Heads or Hearts

by Paul Johnston

  ‘How are you doing?’ I asked Cecilia.

  ‘I’m empty,’ she said with a brave smile. ‘I loved Grant, whatever he did. Now … now I’ve got nothing.’

  I stood up and took her hands.

  ‘You’re young, you’re pretty and you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. Grieve for him, then let him go and get on with things.’

  I left her on the bed, aware that my words had been nothing more than platitudes. Downstairs, Davie and Ailsa were chattering like primary school kids in break. After a while he got up and shook hands with her, a highly unusual action for a Guard commander to take with a citizen.

  ‘What was all that about?’ I said after we’d pushed the still unconscious Eric Colquhoun into the back of the 4×4.

  ‘She knew my mother,’ Davie said. ‘They went to school together.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you picked up any usual snippets of information.’

  He shook his head then turned the vehicle round. ‘Except maybe this.’

  I glared at him in the last of the gloaming.

  ‘The Hearts manager’s wife, Eileen Ferries, is a customer of hers. Apparently the club’s as rotten as it comes. The shame of it.’

  ‘Don’t worry. There’s a gambling scheme. Hibs are the same, it seems. And all the other members of the EPL.’

  He grinned. ‘What a relief.’

  There was a groan from the back seat.

  ‘Yous are fuckin’ deid,’ said Big Eck.

  ‘Not as deid as you’re going to be,’ countered Davie.

  ‘Leave him alone,’ I said. ‘Remember Sophia’s little helper?’

  He laughed. ‘That’s right. They’ll all be spilling their guts.’

  Which was true, I thought. But then where would the city be?

  So many people had been taken to the castle that there wasn’t enough secure space. Eventually the duty commander decided to chain some of them to the weight-lifting apparatus in the gym. She was smart enough to gag them so they couldn’t concoct a story that would at least muddy the puddles, if not save their backsides.

  ‘What now?’ Davie asked, a file in his hand. ‘This is the list. Who do you want to take to the medical guardian first?’

  ‘Let’s do it the usual way first. Remember what the truth drug did to Skinny Ewan.’ I ran an eye down the names. ‘You take Derick Smail.’

  ‘I like it.’

  ‘And I’ll take the Morningside Rose manager.’

  ‘Kennie Dove? They won the league last season. I always thought he was a good guy.’

  ‘Another reason why you aren’t interviewing him.’

  I was given a windowless room beneath the command centre. There were two chairs, one fixed to the concrete floor. As I’d ordered, the Morningside manager was brought in wearing handcuffs and a chain that was then attached to the ring under his seat.

  ‘Call me Quint,’ I said with an extravagant smile.

  ‘Right you are,’ the thin, short man said. ‘Quint.’ He was wearing a brown leather jacket and matching corduroys, as well as a loosely fastened black-and-blue striped tie.

  I leaned over and undid the knot. ‘I’ll take that. Wouldn’t be the first time that someone’s hanged himself in the castle recently. Sort of.’

  Dove’s eyes opened wide. ‘Why would I do that, citizen? I mean, Quint.’

  ‘Because you’ve been mixing with some very unsavoury people.’

  He laughed nervously. ‘Aye, well, in this business you need long teeth to survive. See Derick Smail, he—’

  ‘I don’t mean your counterparts, though I’m sure they’ll be equally complimentary about you. I’m talking about illegal betting.’

  ‘What?’ His face was suddenly paler than a December morning when the haar rolls in from the Forth.

  ‘How rife is it?’

  The manager looked dazed, even confused. ‘How what?’

  ‘Rife – common, prevalent, rampant.’

  ‘Em, citizen … Quint, you’re making a mistake here.’

  ‘Is that right? So no one’s making books, setting odds, taking wagers? No one’s fixing games?’

  ‘Em …’ Kennie Dove’s eyes were all over the place, except on mine. ‘Can I see your authorization?’

  I handed it over.

  ‘You’re allowed to question guardians and senior auxiliaries?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Talk to the recreation guardian then,’ he said, folding his arms. ‘I’m not saying another word.’

  The door behind me opened.

  ‘Citizen, a word,’ said Guardian Doris.

