Water of Death

by Paul Johnston

  We passed between the statues of Wallace and Bruce. There had been a move by the original Council to take them down on the grounds that an independent Edinburgh had no need of Scottish heroes. They decided against it eventually, as the old warriors had been stuffed down the populace’s throat so much in the years of pretend devolution that no one gave a shit any more. Besides, they’re pretty neat sculptures.

  I shook my head and brought myself back to the present. The case was heading to a climax and there didn’t seem to be too many imponderables left. In my experience, that’s when complacency sets in. If you reckon you’re home and dry, prepare to be surprised. I wondered if there were any surprises left in this twisted tale. It seemed a lot more than five days since it started with Frankie Thomson’s body lying by the Water of Leith and the bullfrogs barking their blues in the background.

  We were waved through Hamilton’s outer office by a female auxiliary who turned her nose up at Katharine and me. Davie knocked on the heavy door to the main office and opened it.

  “At last. What have you been doing, Dalrymple?” Hamilton said, looking up from the conference table where he was sitting next to Sophia. He dried up when he saw Katharine.

  “Catching wanted deserters apparently,” the senior guardian said, giving Katharine an icy stare. “Have this woman placed in the cells, guardian.”

  “Not if you want me to catch the person who’s threatening the Council,” I said.

  Sophia’s face was even paler than usual. She was reacting as I’d hoped. It was hard to read her emotions, but the way she was holding her eyes on Katharine suggested she was extremely needled by her presence. That didn’t exactly square with my idea that the senior guardian had been plotting to undo the Council’s user-friendly policies. Sometimes I overdo the creative element during investigations.

  “You think it’s appropriate to issue more threats, do you, citizen?” Even when she was speaking to me, Sophia held her gaze on Katharine.

  “That wasn’t a threat, senior guardian,” I said, noticing the minuscule flicker of her eyelashes as I used her official title. “It’s the way it’s going to be. Katharine wasn’t involved in the poisonings. Take my word for it or finish the case without me.” There wasn’t time now to go over how Katharine had come by the bottles of poisoned whisky.

  Hamilton and Davie both found this exchange embarrassing. They were looking at the floor, their cheeks red. On the other hand, Katharine was having a great time. She was smiling at Sophia, returning her stare without difficulty.

  There was an extended silence then Sophia finally cracked. “I think you owe us an explanation, Citizen Dalrymple,” she said, returning the favour with my own official title. “What have you uncovered?”

  I told them about Nasmyth 05 and Ray, excluding Billy Geddes from the equation at this stage. Mentioning him would just have driven Hamilton to apoplexy – he would have happily exiled my former friend years ago. Then I filled them in about Dirty Harry and the Fisheries Guard’s role in the cellar at Craiglockhart. That caused the public order guardian’s face and fists to clench and his breathing to quicken. I decided against mentioning the Ibrox Gold at this stage in case he had a stroke.

  “And you let Jamieson 369 sail away unhindered?” he demanded, glaring at both Davie and me.

  “That is not our primary concern, guardian,” Sophia said. It looked like she’d followed the drift of my narrative. “I take it you assume the short-haired male that the dead archivist saw at the mill was the missing citizen Alexander Kennedy.”

  I nodded. “Who subsequently killed Ray. The overwhelming likelihood is that he has at least a small amount of poisoned whisky still in his possession.” I looked at Sophia and Lewis. “So tell us about the latest message you’ve received.”

  Hamilton glanced at Sophia for approval. She nodded reluctantly, taking her eyes off Katharine.

  “It was on a public phone this time,” the public order guardian said. “The caller rang the guard command centre at two thirteen and asked for me.”

  “You spoke to him yourself?” I asked.

  The guardian nodded. “I couldn’t make out what was being said very easily. He was holding something over the mouthpiece.”

  “You recorded it, of course,” I said.

  Hamilton nodded and stretched over to the cassette recorder by his desk phone.

  We all craned forward as the tape began to roll.

  “Public order guardian.” Lewis’s voice was clear enough.

