The Blood Tree
Page 12
“That’s exactly what the guard will be doing,” I said, looking at Hamilton. Time to move on. “As regards the cigarette butts the public order guardian mentioned, they might be significant but then again they might not. Cigarettes from Glasgow and other city-states are not that uncommon – smugglers get through the line more often than you’d like to think. On their own they hardly constitute evidence of dissident or politically inspired activity.”
I paused. The guardians looked down at me stonily. They might not believe in fairy monsters but they were still haunted by ogres – and democratic ones from Glasgow intent on over-throwing the Enlightenment were their worst nightmare.
“On the other hand,” I continued, “Knox 43 – or Donald McBain, if you prefer – was actually born and brought up in Glasgow.”
The intake of breath was sharp and extended.
“He moved to Edinburgh in 1994 to attend Heriot-Watt University,” I added. “He joined the Enlightenment before the last election and stayed on to become an auxiliary.”
“I presume the appropriate checks into his background were made,” the science and energy guardian said. She was a brilliant biologist in her thirties whose black hair was curly and untidy. She had a reputation for being bitter because she hardly ever won any battles for financing her directorate’s research programmes. She didn’t sound particularly bitter to me – more like extremely interested.
I nodded. “In as much as the checks in 2005 were worth much. The riots and the drugs wars were in full swing and anyone who was devoted enough or crazy enough to stay was very welcome. As long as you were a member of the Enlightenment, you were in.”
“But there’s no suggestion that the dead man was secretly working for some outside interest?” the biologist asked. “I don’t suppose we’re the only regime to run undercover operatives.”
“There’s nothing in his file that even hints at that,” I said. “It’s hard to believe he was spying for another city-state, at least from the beginning. Edinburgh might have had a hard time after independence was declared, but Glasgow and the other cities had troubles on the scale of Stalingrad in 1943. No one would have bothered about setting up a long-term agent.”
The science and energy guardian looked at me doubtfully. She probably had no idea what Stalingrad was – most senior auxiliaries have purged their minds of everything except Edinburgh-oriented material. She wasn’t giving up though. “Does the murder have any connection with the break-in at the old Parliament archive?”
I’d been hoping no one would ask that question. By the look on Hamilton’s face, so had he. Then again, the Council had discussed the break-in at a previous meeting and the science and energy guardian was entitled to be concerned about the missing genetic engineering attachment.
“Em, possibly,” I said, going into prevarication mode. “It’s too early to say.” It was also too sensitive, even for guardians. I didn’t intend saying anything that might incite Hamilton to emasculate me.
“Thank you, Citizen Dalrymple,” the public order guardian said, putting a stop to that strand of the discussion. “If you have nothing else, my colleagues and I will move on to matters of policy. You and your team may leave now.” This time he didn’t even give Katharine a suspicious look when he included her. He must have been rattled.
“Report to my quarters at ten p.m. for further debriefing,” Hamilton added.
Shit. So much for early to bed.
I stood up quickly and led the others to the door before the guardians tried to get any more out of us. Rule one in sensitive cases: never tell Council members anything more than you have to. Rule two: confuse them by mentioning Second World War battles.
I stopped outside the Council chamber and looked at the others.
“Right, you two,” I said. “Bugger off.”
“Charming,” Davie said. “Where shall we bugger off to?”
“Wherever you like,” I replied. “I’m going to visit my old man.” I wasn’t surprised when neither of them volunteered to come with me. Katharine was probably still smarting from Hector’s confusion of her with Caro; Davie no doubt wanted to hit the castle mess hall.
“All right,” Katharine said. “I’ll meet you at Hamilton’s office at ten.”
I shook my head. “I need to talk to him on my own.”
“What?” they said in unison.
“The guardian ordered us to report,” Davie said. “I heard him with my own ears.”
“So did I,” Katharine said. The pair of them agreeing was a collector’s item.
“What? You heard Hamilton with Davie’s ears too?” I asked Katharine.
“Up yours,” she replied. “He’s expecting all three of us at ten, Quint.”
“I don’t care what he’s expecting. I’ve got to talk to him about the connections between the break-in and the murder. You saw how twitchy he was when the science and energy guardian started probing.” I looked at them individually. “You both know he won’t discuss the genetic engineering attachment in front of you. Well, don’t you?”
They nodded reluctantly.
“Exactly. So let me find out if he knows what the hell’s going on. Then I’ll tell you.”
Katharine didn’t look convinced. “Will you really? What if he swears you to secrecy?”
I headed for a guard vehicle with a driver at the wheel. “Citizen Kirkwood,” I said over my shoulder, “you know it’s against my religion to swear.”
Davie laughed while Katharine shook her head hopelessly.
“You’re an atheist,” she called after me. “You’ve haven’t got a religion. And as for swearing, you can—”
“Wait for me at my place if you like,” I interjected rapidly.
She didn’t bother to respond to that invitation.
My father was asleep, his condition stable. I watched him through the glass screen for a while then left him to it. Then I drank some dire coffee in the infirmary canteen and tried to get my plan of attack organised. After I’d done that I walked out into the night and stuck out my hand. To my surprise the skin on my palm remained dry. As the temperature wasn’t particularly low I decided to walk up to the castle.