  I followed her out.

  ‘I’ve been listening,’ she said.

  ‘I might have known you’d have the place wired for sound.’

  She shrugged. ‘My domain, my rules.’

  ‘Uh-huh. I take it you’ll be calling the recreation guardian up here for a wee chat.’

  The guardian shook her head. ‘Peter Stewart isn’t involved in any gambling scheme.’

  I considered the tall, white-haired guardian. It was true that he had a reputation for probity. He’d been a world-class athlete, but being unable to leave Edinburgh when he was young meant he’d never competed against his peers. Then again, the last Olympic Games were in 2000, when he was still a schoolboy. The headquarters of international sports organizations were among the first targets of enraged mobs in Switzerland.

  ‘So why’s Kennie Dove fingering him?’ I asked.

  ‘Because Dove is a scheming runt who’ll do anything to distract us from his real bosses.’

  ‘Who are?’

  ‘I’m working on that.’

  ‘But you have suspicions.’

  The guardian smoothed back her hair. ‘Not that I’m willing to share. I have no evidence.’

  ‘Except the heart.’

  She pursed her lips. ‘Which you have singularly failed to explain, never mind find out who removed it. Or even who it was removed from.’

  ‘I’m working on that,’ I said, repeating her phrase and feeling the need to change the subject. ‘Why don’t we take Dove over to the infirmary and give him a mild dose of the guardian’s truth drug?’

  ‘You’re sure he won’t talk otherwise?’

  ‘Oh, he’ll talk – if you set your heavies loose on him. But that would be breaking the regulations, wouldn’t it?’ I tried not to smirk.

  ‘The truth drug is not covered by any regulation,’ she said, her eyes flashing.

  ‘There you are, then.’

  ‘That’s not what I … oh, very well. Go ahead.’

  ‘Given the rivalry between Hearts and Hibs, I think Derick Smail would benefit from the same treatment. Unless Hume 253’s already on to the seventh degree.’

  She led me to a door down the corridor and opened it. The Hibs manager’s expression was that of a man a bus was about to collide with, but he was unmarked.

  I took Davie aside and told him the plan. He said that Smail had clammed up too, though he hadn’t mentioned the recreation guardian.

  We handed them over to a quartet of Guard personnel and went down to the esplanade.

  ‘Do you think Peter Stewart could be dirty?’ I asked Davie.

  ‘Never heard the slightest whisper. He’s not the most active guardian, but he’s strict about the regs.’

  I nodded. We got into a 4×4 and went to the infirmary, the prisoners in another vehicle to our rear. I found Sophia in her office, lines of exhaustion on her face.

  ‘I think we’d better postpone our personal rendezvous,’ I said, looking at my watch. It was five to ten.

  ‘I was about to call you.’

  Although she had the usual icy grip on her emotions, I could tell she was upset.

  ‘What is it?’

  She looked up at me and then shook her head. ‘“Things fall apart, the centre cannot hold.”’

  ‘William Butler Yeats, no less.’ I went over and put my arm round her shoulders. She was very tense.

  ‘The truth drug,
’ she said in a low voice. ‘It’s disappeared.’

  That was more bitter than sweet – we’d shaken someone’s cage, but he, she or they had managed to jemmy open the door and fly away. The question was, how far?

  ‘It’s my fault,’ Sophia said, standing by the safe in the supposedly high-security drugs storage room. ‘I should have split the consignment. I only found out when I went to check how much was left. I had a feeling you’d be wanting more.’

  ‘How many staff knew the combination?’

  ‘Three. Don’t worry, they’re all confined to quarters, but they deny involvement.’

  ‘Which isn’t to say one of them didn’t pass the combination to someone else.’

  ‘Hm.’ Sophia looked like she’d been rabbit-punched.

  I took her hand. ‘It’s not your fault. The investigation is making certain people nervous, which is a good thing. Presumably nobody saw any unauthorized personnel down here.’

  ‘No. Pity we don’t have security cameras.’

  ‘I’ll get a scene-of-crime team to attend.’ I checked the floor. The surface was tracked with footprints, all of them similar.

