The guardian thought about that. ‘I can’t be sure, but I’m inclined not to believe so.’
‘She’s good at keeping things to herself. I’d postpone that board and put her in the cells.’
‘Very well. What are you doing?’
I told her about Billy and the gambling.
‘Are you sure there’s anything in that?’
‘That’s what I’m going to find out.’
‘Quint,’ she said over her shoulder as she walked away. ‘No nail removal.’
‘He was my school and university friend.’
‘I’d keep that to yourself.’
I thought about that as I went to the interrogation room. Was Billy’s star finally about to fall into the deepest of wormholes or did she just feel the standard disgust auxiliaries have for those demoted from their rank? Such as me. One thing I was sure of – if Jack MacLean really needed Billy, it wouldn’t be long till he got him out of the castle. All the more reason to get stuck into him without delay.
Davie burst into the interrogation room like a bull with a thistle up its arse. I strolled in, examining my nails.
Billy burst out laughing. ‘Good cop, bad cop. Remember those movies we used to sneak off from school to see, Quint?’
I did, but I was going to be bad too.
‘Right, Billy, here’s where we are. Several people have identified you as being behind the gambling in the EPL. You can either own up or take your chances with Thunder Boots here.’
He rolled his chair back. ‘You don’t scare me, Quint. And as for your boot boy, do you really think he can inflict worse pain on me than the racehorses did back in the day?’
‘Actually, I do.’
‘You won’t go along with that.’
‘Watch me.’
Billy looked unsure of himself for a split-second. Progress.
I held up my authorization. ‘You know this means I can keep even guardians off your back.’
He laughed like a hyena. ‘Listen to yourself, Quint. You know how easy it is for people like me to disappear.’ He grinned. ‘Not that there’s anyone else like me.’
‘That’s your blessing and your curse, isn’t it, Billy? People take you on because of your expertise then drop you in the shit when you take advantage. That’s what you’ve been doing with the gambling.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
I slammed my fist on the table – bad idea, I should have left the hard-man stuff to Davie, who was looking at me in amusement from behind Billy.
‘All right, let’s take this from the start. Do you know who put the heart on the centre circle at Tynecastle?’
‘No.’
‘Do you know anything about Peter Stewart’s activities?’
‘Of course not. I’ve never had anything to do with the Recreation Directorate.’
‘Because it only deals with Edinburgh citizens and you don’t give a fuck about them.’
‘Something like that.’
‘Do you know Derick Smail?’
‘The Hibs manager? I think I met him once at an Independence Day drinks party.’
October 11th had been established as the sole annual holiday. The first Council meeting had taken place on that date in 2003.
‘Do you know any of the other EPL managers?’
‘I don’t … hang on, the Hearts manager was at the same function. What’s his name? Ferguson?’
‘Ferries, Alec Ferries. When was this?’
‘Last year. They’re all jumped-up citizens scheming to make their fortune. It doesn’t surprise me at all that they’re running a betting scam.’
‘You still claim you know nothing about it.’
He looked me in the eye. ‘I don’t claim, Quint. It’s the truth. No matter how much your pet psycho makes me scream, the answer won’t be any different.’
Davie laid a paw on Billy’s shoulder, but he still didn’t show fear. The little bastard had always been like that, even when he was eight. He really did seem to be telling the truth.
‘All right, answer this. Why did Fergus Calder get the EPL managers out of here before we finished questioning them?’
Billy groaned. ‘Come on, you know the answer to that. The season starts next week – as long as the rain lets up a bit. If games are postponed because the managers are in the castle, there could be serious civil unrest.’
‘And who wants that with the referendum ahead?’
He gave me a condescending look. ‘Clever lad, Quint.’
Davie’s fingers squeezed Billy’s shoulder.
‘Get off me!’ Billy shouted. ‘I’ll have you sent down the mines.’
That only made Davie tighten his grip.
This time Billy suffered in silence and I shook my head at Thunder Boots. He let go, unimpressed.
