Body Politic Page 9

  “How about knocking?” Davie suggested.

  “I thought your lot preferred to break doors down.”

  The lock clicked and I pushed the door open slowly. A familiar scent filled my nostrils.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Katharine Kirkwood appeared from behind the kitchen curtain with a carving knife in her hand. “Quint. God, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

  “Put the knife down, citizen.” Davie had his hand on the butt of his truncheon. “Slowly.”

  “It’s all right,” I said. “This is one of my clients. Katharine Kirkwood, Hume 253. Also known as Davie.”

  They looked at each other suspiciously.

  “Quint, what’s going on?” Katharine asked after she’d put the knife back in the drawer. “You break in here with a guardsman in tow. I thought you were an independent investigator.” She gave me a questioning look. “At least that’s what you led me to believe.”

  “I am.” I opened my arms in a feeble display of innocence that I could see she didn’t buy. “I’ve been taken on by the Council for one particular job.”

  She walked over to the sofa and picked up her bag. Despite the limited choice of clothing in the city, she had managed to dress in an idiosyncratic way. The tight black trousers made her legs look even longer than they were and the long chiffon scarves, magenta and brown, gave her an exotic air.

  “And this job includes sniffing around my brother’s flat, does it?”

  “Not exactly. Look, I can’t tell you what’s going on . . .”

  “Of course you can’t.” Katharine gave Davie a glare that Lewis Hamilton would have been proud of. He put back a book he’d taken from the shelves. “It’s classified, like everything else official in this place.”

  “Right. I needed to check if your brother was here, that’s all.”

  “Well, as you can see, he’s not.” She moved towards the door.

  “And you haven’t seen him since we last spoke?”

  “No, I haven’t.” Her voice had softened. “Have you found anything out?”

  I didn’t fancy telling her I’d done nothing about her brother at that point. “Look, come round to my flat tonight as we arranged. I can’t talk now.”

  She nodded without looking at me and headed out. “Since you managed to get in on your own, I suppose you can close up again when you’ve finished.”

  I checked the place out. Everything was the same. There were no more foreign banknotes in the book of Chinese poetry and the size twelve running shoes didn’t look like they’d been moved. Davie watched me with undisguised curiosity.

  “Who was that female?”

  “I’ll tell you later. We’d better get up to the infirmary.”

  “You’re forgetting this.” He held up a clear plastic bag in which he’d put the long-bladed knife Katharine had brandished.

  “Well done, guardsman. You beat me to it.”

  The post-mortem went on for hours. A team from the university zoology department spent an hour removing the insect life from Rory Talbot Baillie. Then Yellowlees confirmed what we already knew concerning the cause of death and the wound in the back. I could have spent the afternoon in the archives looking into the dead man’s background, but that could wait till the morning. One reason for staying in the mortuary was to watch Hamilton’s face change colour more often than a chameleon in a disco. As long as I was there, he felt he had to be too. Simpson 134, the nurse with the prominent chest, took notes – when she wasn’t following the medical guardian’s every move.

  As I was leaving, Hamilton came up. “You know, Dalrymple,” he said in a low voice, “your idea about the torch and batteries doesn’t mean a thing. The Ear, Nose and Throat Man could easily have got hold of them on the black market. And remember, the boots were citizen issue, not auxiliaries’.” He stepped back, looking pleased with himself.

  There was something in what he said, but I didn’t feel like letting him off the hook. “I’m glad you admit that there is a black market in the perfect city, guardian.” His scowl encouraged me to go on. “And as for the boots, correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t auxiliaries issued with standard boots for fatigues?”

  He didn’t correct me. There was something else I was tempted to bring up but I decided to keep it for the Council meeting. The guardian looked like he had enough to wrestle with for the time being.

  Before the meeting I stood by the railings and looked down over Princes Street Gardens. The last race had just finished and the tourists were going back to their hotels to get ready for a night on the town. There was no way the butcher could have been alive when I buried him, no way he crawled out before the concrete was poured – I would have seen a trail. I remembered the sick grin on his face as he slashed my finger off with one of his knives and felt myself shiver. No, he was dead all right. The alternative was too horrific to consider.

  I passed by the Land-Rover on my way into the Assembly Hall. If Davie was surprised by the request I made, he didn’t show it. I pocketed what he gave me and went inside.

  The guardians were less disturbed than they’d been after the first murder. You can get used to anything. A cynic would say that the death of an ordinary citizen was less important to them than an auxiliary’s, but even I wouldn’t go along with that. They were concerned enough, but they showed their usual tendency to get bogged down in philosophical debate. This time the subject was cannibalism. We never determined what the ENT Man did with the organs he removed. The possibility that he ate them had been difficult to overlook. The same applied now.

  The deputy senior guardian caught me looking at my watch. “You don’t seem to have much to contribute on the subject, citizen.”

  “It’s all a question of evidence, guardian. We don’t know why the killer’s removing the organs. Since there’s nothing to back up any conjecture, why waste time talking about cannibalism?”

  “Very practical,” she said drily. “How do you think we should be proceeding?”

  “First, we should publish full details of this murder in the Guardian tomorrow. You’ll find that half the city knows already, so you may as well give the killer some publicity. That may prompt him to do something careless.”