  “I know you’re recording this. Don’t interrupt.” The voice was slow and muffled, with an unnaturally deep quality. “We deal in nicotine death. We deal in the Ultimate Usquebaugh. Francis Thomson and Fordyce Kennedy drank it down. So did the old men in Trinity. We made you lower the flag on the castle. We killed the auxiliary in Buccleuch Place with the whisky too. You know what we think? Screw negotiations. We’re going to do some tourists next.”

  Hamilton hit the stop button.

  “Is that it?” I asked.

  He nodded. “We traced the call to a phone in Marchmont – on Thirlestane Road near the swimming-pool. The doors had just been opened for the next session and none of the citizens in the queue could give a description of any callers.”

  “All desperate for their session in the water,” Davie said.

  “Confine yourself to the matter in hand, Hume 253,” Sophia said sharply. “Well?” she said, turning to me. “What do you think?”

  “I think this is the real thing, all right. The caller knew about the previous killings and the lowering of the flag. Not even auxiliaries knew about the flag.” I gave them a humourless smile as their eyebrows jumped. It’s always good to cast doubt on the rank that keeps control for the Council. “I can see why you’re worried. If he has a go at the tourists, the city will be bankrupt before my next turn in the wash house.”

  Sophia’s lips were dry. “Why isn’t he negotiating? Wouldn’t a criminal like this Kennedy want a cut of the action?”

  I couldn’t restrain a laugh. “A cut of the action? You’ve been reading too many American crime novels.”

  “Watch it, Dalrymple,” Hamilton growled.

  “All right,” I said. “Yes, it’s a fair point. Maybe Allie Kennedy’s just a psycho who fancies messing up the city and the Council as much as he can. The grass traffickers said he was vicious.” I ran my hand over the stubble on my cheek. The fact that the Ibrox Gold was no longer around might also fit with that theory. Allie and the deceased poisoners had apparently been going to get stuck into the drugs trade. Without the super-grass to sell, maybe Allie reckoned civil disorder was the best way to increase his profile.

  “Are you still with us, citizen?” Sophia asked irritably. “What do you suggest we do?”

  “Judging by the number of guard vehicles on the esplanade, you’re already taking steps to build up the auxiliary presence in tourist facilities.”

  “The central tourist zone isn’t exactly underpoliced as it is,” the public order guardian said. “But we’ve increased the guard and the chief toxicologist’s team is running as many checks as it can on whisky and other drinks consumed by tourists.”

  I shook my head slowly. “There are thousands of visitors in the city. All it takes is a few drops to be slipped into some unsuspecting boozer’s glass in a bar and – bang! – ‘Tourist Poisoned, Edinburgh Unsafe’ is news all round the world.”

  “What do you advise then, citizen?” Sophia demanded, keeping up the level of formality in front of Katharine.

  “I advise catching Alexander Kennedy as soon as possible.”

  “And how exactly do you intend to do that?” she asked acidly. “We’ve been looking for him for days without success.”

  “I’ll get him, don’t worry,” I said, trying to encourage myself as much as anyone else. I turned and headed for the door, taking Davie and Katharine with me. I stopped when I got there. “By the way, you haven’t forgotten that tomorrow’s the official opening of the international festival
of greed, have you?”

  Sophia looked at me in full Ice Queen mode. “If by that you mean the Edlott tourist initiative at the bottom of the Mound then, no, we haven’t forgotten.”

  “Extra personnel have already been placed at the foot of the Mound,” Hamilton said. “The drinks stalls nearby are being resupplied with stock that has been fully checked.” The public order guardian’s hesitant manner showed how confident he was about those measures deterring the killer.

  “The matter will be discussed further at an emergency Council meeting at seven this evening,” Sophia said. “I expect you to be there, citizen.” She opened her eyes wide at Katharine. “Don’t bother to bring your female friend.”

  “What makes you think I’d go anywhere near the place?” Katharine said, dropping to Sophia’s level.