‘There’s a former church on the Pleasance,’ I said.
‘So?’
‘It’s a Leith Lancers’ warehouse, stocked directly from the Supply Directorate.’
‘I’ll tell Fergus.’
‘You think he doesn’t know already?’
He raised one shoulder. ‘Why should he?’
Why indeed?
‘Five pounds of cocaine was in a consignment from the main depot. It ended up there. Well, it ended up in my hands, actually.’
‘Bravo, Quint,’ he said with a twisted smile. ‘Another victory for demoted citizens.’
I brought my fist down again, this time not so hard.
‘So you know nothing about illicit drug trafficking.’
‘I’m pure as the driven … snow.’ He giggled manically.
‘Shut your face!’ Davie yelled.
Billy raised a finger to his ear. ‘Is that it, then?’
‘Got an important deal to close?’ I asked.
‘Something like that.’
I grinned. ‘Well, no, it isn’t it. Stay here and stew for a while. You’ve taken his mobile, Davie?’
‘Oh, yes.’
We left the SPADE in the interrogation room.
‘The twisted little fucker’s lying,’ Davie said.
‘I don’t think he is, but he can stay there while we follow up loose ends.’
‘Such as?’
I lowered my voice. ‘The tails you put on Smail and Colquhoun.’
He nodded. ‘I’ll go and find a quiet place to make the calls.’
‘Right. I’ll see you in the canteen.’
‘Don’t clean it out.’
‘That’s your job.’
On the way to the refuelling station I took a detour to the command centre.
‘Any luck?’ said the Guardian Doris from her chair on a dais in the centre of the room.
I told her about Billy’s denials.
‘I’ve had both the senior and the finance guardians on my back. They’re insistent he be released.’
‘Let’s keep him here for a while. He knows things they don’t want him to tell us.’
‘Like what, if he doesn’t know about the EPL gambling?’
I looked at the bank of less-than-up-to-date monitors and terminals on the wall. ‘Like I don’t have the faintest idea. But you can be sure he’s involved in things you and the rest of the Council – apart from Calder and MacLean – aren’t aware of.’
‘Proof, please.’
‘I’m working on it. Have you managed to identify the headless citizen?’
‘Not yet.’
‘How about the heartless man in the Saly?’
‘No.’
‘Any sign of Hume 481’s parents?’
‘No.’
‘Anything positive to report?’
‘I could ask you the same thing, Quint.’
‘I’m doing my best. By the way, who’s the new recreation guardian?’
She gave me a sharp look. ‘There nothing “by the way” in your world.’
I refrained from comment.
‘Alice Scobie, the former deputy guardian.’
‘Don’t kno
w her.’
‘She’s very good.’
I smiled. ‘Of course.’
‘No, really. She’s been All-Edinburgh curling champion for the last four years.’ The guardian puffed out her chest. ‘Meaning she’s better than all the men as well as the women.’
‘Good for her. Does she know anything about football?’
She got up and walked away. I caught her up.
‘You really have no respect, have you, citizen?’ Doris said, her cheeks red.
‘What do you mean?’ I said disingenuously.
She wasn’t buying it. ‘Alice is completely honourable and fully committed to Enlightenment principles. As deputy guardian, she would have plenty of contact with the managers, but that doesn’t mean she’s guilty of wrongdoing.’
I began to wonder if the guardian held a flame for the newest addition to her rank. I’d just remembered that Doris was homo.
‘Honestly, you’re a disgrace, Quint,’ she said, turning on me.
I shrugged. ‘I do my job. By the … out of interest, when’s Peter Stewart’s funeral?’
‘Tomorrow at eleven a.m. Are you planning on being there?’
‘I didn’t know him,’ I said.
Which didn’t mean I wouldn’t be paying my respects before the ceremony.
Davie was already in the canteen, a turkey drumstick in one hand. I turned up my nose at that – the city farms’ fowl are fed fishmeal and reek like kippers before and after death. I took a hunk of bread, a lump of cheese – at least the cows eat grass – and a couple of apples.