  ‘How many people have a key to this room?’

  ‘Fifty-seven,’ Sophia replied hopelessly.

  I called the Guard command centre and arranged for a forensics team. They’d do their job, but I wasn’t optimistic about the results.

  ‘Never mind,’ I said. ‘Get the lock changed and reset the combination. For the time being, keep the latter to yourself.’

  ‘That’s totally impractical, Quint,’ she said, her voice rising.

  ‘All right. Give it to the chief chemist. You trust him, don’t you?’

  ‘He’s a she. I don’t know who to trust any more.’

  I nodded. ‘That’s the way of things when, as you said, the centre cannot hold.’

  She gave me an exasperated look. Fortunately my phone rang. It was Davie.

  ‘Quint, meet me at the 4×4. A body’s been found and guess what?’

  ‘Surprise me.’

  ‘The heart’s been removed.’

  It had only been a matter of time.

  TWELVE

  ‘Where is it?’ I asked as Davie started the engine. Sophia had wanted to come, but I told her to get some rest. Astonishingly she went along with that.

  ‘Granton, near the remains of the last gasometer.’

  ‘Interesting. Only a mile or so to the west of Leith Lancers’ territory and close to the Forth.’

  ‘Aye, people who want to leave the city are picked up by the Fife boats around there. Maybe outsiders really are doing this.’

  Once we were out of the tourist zone, Davie put on the lights and siren and we were at the shore in ten minutes. At least the rain wasn’t horizontal, but the wind was blowing it around enough to soak every inch of you in seconds. I was glad to see that a smart guardsman or woman had erected a Guard tent over the body and set up lights. To the side the remains of the gasometer’s skeletal structure loomed. Over the water I could see the glow of towns and farms. For decades Fife had been dark at night, but now it was on its way back to civilization. The random streetlights in the housing schemes on our side suggested the reverse was happening in Edinburgh.

  ‘Who’s in charge?’ I asked.

  ‘Cramond 127,’ said a heavy-faced guardsman with short white hair.

  ‘Bruce!’ said Davie, punching him on the upper arm. ‘Did you call in this horror?’

  ‘I did, Davie. My team was patrolling the front – you know what goes on here at night – when we came across – well, you’ll see.’ Cramond 127 gave me a disparaging look. ‘Citizen Dalrymple. Wherever you go, someone dies.’ He was one of the old Guard who hadn’t forgiven me for quitting the directorate.

  I smiled. ‘It was you who found this dead one, wasn’t it?’

  He didn’t reply. I decided against inviting him to call me by my first name.

  We were handed plastic overshoes and rubber gloves by a young guardswoman.

  ‘I was wondering where you’d been, Hume 481,’ I said, squatting by the corpse.

  ‘Michael Campbell,’ Davie said, taking in his barracks colleague’s face. The dead man’s mouth and eyes were wide open. He was wearing citizen-issue clothes, but his shirt had been ripped apart and his cracked ribs stood up like miniature replicas of the gasometer’s broken spars.

  ‘I wonder where his parents are,’ I said.

  ‘I hate to imagine,’ said Davie. ‘Poor bastard. Whatever he did, he didn’t deserve to die like this.’

  There were voices at the entrance to the tent and Sophia came in. I might have known.

  ‘Let me have a look,’ she said impatiently, hustling Davie out of her way.

  She opened her bag and removed various instruments. I stood back, having seen enough of Hume 481’s ravaged chest. After about five minutes, Sophia got to her feet.

  ‘Taking into account the ambient temperature and the state of rigor, I’d say the victim died between eight and ten hours ago.’

  ‘No need to ask the cause of death,’ I said.

  She ignored that. ‘The ribs were cut with a modicum of skill and, again, the heart was carefully removed. The lack of blood shows that the victim was already dead when the organ was cut out. There are contusions on his wrists and ankles, suggesting he was tied up and the bonds removed post-mortem. There are also fibre traces in his mouth, showing that at some point he was gagged. It would have been daylight, though it rained most of the time. There may have been witnesses.’

  ‘It’s unlikely anyone will come forward,’ I said. ‘Citizens down here keep their doors and mouths triple-locked. You know what they think of the Council and its works.’

