I was looking at the text on the last two pages. It covered the same material as Peter Stewart’s diskette, apart from a small piece of gold: ‘Dead Men have last shipments, approved by H.’
My face obviously gave me away.
‘H means something to you, Bell 03?’ said the code-breaker.
‘In terms of Glasgow, yes.’ I turned to Davie. ‘Let’s go and shake up Scotland’s movers and shakers.’
‘Can I come too?’ Raeburn 37 asked forlornly.
‘You wouldn’t like it, Brains,’ I said over my shoulder. ‘They make Muckle Tony look like a citizen care worker.’
Davie caught up with me. The bull in a china shop was one of his favourite acts.
TWENTY-TWO
We were halfway to the conference hall in the Market District, where the reception for the outsiders was taking place, when Davie answered his phone and immediately pulled into the side of the road. He listened intently, then told the caller to wait for our imminent arrival.
‘What is it?’ I said.
He had turned on the lights and siren and was overtaking buses on Princes Street. ‘A head. At the Enlightenment Monument. Male and fair-haired.’
I looked ahead to the tower that had been old Edinburgh’s tribute to Walter Scott, but renamed after independence. The top had fallen off years ago and the Council had patched it up only partially. The smoke-darkened tower now looked like a rocket whose warhead had been stolen. As we ground to a halt, I saw a crowd of tourists being gently pushed back by a line of Guard personnel. The great Gothic monument had four legs and in the middle of them sat Sir Walter, though now he was covered by a tarpaulin.
Davie led me though the Guard cordon and over to a middle-aged, bald commander I’d met before.
‘What have you got, Lachie?’ I said.
Moray 279 was notorious for his dyspeptic temperament and he certainly looked like he’d eaten something that disagreed with him.
‘The big lump told you, didn’t he, Quint?’ he replied. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’
‘Hang on. Who was the first person to spot the head?’
‘Japanese tourist,’ Lachie said, nodding at a grinning specimen who had obviously just had the biggest thrill of his life. ‘The Tourism Directorate is looking after him.’
‘Perhaps they could look after him somewhere else,’ I said acidly.
‘Right. I’ll get on with crowd control.’
There was a rumble of thunder and the rain began to come down.
‘Excellent,’ said Moray 279. Although there were the usual maroon shelters around the monument, the crowd was beyond them. People started to drift away.
Davie and I went under the tarpaulin. He shone his torch and, sure enough, there was Sir Walter with another head to keep him company.
‘How did someone get that up there in daylight?’ Davie said. ‘Fuck. It’s the young guardsman from Bonaly Tower. I remember the photo in his file.’
I looked up at the blank eyes and open mouth. The skin on his neck had been fixed to the statue’s head with black tape.
‘So much for discretion,’ I said. ‘The head people can’t be the same as the ones taking hearts.’
‘That’s rather a random assumption,’ said Sophia from behind me. She was still wearing formal dress.
‘Any excuse to get out of the reception?’ I said. ‘I suppose you’re right. They might be hard baddie, soft baddie.’
She gave me a puzzled look as she clambered up the statue. I put my hands on her buttocks so she didn’t fall. She didn’t seem to notice. Sophia in full professional mode is still the Ice Queen.
A pair of paramedics with brighter torches joined us.
‘The senior guardian has ordered that the head be taken down as soon as possible,’ Sophia said. ‘The tourists …’
She directed the taking of photos, then unwrapped the tape and handed the head down, fingers in its nostrils. It was put in a plastic box and the lid closed.
‘I’ll take this back to the infirmary, Quint.’
‘How was Fergus when he heard?’
‘He went white. I don’t think he knew anything about it, if that’s what you’re asking.’
‘It was,’ I confirmed. ‘I’ll see you at the Council meeting.’
‘Yes, that should be interesting.’
‘Mm.’
After she’d gone, Davie let the crime-scene technicians in. After a few minutes, we decided to take off the tarpaulin. For all most tourists would know, they were doing maintenance. The chances of them finding any suggestive traces in the damp were minimal, I thought, but the job had to be done.
