Heads or Hearts

by Paul Johnston

  ‘He had to meet with the finance guardian. You think they know more about this than they’re admitting?’

  ‘I doubt they’d have acceded to my request to put you on the case if they had anything to hide.’

  ‘Quint Dalrymple always gets his man,’ said Davie.

  ‘And woman,’ I added, not amused by his ironic tone. I stood up. ‘It’s time I got to work. You monitor the squads in the field, guardian. We’ll compare their lists of missing persons with mine.’

  If Doris Barclay was unimpressed by my taking charge of the case, she didn’t show it. What was etched on her thin face looked more like relief.

  ‘See you later,’ I said to Davie, as we exited the guardian’s hang-out.

  ‘What? Where are you going?’

  I tapped the side of my nose. ‘Somewhere your presence isn’t required.’

  ‘I’ll give you a lift,’ he offered, trying unsuccessfully to disguise his curiosity.

  ‘No, thanks.’ I headed off down the slope. ‘Come to my place first thing in the morning.’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘That was an order.’ I kept my eyes front and my lips pursed. Winding up Davie was risky but worth it – as long as you didn’t laugh.

  I turned on to Bank Street at the Deacon Brodie Visitor Centre and hailed one of the Council’s recent innovations – a taxi. The vehicle was large, luxurious and meant only for tourists, though a flash of my Council authorization persuaded the driver. I told him to take me to Haymarket. On the way I wondered what deal the Finance Directorate had done with the Sri Lankan manufacturers. Free accommodation and hookers for life? I didn’t know if the Sri Lankans’ religion would permit that. In fact, all I knew about the island was that it had prospered after India went back to the collection of small states it had been before the British took over, apart from some which had gone Communist. Numerous civil wars had resulted.

  ‘At least the rain’s keeping off,’ the driver said.

  ‘Aye, but for how long?’

  ‘Ah’d gie it five minutes,’ he said and laughed.

  He was wrong. The cats and dogs didn’t start landing until I was a few minutes’ walk from Tynecastle stadium. I decided to try the highest tenement first. The people on the top storey could definitely see over the top of the west stand. I pushed open the street door and felt a heavy hand on my shoulder. I looked round so quickly I almost ricked my neck.

  ‘Fuck, Davie! Don’t do that!’

  He grinned. ‘Thought you could get round me, eh? I’m not as thick as you think.’

  ‘That would be difficult. And you even thought to change into civilian clothes. The moustache is a step too far, though.’

  He twirled the ends of the stick-on. ‘What was the name of that Belgian detective?’

  ‘Poirot, Hercule, given plenty of help by his creator.’

  ‘Aye, that’s the one. “Zee little grey cells”.’

  ‘How little only you know. All right, since you’re here, how do you want to do this?’

  ‘I’ll kick the doors in and you do the talking.’

  ‘Remember what the caller said. Be discreet.’

  ‘Never heard of it.’

  ‘No, seriously. Knock lightly and keep your mouth shut.’

  He nodded.

  We went up the stairs to the top floor. There were four doors, one of them freshly painted and the others waiting for the Maintenance Department to appear. Given the financial limitations of the citizen-friendly policy, they might be there in five years.

  There was no answer at two of the unpainted doors. The other was opened by a scared teenage girl who said her parents were on the night shift and she’d been at school all day. I told her not to open the door to strange men with moustaches and then went to the pristine pale blue one across the landing.

  This time an elderly woman with her hair in a maroon-and-white scarf appeared, security chain on. I took a chance and said we worked for the football club.

  ‘Come away in,’ she said, taking off the chain and beaming as she ushered us in. ‘Ma Tam was a great fan o’ the Hairts. Ah wish he was here tae see them playin’ again.’ She shook her head. ‘The cancer took him. What is it Ah can dae fir ye?’

  ‘We’re having a bit of a problem with the staff,’ I lied, not feeling proud of myself. ‘Some of them aren’t coming in when they should and we wondered if you could help us.’

  ‘Sit doon,’ our hostess said, taking a bottle of Supply Directorate whisky from the dresser and filling three glasses. ‘Here’s tae Tam.’

