculture Directorate policy. Or increase her interest in criminal conspiracies.
After five minutes Sophia closed the folder she’d been annotating and got up. She came towards me slowly, her bare calves below the grey skirt gleaming in the light from the ornate chandelier. She took some water then sat down opposite me.
“Well, citizen?” she said finally.
“Well, Sophia?”
She looked away in irritation, her ice-blonde hair flicking out of shape. “Don’t make this any more difficult than it already is, please.”
“What do you mean difficult?” I was puzzled. “You’re the one who required my presence.”
“Very well,” she said, holding her back very straight. “Kindly give me an updated report.”
So that’s how she wanted to play it. No messing about, no sweetness, no light. I reciprocated, telling her in unemotional tones about the current situation in the command centre – which she could have found out easily enough for herself. I decided to hit her with my thoughts about Nasmyth 05. That brought a hint of interest to her expression.
“Why wasn’t the Council informed about the surveillance you had on the Edlott auxiliary?” she asked in full Ice Queen mode.
“If you and your colleagues were to be told about everyone being tailed by undercover operatives, you wouldn’t have time to do anything else. Lewis Hamilton knew about it.”
“Nasmyth 05 has a senior position in the Culture Directorate,” she said angrily. “If you had the slightest suspicion, as senior guardian I should have been informed from the outset.”
I looked at her, keeping my face blank. Was she just pissed off because I’d kept her in the dark or did she have some connection with the fat auxiliary she didn’t want me to know about?
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“I’d like an explanation of why you didn’t tell me, citizen.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake, Sophia,” I shouted, jumping to my feet. “Stop all this ‘citizen’ bollocks, will you? We were sleeping together not long ago, remember?”
Spots of red appeared on her cheeks. “Yes, well, everybody makes mistakes.” She gave me a piercing look. “As you of all people should know, Quint.”
I attempted to step round the table and banged my knee on it. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She stood up and walked back to her desk, then stopped suddenly and faced me again. “You’ve seen her, haven’t you? The Kirkwood woman.”
I held her gaze but didn’t answer.
“At least you aren’t lying.” She shook her head. “You’re playing an extremely dangerous game. As far as I’m concerned, that woman is a prime suspect.”
I took a deep breath before speaking. She was on to me, God knows how. I thought I was the one who relied on hunches. “Be reasonable, Sophia. Katharine’s not a cold-blooded killer.”
“Katharine!” she shouted, losing her cool. “Katharine, as you call her, is indeed a killer. You know that very well. She’s also a dissident and a deserter. Not to mention a former prostitute.”
I gave her the eye. “Correct me if I’m wrong but wasn’t the Prostitution Services Department set up by the Council? And Katharine was forced to work there after she came out of prison.”
Sophia shrugged. “The details are irrelevant. I don’t see any other suspect in this investigation with her record.”
“Jealousy’s a terrible thing, Sophia,” I said, taking a pace towards her.
She went glacial again. “I can assure you that jealousy has nothing to do with my attitude to her, Quint. You’d better hope that there are no more ultimata and that you turn up something on Nasmyth 05 and the missing citizen soon.” She turned away from me. “Otherwise the spotlight will move on to you as well as your girlfriend.”
I wanted to give her a good shake but that would only have made her spit even more. Anyway, before I could make my mind up what to say, my mobile rang.
“Quint?” said a low, female voice that I recognised immediately. “Where are you?”
“At the senior guardian’s residence, Davie,” I said, enunciating like a ham actor.
“Ah,” Katharine said. She gave a bitter laugh. “Don’t even think about touching that woman. I’ll call you later.” The connection was cut.
I stuck the phone back in my pocket, hoping my face hadn’t given me away.
“What was that about?” Sophia asked.
“It was just Hume 253 checking on my whereabouts.”
“Why? Did he think you were in danger at my hands?” she said sarcastically. When guardians use sarcasm, you know they’re out of their depth.
I shook my head. “Grow up, Sophia,” I said, turning away and heading for the door. As I got there, I found myself wondering why she’d called me to her residence. I hadn’t exactly told her much about the case. She didn’t even give me the post-mortem results on the dead men from the mill. Presumably there was nothing unexpected to report. So why had she got me over? Surely, for all her display of indifference, it wasn’t because she wanted to see me? I walked to the exit and let that thought float away into the open space of the stairwell.
Back in my flat I stripped off, took a slug of safe whisky and sat back in the uneven sofa as the rasping spirit slipped down my throat. I got a momentary rush but all the booze really did was make my internal organs burn as much as my skin was already doing in the cramped room. The windows were wide open but the place was still a sauna.
I went over and stood by the curtains, vainly hoping that the air outside was cooler. Sticking my head out, I looked down into the street. The undercover operative five doors to the right wasn’t quick enough. I caught a glimpse of his dark shirt as he jerked back behind the stonework. Sophia was making sure that Katharine didn’t slip up to me unnoticed. I went back to the sofa and took another pull at the whisky. I’d checked with the command centre on my way home – no further messages received and no more poisoned bottles discovered. Maybe the messenger was running scared and we were in the clear after all. I gave myself the luxury of ten seconds to wallow in that delusion.