‘Where are you off to?’ Davie called.
‘Back in a minute.’
I went through the gate and crossed Princes Street, getting splashed all the way up to the left arm by a tourist bus. That meant I entered the kilt shop swearing. The tourists who spoke English gave me sharp looks. I smiled but that didn’t seem to help, so I took the citizen in charge by the arm and led her to the office at the back.
‘Right, Karen,’ I said, looking at the badge on her blouse then flashing my authorization. ‘What did you see across the road?’
‘Someone … someone told me it was a man’s head.’ She was in her thirties. Her hair was pulled tightly back, which brought out fine features.
‘Some idiot’s idea of a joke,’ I said. ‘It wasn’t real. But you’ll understand we have to catch the fool. Can’t have the tourists being scared.’
‘No, indeed we can’t, citizen,’ she said, her tone ironic.
I smiled. ‘Did you see anything?’
‘Aye. The laugh’s on the Council, if you ask me. A Housing Directorate van pulled up about an hour ago and a couple of guys started doing something to the statue – cleaning it, I assumed. Then I saw the head. I looked away to take a customer’s cash and the screaming started. The van and the men had disappeared.’
‘Any of the rest of your people see anything?’
She shook her head. ‘They were all busy. Besides, there was heavy drizzle at the time. It let off afterwards.’
‘And now it’s coming down again like an overflowing bath.’
‘If you say so, citizen,’ Karen said with a pretty smile.
I left her to her work. It’s amazing how many people from across the world want to buy kilts. Apparently Lamont’s one of the most popular, the green, blue and white being less retina-burning than the multiple red ones. Hardly any of them have Scottish roots, of course. That doesn’t bother me. I’ve never worn the kilt in my life, partly because the Council banned clan affiliations. The Lord of the Isles would see me as an apostate. Then again, I saw him as something much worse.
Tall and Short were standing by the head and body in the morgue, looking pleased with themselves. There was no question, the parts constituted the young guardsman Ferguson 569.
‘Looks like a similar blade was used,’ I said, examining the ragged skin that had been covered by tape.
‘Exactly the same,’ the pathologist confirmed.
I thought of the hacksaw-wielding John Lecky and the builders who had attacked us. They would also have been able to get their hands on a Housing Directorate van – perhaps they had one stashed in case they were uncovered – and they might well have given Sir Walter his second head. They were deeply involved in what was going on in the city, but I was certain they were taking rather than giving orders.
‘Anything else the head can tell us?’ I asked.
Tall shook his head. ‘I think it was kept in a sealed plastic bag.’
‘Yes, there’s no trace evidence apart from grass and earth, obviously from where he was found.’
‘No wounds?’
They glanced at each other and shook their heads.
‘So your fellow auxiliary was alive when he was decapitated.’
That got to them for a couple of seconds. Then they turned their fish eyes back to the naked corpse again, the doctors of death.
Ten minutes lat
er I was in Guardian Doris’s office. I gave her copies of Peter Stewart’s files and of Muckle Tony’s records as decoded by Brains.
‘These are large sums of money,’ she said, ‘whether in voucher form or in outsider denominations. Where’s it all going?’
‘You tell me.’
She gave me a nonplussed look. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea, Quint. Do you?’
‘How about this? The referendum’s not many months away. The pro- and anti-campaigns will need funding.’
The guardian screwed up her eyes. ‘Really? It’s still early days. I’ve always assumed the Council will allocate funds equally.’
I left her to that naive belief.
There was a knock on the door and Davie appeared.
‘Guardian, Quint, we’re checking Housing Directorate vans, but all are accounted for so far. We’ve also picked up a lot of the people on the former recreation guardian’s files. What shall we do with them?’
I let Doris take command.
She did so, but with little sign of enthusiasm. ‘I need to take this information to the Council. How many are they?’
‘Thirty-two,’ said Davie, ‘all citizens, twenty-seven male.’