  Sophia frowned. ‘Of course, this means we potentially have another heart about to make an appearance. The one at Tynecastle was removed while this poor man was still alive.’

  ‘And there are important visitors from Orkney and Shetland arriving in the morning,’ I said.

  ‘Indeed,’ she said, giving me a quizzical look. ‘You think there’s a connection.’

  ‘Potentially,’ I said, using her term.

  ‘Are you coming to the post-mortem?’

  I glanced at Davie. ‘The commander will take my place.’ That didn’t go down well with either of them. ‘I’ve got somewhere else to go.’

  Sophia gave a minuscule smile. ‘Moray Place, perhaps?’

  She wasn’t a guardian only because she was a medical genius. She knew which Council members I was going to visit. The idea that I might stop off at her house across the street afterwards maybe afforded her a smidgeon of pleasure.

  I commandeered Davie’s 4×4 after the Guard squad spoke to the locals. It had been raining heavily, of course, but it could have been a Mediterranean summer’s day – which I heard are seriously sweltering now – and no one would have talked. I asked Davie’s pal, Cramond 127, to go into Leith with his people and see if he could lay hands on any of the Lancers. The gang-bangers might have located Michael Campbell, but they wouldn’t have had the skill to take his heart without making a hell of a mess. Was someone using them as foot soldiers and providing a heart-cutter? Another question for the senior guardian. I considered calling ahead, but decided against it. Surprise was a useful weapon, though he would probably have been told about the body.

  Moray Place is in the west of the New Town, a circle broken by four access roads, all of which are blocked by gates manned by elite Guard units. I managed to get to Doune Terrace without stalling the vehicle more than twice. I’ve never been much of a driver and Davie was reluctant to give me the keys. I got out and went to the gate, authorization in hand.

  ‘The senior guardian is expecting you,’ a muscle-bound guardsman said. ‘Number 7.’

  ‘I know.’ I’d been to most of the guardians’ houses over the decades. Each was allocated an entire six-storey house though much of the accommodation was taken up by offices, live-in auxiliaries and Guard personnel.

 
The door to number 7 opened before I reached it and a female auxiliary in a grey suit and white blouse ushered me in. She tried not to turn her nose up at my soaked donkey jacket and muddy boots, but didn’t have the nerve to tell me to take them off. I happily mucked up the carpets. Most guardians don’t have enough contact with the real dirty world. Then again, Fergus Calder might well have very soiled hands indeed.

  I was taken into a large drawing room on the first floor. The decor was the best the Supply Directorate could provide – Georgian chairs and tables, an Edwardian leather sofa and matching armchairs, and the customary artwork from the city’s collection. The senior guardian had chosen El Greco’s curious Fábula, with two men, one wearing a bright yellow cloak, and a monkey gathered around a light. I’ve never had a clue what the painting means, but I suspected the senior guardian liked its air of mystery. Or perhaps he thought it was enlightening and thus a link to the Council’s founding fathers and mothers.

  There was a creak and Billy Geddes rolled forward in his chair. Then Jack MacLean and Fergus Calder got up from the armchairs. A veritable welcoming committee.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ I said.

  ‘Citizen … Quint,’ said the senior guardian, no doubt thinking he was putting me in my place. ‘I’m glad you came.’

  ‘Otherwise you’d have hauled me in.’

  He smiled. ‘Yes. Tell us about the heartless corpse.’

  I thought that was a pretty heartless way of putting it, but I filled them in. Then I hit back. ‘Is there anything you want to tell me?’

  They looked at each other.

  ‘What are you getting at?’ MacLean said with less bonhomie than usual.

  ‘Thought not,’ I muttered. I decided against asking them if they were using the Leith Lancers as auxiliary auxiliaries. I had no proof. ‘I was wondering if your visitors tomorrow have had any heart or head issues.’

  ‘Orkney and Shetland?’ Billy said. ‘Not that we’ve heard of.’

  Which showed how close he was to the centre of things.

  ‘You might want to keep security after them tight since you’ve got the Lord of the Isles and Glasgow’s boss arriving in quick succession.’