  It would have been churlish not to drink, even though citizen-issue whisky was not for the faint of throat, especially undiluted.

  ‘Ahm Morag Oswald,’ she said, sitting back in her chair.

  I gave her a couple of names I’d made up on the spot and got to the point.

  ‘What it is, one of our people says he was working on the pitch this morning but we have reason to believe he was at the Edlott stall in Haymarket.’ Despite being implicated in a major case some years back, the Council’s lottery is still in operation, though it’s no longer compulsory.

  ‘Och, we cannae be havin’ that at Tynecastle,’ Morag said. ‘Ma Tam wid be horrified. He was doon the mines, ye ken. Voluntary, nae punishment details. Loved his work, ma Tam.’ The original Council was strict about language, seeing the Edinburgh tongue as socially divisive. That policy has been softened now, but I had the feeling the old woman had never observed it much. Good for her. And good for her Tam. A lot of people had been so grateful to the Enlightenment for saving the city that they did the dirty jobs without being coerced.

  I parted the thin curtains and looked out. The centre circle was visible, despite the rain and the dull evening light. Morag Oswald’s chair was half turned towards the window.

  ‘Whit time did ye say?’

  ‘Late morning,’ Davie said, then rapidly put his finger on his moustache to stabilize it.

  ‘Say, after eleven,’ I said, glaring at him.

  ‘Aye, Ah wis here. Let me see …’ The old woman took another slug of whisky. ‘Ah remember. There wis someone oot on the pitch, even though it was raining fit tae drown a body.’

  ‘And what was he doing?’

  ‘That wis the strange thing aboot it. Carries a box oot there, puts it on the centre spot and then comes back.’

  ‘One person.’

  ‘Oh aye.’

  ‘Did you see his face?’

  ‘Ah did.’ Morag smiled triumphantly. ‘It wisnae a man, it wis a wummin. A young one, tae. Long blonde hair under her rain jacket and a fine pair o’ lungs on her.’

  I asked a few more questions but the answers didn’t get us any further. There had been no sign of the woman outside the ground, which made me wonder how she’d made her getaway.

  We left Morag Oswald to her whisky and memories of her Tam. She’d been a useful witness, but the idea that a young woman had deposited the heart didn’t make me want to dance in the sodden street.

  ‘Get some better glue for that lip slug,’ I said as we got into the 4×4.

  ‘I don’t think I’ll be using it again. Here, you’re the master of disguise. You have it.’

  I opened my window and threw the sticky object out. Davie didn’t arrest me for wasting Public Order Directorate resources or littering. Maybe my luck was finally turning.

  FOUR

  ‘Why can’t I come?’ Davie demanded as we turned on to Heriot Row, still one of the most exclusive streets in the New Town.

  ‘You know he doesn’t like you.’

  ‘And he likes you? How many times has he tried to terminate you with plenty of prejudice.’

  ‘Just the once.’

  ‘You’re being generous.’

  ‘Look, I’ve known him since we were kids. That still means something.’

  ‘I hope so. Do you want me to wait?’

  ‘No, go back to the castle and see if anything’s turned up.’

  ‘Shall I put out an all-barracks ale
rt for a young blonde with a – quote – “fine pair of lungs”?’

  I thought about that. With Edinburgh full of tourists from rich states around the world, several of them well populated by blondes, that would be the opposite of discreet. And with the locals now allowed to dye their hair, there was no shortage of unnatural blondes.

  ‘No, it isn’t enough to go on.’

  ‘All right, Quint. You know best.’

  ‘Irony doesn’t become you, guardsman.’

  ‘Your irony’s too ironic for me.’

  ‘Good night, idiot.’ I got out of the vehicle and walked down the street. The trees in the park on the right blocked out most of the noise from the bars and clubs on North Castle Street. The dark stone of the well-kept houses on my left was grim, a reminder that the New Town had always been full of disquieting secrets. The man I was about to visit was privy to most of the contemporary ones, I was sure.

  I rang the bell and mugged at the camera above the door. Only guardians and the most senior auxiliaries merit that level of security. There was a buzz and the door swung open.