As my eyes began to close, faces flashed up before me. First, Katharine. Where was she? If she didn’t call again before curfew, she’d be out of touch until the morning – the limited number of public phones the Council has located around the city go dead overnight as part of the drive to keep citizens indoors. Well, she was capable of looking after herself. Then Nasmyth 05’s bloated features appeared. The tail had reported that the senior auxiliary returned to his quarters in the Culture Directorate an hour ago. The fat man was apparently so devoted to Edlott that he’d got himself a room above his office so he didn’t have to go back to barracks to sleep. Which brought Ray’s face up before me, the skin pale and lined as it had been the last time I’d seen him. As my brain
sank into slumber, it struck me that he was a member of Nasmyth Barracks like the Edlott controller. Could there be some deeper connection between them? Could that have anything to do with the devastation on my friend’s face and his erratic behaviour?
Ray disappeared into the void, to be replaced by a couple of faces I didn’t immediately recognise. Young guys, one of them with red hair and the other with what he thought was the professional hard man’s provocative stare. Then I remembered them. Colin and Tommy, the bagsnatchers in the Meadows. The Southside Strollers I’d asked Euan Caborn about. Allie Kennedy came from the south side of the city. Maybe those idiots knew him.
I made a feeble attempt to rouse myself, but before I could move I dropped into a black hole even sweatier than the dungeon I’d been in earlier. I thought I could hear the “Ventilator Blues” playing in the distance. Even in your dreams there’s no escape from the Big Heat.
Chapter Fifteen
I woke up with a raging thirst, sunlight streaming past the curtains I’d forgotten to close. I hadn’t had much time to queue for water recently and I could hear the racket from the large number of locals who’d already gathered in the street below. So I grabbed my mobile and took the easy way out.
“Davie, bring some water with you when you come to pick me up, will you?”
“Yes, sir,” he replied sarcastically. “Anything else I can do for you, sir? How about some breakfast?”
“What a good idea. Out.”
I found clean trousers and a Parks Department T-shirt that wasn’t too stained. I was zipping myself up when my mobile buzzed.
“Quint? Can you talk?”
“Yes, Katharine. I’m on my own in my place.” The Public Order Directorate doesn’t run to surveillance equipment on mobiles, so as long as she’d picked a public phone that wasn’t being randomly tapped we were okay. “Where are you?”
“Grange Cemetery. I spent the night behind a gravestone.”
“You’d better spend the day there too.” As the Council allows only cremation, the city’s old burial grounds are dead quiet. “I’ll try to meet you later on. Have you got a good book?”
“I can find ways to occupy myself.”
I wondered about that. Did she have business in the city? I’d been convinced by the way she reacted to her friend’s body at the mill, but could it have been an act? Did she know more about the Ultimate Usquebaugh than she’d let on? There wasn’t time to take that any further. I heard Davie’s heavy steps on the stair.
“Call me again in the afternoon,” I said. “Keep your head down.”
She laughed softly. “You know how good I am at that, Quint. Be good. And beware women in blouses and skirts.”
“Out,” I said as Davie came in.
“I only just got here,” he said with a pained expression.
“Not you, idiot.”
He came forward and tossed me a brown paper bag. “Who were you talking to?” he asked.
I pretended I hadn’t heard and got stuck into the barracks wholemeal roll. I needed a whole bottle of water to wash it down.
“Wonderful morning, isn’t it?” the public order guardian said, looking out over the sunlit panorama of buildings, firth and distant hills from his quarters in the castle.
“Maybe it is from up here,” I replied testily. “Down in the streets where the citizens go, it’s bloody sweaty.”
“Oh come on, Dalrymple. Things are looking up. No more messages overnight, no sign of nicotine in whisky bottles or, thank God, in the water supply. What are you so gloomy about?”
“No sightings of Allie Kennedy, for one thing.”
Hamilton sighed. “There’s no firm evidence that the missing citizen’s done anything, man.”
“Why’s he disappeared then?” I sat down at the conference table and pulled out my notebook. We were going nowhere fast in this case and I was pretty sure it wasn’t over yet.
“Nasmyth 05 has been in the Culture Directorate since last night,” Davie reported.
“Great,” I grunted.
“There are still some leads we haven’t followed up,” Davie said, sitting down opposite me. He was trying to be helpful. Hamilton blithely continued his impression of a self-satisfied laird surveying his domain.
“Such as what?” I demanded.
“Such as the seven citizens who’ve been nailed for smuggling marijuana. I can find out if they’ve ever had anything to do with Allie Kennedy.” Davie glanced over at his boss. “Or with the fat man,” he added in a low voice.