‘Right, secure and gag them for the time being.’
Davie made his exit.
Shortly afterwards, so did we. The Council meeting beckoned.
Fergus Calder had decided to show off the workings of Edinburgh’s government to the outsiders. I was ushered to the side of the hall as the Lord of the Isles, the governors of Orkney and Shetland and the pair from Glasgow was given places of honour in the row above the Council members.
The senior guardian opened the session by asking the tourism guardian for an update on the case of Walter Scott’s dicephaly. She said that the Japanese tourist had been unable to give descriptions of the men in Housing Directorate overalls because they’d been wearing goggles and helmets. And because all Westerners doubtless look alike … He had been upgraded to the city’s top hotel, the Waverley, and given free chips for several casinos. Some members of the Prostitution Services Department would also be drafted in to make sure he kept his mouth shut. Other tourists present had been persuaded that the whole thing was a reconstruction of a notorious – and non-existent – student prank carried out by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The affair, the guardian completed, was in hand.
I watched Hel Hyslop whispering to Andrew Duart. I was pretty certain she knew something about what was going on. I considered asking her in front of the Council, but decided against it – no evidence. We needed to find a member of the Glasgow Dead Men. The best way to do that was to track down John Lecky’s mob. I was sure they were in contact with outsiders.
Some dry as the Sahara sermons from various guardians followed, in which everything in their purview was seen in the rosiest of colours. Then it was Guardian Doris’s turn. Fergus Calder gave her a stern look and demanded what was going on in her directorate. I reckoned he was playing to the gallery behind him, but turning the spotlight on a guardian in front of outsiders, even leading ones, was a first as far as I was aware.
‘As regards the head on the statue of—’
‘How is it that no Guard personnel were in the vicinity?’ the senior guardian demanded. ‘In the middle of the tourist zone.’
‘They patrol, they don’t stay in one place. Besides,’ she said, turning to the tourism guardian, ‘why didn’t the ticket staff at the monument see anything?’
‘I’ve asked that question,’ her colleague replied. ‘They thought it was routine maintenance and didn’t see the head being … stuck on.’
Hel Hyslop caught sight of me in the shadows and shook her head. It was obvious what she meant – in Glasgow this kind of shambles would never be allowed. She was probably right.
‘Proceed,’ Calder said to Doris.
She told them about the head being matched to the dead guardsman.
‘Have you any idea why such an outrageous thing should happen?’ asked Brian Cowan, the education guardian. ‘What was that guardsman doing over the city line?’
The senior guardian raised a hand. ‘We’ve already discussed that,’ he said firmly. That was news to me, but maybe they’d started having secret meetings. ‘Public order guardian, what more do you have?’
It was obvious she didn’t want to share Peter Stewart’s files or Muckle Tony’s supplementary evidence with outsiders in the chamber.
‘I—’
‘The guardian and I have been liaising about the city’s football grounds and have agreed that my directorate will take over some of the patrolling,’ said Alice Scobie, clearly out to make an impression. And save her friend’s bacon?
Fergus Calder and Jack MacLean exchanged glances, their expressions unreadable.
‘Very well,’ Calder said. ‘The medical guardian will now report on the measles outbreak in Craigmillar.’
No wonder Sophia had been looking ground down, even though she’d still found time to arrive at every head or heart scene. She quickly confirmed that all cases had been isolated and were being treated.
‘How is it that there was an outbreak?’ asked MacLean. ‘Citizens are vaccinated, aren’t they?’
Sophia nodded. ‘Craigmillar is a … problematic area, as you know. There’s contact with outsiders given the proximity to the city line, plus some citizens deliberately avoid vaccination.’
‘Why is that?’ asked the tourism guardian.
‘Because they don’t like being told what to do,’ I said, stepping into the light. I was there, so I might as well give them my one-Edinburgh-pound voucher’s worth.
‘Citizen Dalrymple,’ the senior guardian said. ‘I might have known you wouldn’t wait for an invitation to speak.’