  ‘Well, well, the great Quintilian Dalrymple,’ said the crumpled figure in the wheelchair a few yards away in the ornate entrance hall. ‘I had a feeling you might turn up tonight. Though you might have rung ahead.’

  ‘Though you might have not been at home, Billy.’

  His laugh was a cackle the weird sisters would have been proud of.

  ‘You do me an injustice.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Not for the first time.’

  I shook my head. ‘Everything that happened to you was caused by your own actions.’

  ‘You think?’ Billy Geddes, former deputy finance guardian and demoted auxiliary – the latter a distinction we had in common – studied me for longer than I was comfortable with, then spun round and rolled away across the tiled floor. I followed him into a large, well-appointed room. The paintings on the walls were from the City Gallery, one of them a Degas that I’ve always been fond of.

  ‘I heard you’d wormed your way back into favour, but I didn’t realize how much. Even guardians only get the loan of a work of art.’

  ‘Everything’s changing, Quint, and for the better.’

  I looked at his wizened face, the thin beard he favoured doing little to obscure the results of the injuries he’d sustained in 2020.

  ‘And guess who’s got a finger in every pie.’

  More cackling. ‘What’s good for the city is good for me, Quint. Do you want a drink?’ He was already pouring a large measure of a dark malt. I took it, but didn’t drink – the bouquet was glorious but, as ever with anything to do with Billy, there was an underlying hint of corruption.

  ‘What did you do to get this? Sell off the museum?’

  ‘Come on,’ he scoffed. ‘You’re an ignoramus when it comes to the modern world. Let me educate you.’

  I leaned back in the red leather armchair. Billy’s lectures were informative but there was more to them than that. It was only after giving them that he would open up. Sometimes.

  ‘So, you know that Europe isn’t in as much chaos as it has been?’

  I shrugged. ‘There are tourists from Provence and Aquitaine.’

  ‘Well done,’ he said with a mocking grin. ‘They’re examples of states that have finally done what we did – beaten off the drugs gangs. Of course, they also had the Muslim fundamentalists to deal with. Now their borders are secure and they’ve started trading again – wine, mainly, but they’ve got heavy industry going, even shipbuilding.’

  ‘Who buys ships these days?’

  ‘Good question. For decades world trade has been shafted by well-equipped raiders, thanks to what used to be the Russian Federation and is now back to Serf Central. Don’t you just love oligarchs?’

  ‘Not the ones who’re in charge here.’

  ‘The guardians aren’t that kind of oligarch, you moron. They’re a benevolent dictatorship.’

  ‘Benevolent to you, maybe.’

  Billy glared at me. ‘You helped set the Council up, Quint. You like to play at being an ordinary citizen working for your peers, but you’re still at the guardians’ beck and call.’

  I didn’t rise to that. ‘So who buys ships?’ I repeated.

  ‘People who want to move goods around the world. You see, there’s one thing that survives nuclear and any other kind of meltdown.’

  ‘Cockroaches?’

  ‘I’m talking about trade, buying and selling—’

  ‘Turning a profit.’

  ‘You’re not as dumb as you look, Quint.’

  ‘But unregulated capitalism and feral banking were what landed us in the shit at the beginning of the century, weren’t they?’

  ‘Those and a large number of major criminals and ruthless religious lunatics. But my point is, trade still went on. It wasn’t long after the last election that the Council realized the city needed tourist income to survive.’

  ‘And now things are better around the world?’

  ‘In some parts. States are still a lot smaller than they were – the last count I saw had fifty-seven of them in what used to be Canada, while the former USA has over a hundred, many of them hermetically sealed against outsiders for religious reasons. I heard that southern Florida and Cuba merged last year – main products, orange-flavoured rum and teenage-thigh-rolled cigars, choose your gender.’

  ‘But with China and Russia in ruins, where are the big markets?’

  ‘Australia, for a start. Or rather, ex-Australia. There are twenty-three states now, four of them for Aborigines only; Indonesia, finally rid of fundamentalists and very keen on exporting its natural resources; Japan, though the northern islands have been occupied by Russians escaping from the remains of their homeland. And South America – Brazil, Argentina and Chile are flying high, while Venezuela’s still making the most of its oil.’