Although the citizen curfew wouldn’t come into effect for over two hours, the streets were empty of Edinburgh locals. Those who weren’t already at home were hard at work in the tourist bars and clubs. A group of half-cut Japanese was weaving its way up George IV Bridge like an incompetent siege party. The guards on the checkpoint were paying as little attention to them as possible. No sign of any murderers in cloaks or Glaswegian infiltrators with cigarettes hanging from their lips. I wondered if I was allowing my imagination to run away with me. Then I remembered the lengths taken by the bogus workmen to get into the Parliament archive; and the hole in Knox 43’s forehead with its gruesome implant. There were people in the city who were definitely not playing games. If Hamilton was keeping the slightest piece of information from me, I was going to squeeze it out of him. Even if it took all night and a lot of eyeballing. Shit. Wrong word.
The lights around the castle were glowing brightly through the misty gloom as I crossed the esplanade. At midnight the citizen suburbs would be plunged into darkness to conserve power, but the headquarters of the City Guard would remain lit up all night. It was supposed to be beacon of hope. Yeah, yeah.
I crossed the courtyard to the east of the former Governor’s House. Guardsmen and women were scurrying about despite the late hour. Castle staff work night shifts as a matter of course.
The public order guardian looked up from his desk wearily as I entered his quarters. He had the usual pile of papers in front of him. To my surprise I noticed that his pencils were strewn all over the surface rather than arrayed in the usual neat lines. Something had definitely got to him.
“Ah, Dalrymple,” he said in a low voice. He glanced past me. “On your own?”
I nodded. “Yes, Lewis. I thought you’d prefer it that way.” I sat down heavily, suddenly realising that my legs were protesting.
I wasn’t complaining. I filled a mug and sat down again. “You owe me some straight answers, Lewis – if you want me to stay on this case. The archive break-in and the murder are both the same case, aren’t they?”
“You’re the investigator,” the guardian replied distractedly.
I stared at him. “What is it that you’re so worried about?” I demanded. “Ever since that attachment disappeared from the Genetic Engineering Committee file, you’ve been as nervous as a trainee auxiliary on his first housing scheme patrol.” I didn’t see the point in keeping my suspicions bottled up any longer. “The Council’s gone back on its ban on genetic research, hasn’t it?”
Hamilton’s eyes registered only a brief flash of shock. “I didn’t think it would be long before you worked that out, Dalrymple.” He looked down. “But there are certain complications.”
“Oh aye, Lewis? And they are?”
He sat up straight and gave me an imperious glare. “You are not to share this information with anyone, do you understand? Not even with Hume 253, and certainly not with your female companion.”
I shrugged, making no commitment and expecting to be pressed again. But the guardian seemed to be in need of confession and I got away with it.
“You’re right, Dalrymple. The ban on research into the potential applications of genetic engineering has been – how can I put it? – repealed. After a fashion.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
Hamilton was looking shifty. “Em, it means that the measure hasn’t been put to the full Council.”
“What?” I don’t shock easily but that admission made my jaw hang very loose. “Guardians aren’t permitted to make unilateral decisions about policy issues,” I said, dropping into Council-speak – it’s hard to avoid when you talk about the way Edinburgh is governed. “Under City Regulations the Council is required to take collective responsibility for all policies and their implementation.” The point of that was to avoid precisely the situation we had here – cliques of guardians operating to their own agendas.
Hamilton kept his eyes off mine. “Yes, that’s technically correct,” he said haltingly. “But in this case the issue is so sensitive that the decision was taken a year ago by a small group of guardians. Those whose remits were directly affected.”
I was still recovering from the breach of Council procedure that its longest-serving member had just come clean about. Then I began to wonder who might be in the small group Lewis had mentioned.
“Apart from you, the guardians involved presumably include your colleague in the Science and Energy Directorate.” That explained the dark-haired biologist’s question about whether the break-in and the killing could be linked.
Hamilton nodded.
“And obviously you had to be included because of the potentially damaging effects on public order if anyone found out that one of the Council’s founding principles was being subverted.” I shook my head, still in shock. Because of the public revulsion at some of the genetic engineering projects in the early years of the century, the Enlightenment was on to a guaranteed vote winner when it committed itself to a total ban on such research. I’d come across Council members who’d gone against the spirit of the Enlightenment in the past, but I never expected Hamilton to join that number. Then I considered who else would be in on the plot and got another jolt.
“The medical guardian’s involved as well, isn’t she?” I said, a vision of Sophia with her swollen midriff flashing up before me. Jesus. Hamilton said the research had restarted a year ago. Was there a connection with her pregnancy?
He nodded. “And the finance guardian. Obviously the work had to be funded one way or another.”
“What’s so important about this research, Lewis?”
This time he shook his head. “I’ve told you enough. Concentrate on the case and let me be the judge of the wider implications.”