  I opened the door and walked away. Despite what I’d said, I didn’t feel very sanguine about laying hands on Allie Kennedy. But I had the distinct feeling that someone in the city would soon be drinking at the Ultimate Chance saloon.

  “And now?” Katharine asked as we tramped down the echoing corridor.

  “And now you go back to my place and listen to the blues.”

  “No chance.” She grabbed my arm and held me back. “I want to be in on this, Quint.”

  I could hear Davie breathing impatiently behind us.

  “This is a murder case, not a picnic,” I said. “What’s your problem? I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “My problem?” she replied, flicking an angry glance at Davie, who suddenly started examining the flagstones. “My problem is that I want to come with you, not sit waiting in your slum.”

  Davie raised his wrist and looked at his watch pointedly.

  “Oh, all right.” I started walking again. “And not a word from you, guardsman.” I glanced over my shoulder. “What’s Nasmyth 05 up to?”

  Davie made a call to the surveillance unit. “He’s in the Culture Directorate. Has been all day.”

  “Okay.” I stopped to let a guardswoman laden with files pass.

  “So where are we going?” Katharine asked.

  “The Kennedy family home.”

  “You reckon our suspect has popped back for a cup of tea, do you?” Davie asked ironically.

  “Probably not,” I said, as we walked into the blinding sunlight. “Have you got any better ideas?”

  Apparently not.

  We drove past the water tank at the end of Millar Crescent and stopped outside number 14. Further down the street, a gang of teenagers in tattered vests and shorts were knocking a football around near the hole being dug by the undercover operatives. I’d already checked with them on the Land-Rover’s phone. Agnes Kennedy had come back from work about an hour earlier. Her mother had been inside all day apart from stints in the queues for the toilets and the water tank. Surprise, surprise – there had been no sign of any young men with very short haircuts. But I was surprised when I glanced up at the flat and saw that the curtains on the sitting room window were open. That made a change.

  “Are all three of us going up?” Davie asked dubiously.

  “I suppose so,” I replied. “Unless you want to stay down here and referee the football match.”

  Davie looked through the dusty windscreen at the damage the players were visiting on each other’s shins. “No thanks.”

  We traipsed up the stairs, breathing in the odour of overheated citizens. I knocked on the door.

  No answer. I tried again, this time harder.

  “Who . . . who is it?” Agnes asked after a long silence. Her voice was low and unsteady.

  “Quint,” I said. “Quint Dalrymple.” The door stayed closed. “Can we come in?”

  There was no reply. I felt my heart miss a beat, wondering what had made her sound so frightened. The only time she’d been like this before was when she’d talked about her brother.

  “Agnes, are you all right?”

  “Em . . . yes. Look, just wait a minute, will you?” Her voice was still unsteady. “My . . . my mother’s calling me.”

  “Open the door, Agnes,” I called, rattling the handle.

  “What do you reckon?” Davie asked. “Shall I put my shoulder to it?”

  “What’s going on?” Katharine demanded. “Didn’t you hear the woman? Her mother’s calling.”

  I remembered the rope in Allie Kennedy’s bedroom and grabbed Davie’s mobile. The number I punched out rang and rang, but there was no answer.

  “What’s happened to the surveillance guys at the back of the building?” I asked.

  Davie raised his shoulders in a shrug.

  Then I got through.

  “Covert operations,” came an officious female voice.

  “What?” I shouted. “What the fuck’s going on?”

  “Who is this?” the woman countered frostily.

  “Dalrymple, special investigator. What happened to the undercover operatives at the rear of Millar Crescent?”

  “One moment, citizen.” There was the sound of paper being rustled. “They were withdrawn this afternoon in response to the general alarm in the central tourist zone.”

  “Shit!” I yelled. Some bureaucratic tosser had obviously taken the decision to halve the surveillance. “Break it down, Davie!”

  Katharine and I stood back as Davie hurled himself across the narrow landing and smashed his shoulder into the door bearing the surname that the murdered occupant had carved so carefully. The locks gave way at the second charge. I rushed in after him, wondering if anyone was in there apart from Agnes and Hilda. And how many bodies we were about to find.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “What the hell are you doing?” Agnes was standing at the far end of the corridor with her hands on her hips. She didn’t sound frightened any more – just furious.