  ‘Speaking of black gold, what about the Middle East? You don’t see many Arab tourists these days.’

  ‘Gone up in flames, mostly. The jihadists were only recently eradicated. Turkey’s the regional superpower, though it’s smaller than it used to be thanks to the Kurds setting up their own state.’ He leaned forward, unable to contain his excitement. ‘The potential is huge and we can be in at the start. Not just as a tourist attraction, but as the capital of a reunited Scotland. You wouldn’t believe the resources this country has.’

  ‘Oil in the Hebrides,’ I said, hoping to take the wind from his sails.

  ‘That, but there’s been amazing progress in wave and wind-power technology in Inverness and Aberdeen. Those cities have taken over a lot of the neighbouring territories and erected ultra-efficient wind turbines on the high ground. They’re ready to start exporting energy to Denmark and the German Federation. And that’s not all. There’s fishing, minerals, agriculture … this country is a gold mine.’

  ‘We were always taught Scotland was a harsh land, that there was nothing without heavy industry. Except sheep.’

  ‘That’s bullshit now. For a start, we’re decades ahead of most other countries, plus we’ve got some of the best-trained people in the world.’

  ‘In Aberdeen and Inverness.’

  ‘And Glasgow. Since the original Silicon Valley in California was carpet-bombed by Christian fundamentalists five years ago, the west of Scotland has become a world leader in digital processing and programming. Of course, Dundee is still an anarcho-syndicalist state and Stirling is run by ultra-feminists, but we can live without them.’

  ‘I take it you’ll be voting “yes” in the referendum.’

  ‘Anyone with a brain cell will be doing that.’ He groaned. ‘Don’t tell me, Quint. You’re still loyal to the Enlightenment ideal of an independent Edinburgh after all you’ve been through. You’re a DM, remember?’

  I looked at the faded stamp on my right hand. Demoted citizens were rehabilitated a year ago, but there’s still a stigma, at least among auxiliaries. That had made me want to get the letters re-inked in one of the many pa
rlours that have opened since the Council made tattoos legal – thirty per cent of profits going to the Finance Directorate, of course. In the end I hadn’t, partly because the Council’s actions have been less objectionable recently.

  ‘All right,’ I said. ‘Global capitalism is starting up again and everything’s wonderful. Where’s the catch?’

  Billy looked puzzled. ‘There is no catch.’

  ‘You know what I’m investigating.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Why are the senior guardian and the finance guardian so spooked by it, and don’t tell me they’re worried about the city’s image. It goes deeper than that.’

  ‘Why do you think I know?’

  ‘Because you know everything that goes on in Edinburgh, Billy. What’s your title now? Éminence Grise of the Finance Directorate? Extremely Private and Highly Rewarded Secretary to Jack MacLean? The Power Behind the Throne?’

  ‘I’m a SPADE – Special Advisor, Executive. The only throne I know is the one I drag myself on to when I need to shit.’

  ‘At least the great global leap forward doesn’t seem to involve hereditary monarchies.’

  He raised a twisted hand. ‘Not in what used to be the UK, no. The Windsors who survived the break-up run a llama farm somewhere in South America. But some of the successful African states have got kings again. The ones that had in effect been colonized by the Chinese for their minerals are now home free, selling to the highest bidder. Haven’t you noticed black tourists in the city? A lot of them are businessmen.’

  I waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. Time to play hard football.

  ‘You were there, weren’t you?’

  He glared at me. ‘Talk sense, man.’

  ‘This afternoon, when the senior and finance guardians met.’

  He looked away, suddenly fascinated by the Degas nude.

  ‘Billy, you need to be straight with me.’ I knew that was a hope too far, but even tricky people are open to appeals for honesty – usually because it gives them the opportunity to be even trickier. But that’s the kind of thing I can spot.

  ‘All right. Yes, I was there.’ He took a pull of whisky. ‘In fact, it was on my insistence that you were assigned the case.’