I almost laid hands on him but I managed to get a grip on myself instead. What I’d heard was disturbing. On the other hand, it didn’t add anything material to my conviction that the archive break-in and Knox 43’s murder were linked. I needed to work more on that.
“All right, don’t tell me,” I said. “But I take it that the missing file attachment pertains to the research that the science and energy guardian is doing.”
Lewis stretched his arms out and gave a frustrated shrug. “There’s no way of knowing. We haven’t been able to find a copy of the attachment or any references in other files to clarify its contents.”
“And there was no sign of it in Knox 43’s dormitory or office,” I said, looking at my notes. “None of the city locksmiths remembered him either but that doesn’t prove anything. He may have used a directorate key.”
“It must have been him who let the suspects into the depot though,” the guardian said.
“I agree. I’ll tell you something else, Lewis. I reckon his trips out to City Farm Number 7 were more than just walks in the country. I reckon he was making contact with people from outside the city.”
Hamilton gave me a worried look. “Because of the proximity to the line?”
“And the coast. Maybe they’re infiltrating by boat. They wouldn’t be the first.”
The guardian suddenly looked wide awake. “Christ,” he said, his voice taut. “Dissidents. Glaswegians. Remember the cigarette butts.”
“Yeah, well. They’re circumstantial at best.”
Hamilton started scrabbling through the papers on his desk. “Something else. The forensics people have reported that the three sets of footprints at the murder scene definitely match those we found in the archive.”
“God, Lewis, thanks for confirming that as soon as you heard it. It’s pretty significant.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Too much going on.”
He’d got that right. “You’d better increase the watch on the coast and on the city line. If these guys are from Glasgow or somewhere else outside the city, they’re going to want to leave at some stage.”
“I’ll advise the command centre.” He shook his head. “I know what the Fisheries Guard will say though – not enough boats.”
I got up to go.
“How’s your father?” the guardian asked, his voice softer. “They’re terrible things, heart attacks.”
“Getting better,” I replied. “Thanks.” His sympathy got to me. Apparently the old bugger still possessed a streak of pre-Council, pre-Public Order Directorate humanity.
“What do we do next in this bloody case, Dalrymple?” Hamilton demanded.
“Sleep, Lewis,” I replied. “I’ll think of something in the morning.” I wasn’t going to tell him what I had in mind – he’d been pretty lax about telling me what was going on and now it was my turn.
“Don’t forget, Dalrymple,” the guardian called after me. “Keep all of this to yourself. Don’t talk to Kirkwood, don’t talk to Hume 253 and especially don’t talk to any of the guardians involved. They’ll put the knife into me if they find out I’ve told you about this.”
I gave him a wave to reassure him. The idea of anyone putting the knife into Lewis Hamilton struck me as pretty far-fetched. Then I remembered what had been done to Knox 43. Some crazy bastard had jammed a chisel or the like into him. That made me look over my shoulder more than once as I walked towards the esplanade.
It was a bit before midnight when I got to my flat and I could see from the street that there were no lights on. Katharine had either gone straight to her own place or given up waiting. My legs felt heavier than lead as I climbed to the third floor.
I intended to crash out straight away but I couldn’t switch my mind off – like Hamilton said, there was too much going on. So I made use of the last few
minutes of electricity to listen to some blues. By a trick of fate what came on when I stuck in a compilation cassette was J. B. Lenoir singing “People Are Meddlin’ in Our Affairs”. That made me laugh. Then the power shutdown cut the old bluesman off in his prime and I had to stumble to the bedroom in pitch darkness. I had no idea where I’d left a candle and matches.
Before I found them my mobile rang.
“It’s me. Where are you?”
“At my place, Katharine. You obviously didn’t fancy it.”
“I wouldn’t say that. I wanted to clean up and change.” She paused. “Did you find out anything interesting from Hamilton?”
“Not really. Just routine.”
“Is that right? How about coming round and telling me about it?” Her voice was husky and alluring.
“I’m a bit knackered,” I said, trying my best to resist.
“Fair enough, I’ll come round to you.”
“No, wait—” I broke off when I realised she’d cut the connection.
It looked like debriefing was on the cards for the second time that evening.
“Why don’t you get a flat in an auxiliary block with twenty-four-hour electricity, Quint?” Katharine asked as she came into the bedroom. In the candle’s flickering glow her face shone like it was part of a disembodied head.
“What, and un-demote myself?” Auxiliary accommodation in the central zone is a sight better than my run-down citizen flat. It’s also in dedicated blocks, so your comings and goings are known to all. That was too much of a sacrifice for me, though the idea of being able to listen to music any time of day or night was very seductive.
Katharine sat on the bed and started taking off her clothes. Unfortunately the candle didn’t reveal much. “You don’t have to become an auxiliary again to get a flat in the tourist zone,” she said. “I didn’t.”
That was true. When she came back to the city in 2025, Katharine moved in with me. It wasn’t a success. My flat isn’t big enough for two people, especially two people who need their own space. When she started working in the Welfare Directorate, she got a flat in a tenement in Grindlay Street. It was within walking distance of my place but far enough away to let us live our own lives. I wasn’t sure what that showed about the nature of our relationship.