  The red-headed information guardian nodded in agreement. Even ex-journalists love a murder.

  “Very well,” said the speaker. “Subject to the senior guardian’s approval. What else?”

  “I have a question,” I said, feeling around carefully in my pocket. “For the medical guardian.”

  Robert Yellowlees was watching me, his fingers in the usual pyramid under his nose. “Go ahead, citizen,” he said.

  I took Davie’s auxiliary knife out. The naked blade flashed in the light from the spots above the horseshoe table. “Could the weapon used to remove the organs have looked anything like this?”

  The guardians looked like a flock of pigeons that had been infiltrated by a ravenous cat.

  Except Yellowlees. He smiled broadly. “Long, well-honed blade, single edge, non-serrated, sharp point – yes, it fits the bill. Not exclusively, of course.”

  From then on the atmosphere was distinctly frosty. If there was one thing that had never been obtainable on the black market, it was auxiliary knives. I think they got my drift. The trouble was, I was no nearer to catching the lunatic who’d done the cutting.

  “You look pissed off,” Davie said as I climbed into the Land-Rover.

  “Pissed on, more like. I’m having difficulty convincing our beloved guardians about something.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  I thought about that. Over the past five years I’d got used to working things out on my own, with a bit of help from the old man occasionally. But the fact that Davie didn’t know about the ENT Man might be an advantage. “All right. Drive up to the Lawnmarket. We don’t want Hamilton to see us having a heart-to-heart, do we?”

  On the Royal Mile the souvenir shops were still open, tourists wandering around with their purchases in lurid
tartan plastic bags that invariably clashed with their clothes.

  “Pull up over there.” I pointed to the gallows where I’d seen the hanging two days before. “Have you ever heard any rumours about the mock executions they stage here?”

  “Rumours?” He looked puzzled. “The only story I heard was the executions were the chief’s very own idea. He persuaded the tourism guardian to go ahead with them.”

  “Is that right?” I wondered if Hamilton was clutching at any way, even as theatre, to keep the ultimate deterrent alive. Or had he taken it upon himself to dispense summary justice? “Forget it,” I said to Davie. It seemed to have nothing to do with the case and I didn’t want to test his loyalty too hard.

  I needn’t have worried. He’d already forgotten the subject and was busy exchanging smiles with a guardswoman who’d walked up.

  “Friend of yours?” I asked as she moved away.

  “Auxiliaries don’t have friends, citizen. You know that.” Then he grinned. “I have spent the occasional sex session with her though.”

  “Oh aye. Don’t you think those sessions are a bit soulless?”

  “Why? There’s nothing wrong with safe sex.” He was avoiding my eyes.

  “What about emotional involvement?”

  He shrugged. “What about it? It just gets in the way.”

  “Come on, Davie. Haven’t you ever fallen for a woman?”

  “I thought we were going to talk about the investigation.”

  “We are. Just answer that simple question first.”

  He let out a long breath. “All right. Yes, I’ve been in love, whatever that means. Satisfied?”

  I gave him a smile. “For the time being. Right, let’s look at the second murder. Yellowlees and the forensics people will confirm the time of death tomorrow. I’m not expecting any surprises, so what are we going to do?”

  “Check family, friends, workplace of the victim.”

  “Yes, there’s going to be plenty of legwork over the next few days. But there are other angles too. Put yourself in the murderer’s shoes. Or boots.”

  “Killing someone in a public park isn’t a job you’d do in daylight.”

  “Good one, Davie. That’s just what I said to your boss.”

  He scratched his beard. “So the murder happened at night . . . Christ, he must have had a torch.” He turned to me. “Now I understand why the guardians were down on you. You think it was an auxiliary. Bloody hell, Quint.”

  “Hang on a minute. There isn’t much to go on. The boots weren’t auxiliary issue. All I’m saying is that we should open our minds to the possibility.”

  He didn’t go for it. “There’s no way one of us would go around throttling people and removing their organs, no way.”

  I hadn’t expected him to be convinced easily. In fact I’d have been suspicious if he hadn’t objected. The auxiliary training programme is so intense that self-doubt is an early casualty. I put my hand in my pocket. “Here’s your knife, by the way.”

  He looked at it for a moment. “You told them one of these could have been used on the victims, didn’t you?”

  “Actually, it was the medical guardian who said so.”

  “But you asked the question.”

  “I asked the question.”

  He shook his head slowly. “Have you got a burning desire to spend the rest of your life down the mines?”

  I laughed. “I told you. They won’t have me back there. Any other thoughts?”

  “The killer’s clothes. They must have been heavily bloodstained. It’s too bloody cold at this time of year to go prancing around in the nude like he did in Stevenson Hall.”

  “I agree. I got Hamilton to organise search parties in a mile radius from Dean Gardens. There’s a good chance he’ll have dumped his clothes.”

  “Meaning he had others with him to change into.”

  “Meaning, as if we didn’t know it, that the murder was carefully planned.”

  Twilight was well advanced though the bright lights on the Royal Mile made it hard to tell.

  “Come on,” I said. “We’d better get going. I’ve got a meeting with Katharine Kirkwood.”