‘Stomach upset?’ Davie said.
‘No, just a normal appetite.’
‘I do the heavy lifting, remember?’
I smiled. ‘Yes, guardsman, you do. In fact, you’ll be doing some of that shortly. What about the tails?’
‘Smail’s been at Easter Road all day. He was driven to a house in the Grange an hour ago and hasn’t emerged. No visitors at the latter location and no one who stuck out at the former.’
‘There are plenty of entrances to the stadium.’
‘I’ve only got so many people I can trust.’
‘I know. And Fat Eric?’
Davie extracted a bone from his mouth, making me close my eyes.
‘Said individual’s in the Citizen’s Rest on Corstorphine Road. He’s been there since eleven in the morning.’
‘What about his work?’
‘He called in sick.’
I thought about that. ‘He’ll probably be sick soon if he’s been boozing all this time.’
‘I think Citizen Colquhoun has a high tolerance.’
‘Yes, but how will he be paying for more than the daily limit?’ Which is three pints and three whiskies. Then you’ve blown half your weekly allowance.
Davie laughed. ‘You know how it works. Barter. Stolen vouchers. There are plenty of ways to get round the regs.’
‘Get a man inside. We need to know who he’s talking to.’
He made a call. ‘All done.’
When we’d finished eating, I stood up. ‘Are you coming?’
‘Where to?’
‘Magical mystery tour.’
‘What?’
The Beatles weren’t banned any more, but that didn’t mean people knew who they were.
Davie pulled up in front of Warriston Crematorium.
‘Let me handle this. Scowl when appropriate.’
Douglas Haigh appeared at the refurbished entrance to the building. Even the hole in the asphalt had been filled in. Nothing was too good for a guardian’s exit. The story in the Edinburgh Guardian and on Radio Free City was that Peter Stewart had died of a heart condition. Which was kind of true, in that his heart had stopped beating. Any mention of suicide would have been catastrophic for the Council, whose members were expected to set perfect examples to the citizen body.
‘Is there something wrong, Citizen Dalrymple?’ asked the parchment-faced old ghoul.
‘That’s why we’re here.’ I went up close to him. ‘This visit is unofficial, you understand? If you mention it to anyone, I’ll let drop what you get up to with the corpses.’
Haigh froze. That was proof of the suspicion I’d had for years that he was a necrophile. I managed not to knock him down.
‘How can I help?’ he said with a smile that was supposed to be ingratiating but was simply vile.
‘Is the recreation guardian’s body here?’ I asked.
‘Indeed. He’s resting in state.’
‘Any Guard personnel?’
Haigh looked at Davie with a mixture of interest and fear.
‘Only your … friend. The honour guard will arrive at 6 a.m.’
I looked around the building. There was only a low light on in the main chamber. I stopped Haigh turning on any more.
‘Lock the door,’ I ordered, then moved towards the light.
The late recreation guardian’s coffin was on a stand in the middle of the room. The box was substantially higher quality than those for ordinary citizens, though unlike theirs it wouldn’t be consigned to the flames. Recycling of high-value materials was one of the original Council’s by-words. I wondered if my mother had been in the same casket. At least I could be sure of one thing. There was no way Haigh would have dared to open it when she was inside. I’d put the fear of an excruciating death up him before she died back in 2021.
‘Right,’ I said to him. ‘We’ve done this before. Screwdrivers.’
Douglas Haigh feigned horror. ‘But this … this is a guardian.’
I had switched on the torch I’d taken from the 4×4 and was examining the screw-heads. They were new and didn’t bear many marks.
‘This is a lump of flesh,’ I said over my shoulder. ‘Would you like to join it? I’m sure there’s room.’
He looked tempted for a couple of seconds, then went off to get the tools.
‘Er, what are we doing?’ Davie said, looking around dubiously.
‘What does it look like? We’re going to open this up and see if Peter Stewart’s taking anything with him to the fire.’