I shrugged. ‘You brought me here, so you must want me to report.’
Fergus Calder gave me the eye, then relented. ‘Very well. Have you actually discovered anything relevant to these cases?’
Irony always brings out the worse in me. ‘As a matter of fact, I have.’ I glanced at Doris and decided to go for it. ‘It’s clearly no coincidence that the human hearts left in football stadiums in Edinburgh and around what used to be Scotland’ – I ran my eye along the outsiders – ‘have some connection with that sport.’ I took out a copy of Peter Stewart’s diskette – the original was hidden where no one would find it – and held it up.
Guardian Doris stood up. ‘Quint, I don’t think—’
‘Let him speak, woman,’ said the Lord of the Isles, his high voice piping out.
There was a shocked silence. Not even other guardians addressed each other so coarsely – at least not in meetings.
‘No doubt the senior guardian will ensure everyone gets copies. The point is that there’s a well-organized illicit gambling scheme in operation in the Edinburgh Premier League.’ I looked at Andrew Duart. ‘And, I suspect, in outsider locations.’
The First Minister of Glasgow laughed. ‘Gambling is legal in my city.’
‘Doesn’t mean there can’t be illegal gambling as well,’ I pointed out.
The governors of Orkney and Shetland said there was no gambling where they came from except on catches of fish, and that was regulated.
As for the Lord of the Isles, he let out a whinnying laugh. ‘Even if people do gamble, who cares?’
I wasn’t buying that.
‘How many football teams are there in the territory you control?’ I demanded.
‘I’m not sure,’ he came back. ‘About forty. Equally divided between the islands and the mainland. Colonsay won the first division last year, though I had to give the manager a stern warning about poaching players from other clubs.’
‘Forty clubs?’ I said. ‘Even with a small fan base, that could produce a fair amount of profit.’
The Lord twitched his head. ‘I think you’re talking tosh.’
That was the first time I’d heard the word since I was a kid.
‘Does this material name names?’ Jack MacLean asked.
>
‘Plenty, but only Edinburgh citizens. Reading between the lines, I’d hazard they’re being controlled by people of higher rank.’
The recreation guardian got to her feet, her cheeks reddening. ‘Are you implying that these people are in my directorate, citizen?’
‘Call me Quint.’
‘Because I can assure you that no one in the Recreation Directorate is involved. My predecessor was solely responsible for this gross breach in regulations.’
I didn’t think much of her rubbishing the man who had earlier been cremated. ‘We’ll see if the citizens who have been detained will confirm that.’ I smiled coldly. ‘It’s amazing what a trained interrogator can get people to admit.’
Alice Scobie opened her mouth but didn’t say anything more.
‘By the way,’ I said, ‘why isn’t there anyone from Inverness at this merry gathering? They’ve had heart problems too.’
The Lord of the Isles looked at Andrew Duart. ‘They’re having problems,’ he said. ‘Of a social unrest nature.’
That was interesting. Had the fans found out the odds were rigged and started to riot? That would explain how worried the high heid yins were about the EPL and other leagues.
‘How about Aberdeen? It’s flourishing, I hear.’
‘Oddly, football’s been replaced by lacrosse,’ said Jack MacLean. ‘The Chief of Chiefs used to play when he was in Canada. No hearts have been reported.’
Whence the absence of Aberdonians.
‘I think we’ll let you get back to your valuable work, citizen,’ Fergus Calder said.
I was still hyped up. ‘Could I ask Glasgow Police Commander Hel Hyslop a question, please?’
‘I hardly think—’ began Calder.
‘Fire away,’ Hel said, reminding me that she was well versed in the use of guns.
‘I gather the Dead Men have the last shipments. What exactly is it that you’ve approved?’ I looked at the senior guardian. ‘The murdered leader of the Leith Lancers kept a record.’
Hel Hyslop was a hard woman and she could handle herself. ‘You think I was in contact with an Edinburgh gang boss?’
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