  “Are you all right?” I said, slamming into Davie, who’d stopped abruptly. “I thought—”

  “What did you think, Citizen Dalrymple?” she demanded, glancing into the sitting room. “That my vicious brother had come back to terrorise us?”

  “Something like that,” I said lamely.

  “I hope you’re going to replace the door,” she said, looking beyond us to the pieces of firewood dangling from the frame. “Who’s this?”

  “I’m Katharine. Sorry about these idiots.”

  “I’ll bet.” Agnes said scathingly. “You’re just another one of them.”

  “No I’m not.” Katharine pushed past me and Davie. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep this pair under control.”

  The hostility left Agnes’s face. She wiped her hands on her paint-spattered shirt and extended one to Katharine. “Sounds like we can do business,” she said, leading her into the sitting room.

  That gave me the opportunity to check out her brother’s bedroom. It was in the state it had been on my last visit, the bed apparently untouched and the fire rope above the window coiled in the same way. There were no telltale scrapes or marks on the windowledge either. Before I joined the women, I put my head round the doors of the other rooms. No sign of the errant male sibling anywhere.

  “Oh christ,” I said to Davie, glancing back at the front door.

  “Carpenter?” he asked.

  I nodded and left him to make the call.

  The main room was in its usual gloom. Agnes must have drawn the curtains before we got up the stairs. She and Katharine were talking to each other on the sofa while Hilda sat propped up against the arm of the matching chair, her head drooping forward.

  “Is she okay?” I asked.

  Agnes put her hand to the scarf round her throat when she caught my eye. “My mother? The same. She comes and goes.” She glanced at her. “She was crying out for my father when you started banging on the door.”

  “Sorry about that. We’re arranging for it to be fixed.”

  She nodded slowly. “What was it you wanted?”

  I went over to the sofa and looked down at her. “Have you seen Allie, Agnes?”

  She shook
her head but didn’t speak.

  “Are you sure?”

  She looked up at me. “Of course I’m sure. He hasn’t been back since the night the senior auxiliary was here.” She pursed her lips. “Like I already told you.”

  “And he hasn’t made contact in any other way?”

  Again she shook her head.

  “Say it, Agnes,” I insisted.

  “No, he hasn’t!” she said, the sudden increase in decibels making her mother jerk back in the armchair and look around vaguely.

  “What is it?” Hilda asked. “Is that Allie?” Her grey hair was lank and tangled. The heavy nightdress she habitually wore was causing beads of sweat to form on her forehead.

  Agnes went over to her and settled her down again. “Not yet. He’ll be back soon.” She glared at me as she came back to the sofa. “She keeps asking for my father and for Allie.” She let out a sob. “It’s driving me crazy.”

  Katharine took her hand and gave me a fierce look. “Leave her alone, Quint,” she hissed.

  I nodded. I reckoned Agnes was being straight with me. “I told you before, I can arrange for a nurse to help with your mother if it’s getting too much for you.”

  She shook her head emphatically, the ponytail that she’d gathered her dark hair into swinging from side to side. “No, she doesn’t like it when there are strangers around.” She gave me a meaningful look.

  “Okay,” I said, accepting defeat. “We’re going. Sorry about the—”

  “Leave us alone, citizen,” Agnes said, her eyes wide open and moist. “Please.”

  Katharine squeezed her hand and got up. “Move, Quint, you sensitive soul.”

  “The man will be here for the door in half an hour,” Davie said in the corridor, loudly enough for Agnes to hear.

  I headed out.

  “Do you think they’ll be all right?” Davie asked on the stair.

  “I think so. Allie Kennedy’s too smart to risk coming here.” I looked round at him. “But we’ll put the surveillance team on the back of the building again just to be sure.”

  “Haven’t you got anything better for them to do?” Katharine demanded.

  I shrugged. If she didn’t like what I was doing now, she’d hate what I was planning for later.