‘But …’
‘But what?’
‘It’s … what’s the word? Sacrilege.’
‘Sacrilege is disrespect of holy things. The Council is an atheist body.’
‘Come on, Quint. We’re disrespecting a guardian’s body.’
‘Which will tomorrow be turned into smoke and ashes. Besides, we’re doing our job.’
Davie gave me a dubious look as Haigh came back with the screwdrivers.
‘You were gone a long time,’ I said. ‘I hope you didn’t make any calls. My colleague is particularly fond of tearing disobedient citizens’ arms off.’
The old man was trembling, but I suspected it was more from excitement than terror.
‘No calls, citizen.’ He licked his dry lips. ‘Shall we get on?’
‘Before that, who accompanied the coffin?’
‘A young auxiliary. Watt 5—’ He scratched his liver-spotted scalp.
‘529?’ I said.
‘That’s it. Poor lad, he was very upset.’
I wasn’t. Will, Peter Stewart’s devoted auxiliary, might have had the opportunity to slip something into his clothing.
I took one screwdriver while Haigh kept the other. Davie wasn’t having that and removed it from him.
‘Stand back,’ he said with a glare Genghis Khan would have been proud of. ‘You dirty old man.’
We had the screws out in less than five minutes, taking care not to leave any marks. Haigh was hovering around like a blowfly and I was surprised Davie didn’t swat him.
‘Heavy lifting, please,’ I said.
Davie got the coffin lid off easily and stood it against the wall. The smell that flooded out wasn’t pleasant, at least, not to normal people. Haigh looked like he was in seventy-seventh heaven.
‘Bloody hell,’ Davie said, looking down at Peter Stewart’s swollen face.
‘Gloves,’ I said.
Haigh provid
ed long-sleeved, thick rubber versions. There was no embalming in ‘the perfect city’, but I had the distinct impression that he spent some of his spare time up to his elbows in entrails.
The former guardian had been dressed in a tracksuit. No doubt his lounge suits would be distributed among guardians or senior auxiliaries. Then again, maybe Will the grieving angel had provided the tracksuit in honour of his boss’s prowess as an athlete. That thought touched me. Then I got back to feeling the distended limbs.
‘What exactly are you looking for, citizen?’
I looked round at Haigh. ‘That’s classified,’ I said, as if I had a clue. There was no sign of files or folders.
‘We’re going to have to turn him over,’ I said to Davie.
‘I can assist,’ volunteered Haigh with far too much enthusiasm.
Davie floored him with a punch to the chest. I wouldn’t have wept if he’d gone the way of Yellow Jacko.
We lifted the guardian up gently and then got him face down. His head and limbs flopped alarmingly and the smell got worse.
‘I fucking hate this, Quint,’ Davie said, stepping back.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll finish the search.’ I ran my hands down Stewart’s shoulders and back, then over his swollen buttocks. I might have known. There was something between them.
‘Jesus,’ I said under my breath, breathing through my mouth only.
Then I slipped my hand under the tracksuit bottoms. The diskette I removed was covered in thick but still transparent plastic. I put it on the floor and searched the lower part of the body. There was nothing else.
‘Come on, guardsman,’ I said.
We managed to get the guardian on his back again and arranged his clothing as best we could before putting the lid on the coffin and screwing it down.
I heard a sound behind me. Haigh had got his breath back and stood up.
‘What’s this?’ he said, leaning over and picking up the diskette.
This time I was the one who deposited him on his backside. Maybe he had some corpse make-up he could apply to his face for the service.
‘That was utterly disgusting,’ Davie said as he drove the 4×4 away from the crematorium. ‘I’m not doing any more heavy lifting.’
‘Sorry, Davie. But, as you saw, it was worth it.’
‘That diskette might be full of mumbo-jumbo.’
‘I doubt it.’
‘To the castle?’
‘I think not. Moray Place.’
Heads or Hearts Page 21