  Davie started the engine. “You haven’t told me who she is.”

  I looked down the street to the ruined palace. “I haven’t found that out myself yet, my friend.”

  Chapter Seven

  Davie parked outside my flat and joined me on the pavement.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “No, you’re not. This has nothing to do with the murders.”

  He looked dubious. “Why did we give that knife to forensics then?”

  “Just covering every angle. See you in the morning.”

  He laughed. “If you’re sure you can manage on your own.”

  “Goodnight, guardsman.” I pushed open the street door. Traces of her perfume confirmed that she was in the vicinity. I ran up the stairs.

  Katharine Kirkwood was sitting against my door, knees apart. “Here you are at last.” She examined her watch in the dim light of the stairwell. “I’ve got to get home by curfew time.”

  I led her into my rooms. “You don’t have to worry about that.” I showed her my Council authorisation.

  She glanced at it. “I suppose this means you’re going to stop looking for Adam.” She fixed me with an acid look. “If you ever started.”

  I went over to the table and picked up the whisky bottle. “Drink?”

  She shook her head dismissively.

  I didn’t fancy drinking on my own. “Sit down. I need to ask you some questions.”

  “About Adam?”

  I nodded slowly. “What were you doing in his flat this morning, Katharine?”

  “What do you think? I’m worried about him.” She looked away. “I miss him.”

  “Look, I’ll be straight with you. I was called to a Council meeting straight after I met you on Friday evening. I haven’t had time to check anything about your brother.”

  “Great.” She stood up and walked to the door.

  “I haven’t finished.”

  Katharine opened the door. “But I have,” she said over her shoulder.

  I had to tell her. “There’s been a murder.”

  She stopped dead in the doorway.

  “Don’t worry,” I added quickly. “Adam wasn’t the victim.”

  She came back in. “So that’s what all those guard vehicles were doing at Dean Gardens.” She sat down opposite me. “You’re investigating that?”

  “Among other things.”

  Katharine took her bag from her knees and loosened her coat. “You must be a real detective.”

  “I have some relevant experience.”

  “What’s this murder got to do with me? Or with Adam?”

  I decided to try the victim’s name out on her. “Do you know a citizen called Rory Baillie?”

  She shook her head after a few moments’ thought.

  “Did you ever hear your brother mention that name?”

  The same reponse. It seemed genuine. “Rory Baillie was killed by someone wearing size twelve citizen-issue boots.”

  Katharine was looking straight at me, her elbows resting on her knees. She wasn’t going to give me any help.

  I shrugged. “Your brother takes that shoe size, he lives down the road from the murder site and he hasn’t been seen for over ten days.”

  Her eyes opened wide. “You think Adam killed someone?”

  “No. But I need to find him so I can rule him out as a potential suspect.”

  She stood up and stared down at me. “You’ve got it all wrong. Adam couldn’t kill anyone. He may be tall and strong but he’s never been aggressive.”

  “I need to know more, Katharine.”

  She raised her left hand to her forehead and drew long fingers across it. “All right.” She sat down again, her hotel-issue skirt riding up over black-stockinged thighs. She didn’t pull the skirt back down.
“It was true what you said, even if you were only guessing. I’m very close to Adam. Our parents were doctors, Enlightenment supporters. Not that they had time to get very involved with the party, they were so busy. Adam and I were often on our own at home. He’s so much younger than I am. I was always looking after him.” She gave a curious, winsome smile that changed the appearance of her face completely. “I still think of him as a little boy.” Then her expression hardened again. “Our parents died in the flu epidemic of 2010. Adam was fifteen. I was in the City Guard at the time. They gave me the afternoon off to get him settled into the orphans’ barracks.”

  “They’re a caring crowd in the Public Order Directorate.”

  She nodded without smiling. “That was when I first had doubts about the system.”

  “And doubts are something auxiliaries aren’t allowed to entertain.”

  “You’ve been through the same process, haven’t you, Quint?” She was doing it again – turning the discussion away from her to me.

  This time I wasn’t going to let her get away with it. “So why exactly were you demoted?”

  Katharine finally became aware of the state of her thighs and covered them in a rapid movement. She held her lower lip between her teeth for a few moments. “A couple of months later I finished my tour of duty in the guard. I was transferred to the Prostitution Services Department.”

  I had a flash of Patsy Cameron, that department’s head, in the Bearskin and wondered if Katharine knew her. “In what capacity?”

  She laughed harshly. “It said ‘General Duties’ on my transfer papers. You can imagine what that meant.”

  I looked at her and tried to work out how much of what she’d said was true. Then I heard the sound of a Land-Rover pulling up in the street below and thought of Davie. I was guilty about excluding him, but I reckoned Katharine wouldn’t have said anything with a guardsman present.

  There were footsteps on the staircase. I opened the door just before the knocking started.

  A slim female form in a guard uniform fell against me. “Sorry, citizen,” she said with unusual civility. She handed me an envelope.

  I recognised the seal immediately. “That’s all I need.” It was a summons to the senior guardian. “We haven’t finished,” I said to Katharine. “Can you wait here? I’ll be back as soon as I can.”