I took the list he’d removed from a folder. Six of the grass traffickers had been down the mines for weeks, while the seventh was in a secure clinic. “It’s a bit of a long shot,” I said doubtfully.
“I thought you liked long shots,” Davie said sardonically.
“All right, go and talk to them. Meet me outside the Council chamber at midday if you can.”
He looked at his watch, raised an eyebrow and departed.
“You will be at the Council meeting, won’t you, Dalrymple?” Hamilton said from the leaded windows.
“Yes, Lewis,” I said, getting to my feet. “I can hardly wait.”
“Where are you going now?” he asked.
“Not sure. I’ll see you later.”
I went down the corridor and out into the sun. If coins existed in Enlightenment Edinburgh, I’d have tossed one. As all citizen transactions are by voucher, I made do with going for the marginally shorter of the two long shots I had in mind. Davie would have let out a hollow laugh. It was either Ray, whose uncharacteristic behaviour was still puzzling me, or the two headbangers I decked in the Meadows. Since Ray didn’t have any kind of criminal record or any connection with the suburbs on the south side, I went for Colin the carrot and his headbanger pal Tommy. I knew they’d be overjoyed to see me.
The Youth Development Department runs numerous residential centres for the city’s problem kids. In the early days of independence, the Council favoured the minimalist approach to young recalcitrants – meaning the mines, the farms or an extended session with the inter-barracks boxing champion. Since the guardians (apart from the likes of Hamilton and Sophia) became user-friendly, naughty boys and girls get a much easier ride. They have their own rooms in rehabilitation centres, they’re issued with clothes that are a cut better than the Supply Directorate gives the rest of us and they’re allowed to listen to music that has only a passing relationship with melody, harmony or subtlety. But the inmates of the centres still get locked up overnight – and the poor darlings have to take part in endless counselling sessions and discussion groups.
I discovered from the command centre databank that Colin and Tommy had been assigned to a facility in Newington. The grey-bearded guardsman who drove me there was even more severe than most of his kind. His expression only lightened when we pulled up outside the neoclassical villa on the Dalkeith Road.
“Want a hand putting the squeeze on the wee shites in there, citizen?” he asked eagerly.
One of the old school of auxiliaries. I declined his offer and told him to wait for me. I climbed out and got an eyeful of Arthur’s Seat and its scorched slopes. That made me think of Billy Geddes in the rehab centre over in Duddingston. He mentioned Nasmyth 05 to me what seemed like a very long time ago. It might be an idea to squeeze him for more on the Edlott controller.
After I got past the guardswoman at the gate – who was in plain clothes to give the impression that this wasn’t a house of correction – I stopped and looked up at the extravagant building. It was a large rectangular block with tall windows to the left and right of the columns at the entrance. The Youth Development Department flag was hanging limply from a pole on the central tower’s triangular gable. At least that meant the garish purple and yellow geometric design by a former inmate wasn’t too visible. I went inside and asked for the two lads. While I waited, I took in the atmosphere. What was once an art gallery’s spectacularly opulent marble and glass hallway had been stripped and degraded into a typical
Council institution with poor-quality wood panelling and bare brickwork. Still, it was very clean. It wouldn’t do for the residents to live in squalor.
Obstreperous voices echoed down the hall. Obviously the department hadn’t worked its magic on Colin and Tommy yet.
“Hey, Col, look who it is.” The would-be tough guy nudged his mate. “It’s that investigator wanker. D’you reckon he’ll have us this time?”
“Naw,” the carrot said. “We’re ready for him, eh?” He didn’t sound too convinced.
I led them into a common room full of surprisingly comfortable-looking furniture where a couple of other inmates were playing cards. I wasn’t bothered if they heard what I was going to ask.
“Getting on all right?” I asked the bagsnatchers.
“As if you care,” Tommy said, staring at me dully.
“Oh, I care, son. Believe me, I care.”
“Like fuck you do.”
Colin let out a nervous titter.
I smiled at them. “I care so much that if you talk to me, I’ll get you out of here early.”
That shut Tommy up. It also put a stop to the other guys’ game of cards.
“Eh, what d’you want tae talk about then?” Tommy asked, getting as close to co-operative as he could manage.
“Allie Kennedy.” I watched them closely as I said the name. “Alexander Kennedy. Do you know him?”
There was a brief silence as all four of the common room’s occupants took up pretending I wasn’t in the room. This was getting interesting.
“I’ll take that as a yes then, shall I?” I asked.
“Take it as anything you fuckin’ like,” Tommy said, his chin jutting out aggressively.
I laughed then stopped abruptly. “Remember the guard commander you saw in the Meadows?”
Tommy glanced away but Colin nodded slowly, his mouth half open.
“He’s an expert in the third degree.” I smiled at them again. “In fact, he’s developed something he calls the fourth degree.” I paused for effect. “The Council doesn’t let him use it very often. Something to do with the male victims having permanently high voices after it.”
Water of Death Page 26
