Fergus Calder looked dubious. ‘I still don’t understand why. The public order guardian hasn’t reported any signs of civil disobedience.’
‘Remember the bomb at the crematorium?’
That took the wind from his spanker.
‘Surely that was just a bit of extreme inter-gang violence,’ Billy said, moving further into the light.
‘If we’re lucky.’ I prepared to knife them. ‘Do any of you know about betting on Edinburgh Premier League matches?’
Silence, long and golden.
‘Yes? No? Maybe?’ I prompted.
‘Explain,’ Calder ordered.
I told them what Cecilia had told me – which was dismissed as a justifiably hysterical female citizen’s fantasy – and that the Morningside Rose manager had fingered the recreation guardian.
‘Peter Stewart would never sanction anything that breaks City Regulations,’ the senior guardian scoffed.
‘Who would, then?’ I asked.
They got my drift.
‘You’re suggesting that one – or more – of us is involved?’ the finance guardian said, getting to his feet.
I shrugged. ‘Do I get an answer?’
‘No!’ Billy yelled. ‘You do not get an answer. You have no right to make accusations like that!’
Fergus Calder turned to him. ‘All right, Billy. I appreciate your concern, but the citizen is authorized to ask any questions, even of guardians.’
‘And SPADEs,’ I added.
‘What would betting on EPL matches have to do with the removal of two hearts and a head?’ MacLean asked, standing over me.
‘You tell me.’
He didn’t like that but, after balling his fists, he turned and went back to his chair.
‘Are you sure you aren’t allowing yourself to get distracted, citizen?’ the senior guardian said.
I met his gaze. ‘Do you know about betting on the football or not?’
He didn’t look away. ‘No, of course not. Jack?’
‘Me neither,’ the finance guardian said, looking like he wanted to spit in my face.
Interestingly, Billy wasn’t given the chance to answer.
‘Can we get back to the heart business?’ MacLean asked.
‘Right. We have one heart, now dissected, and one donor, but they don’t match. So, somewhere in the city, are another body without a heart and another heart without a body.’
‘Could the second heart have been taken for transplantation?’ Billy said.
‘I suppose so,’ I said, ‘but the ruined gasometer at Granton isn’t exactly a sterile location.’
‘Besides, the first one appeared at Tynecastle,’ Calder said.
‘Which gives you a link to the EPL,’ I said, smiling. ‘Along with the Hibs players who were members of the Portobello Pish.’
‘So you think this new heart is bound for the centre circle at Easter Road?’ said MacLean.
‘No,’ I replied. ‘Security’s tight, as it is at all football grounds in the city.’
‘And the hearts in Glasgow and Inverness lead you to the conclusion that visitors to the city might be targeted?’
‘Or be made to witness the horror beneath the gleaming surface here?’ I got up. ‘Make sure the haggis is checked before it’s served.’
They let me go. I was pretty sure they knew about the betting, but the guardians had learned plausible denial. Billy hadn’t, though.
Sophia’s house was on the other side of the gardens in the centre of Moray Place, but Peter Stewart’s was third to the left of the senior guardian’s. This was a good opportunity to ask him about the football betting. I rang the bell and mugged to the security camera.
The grey-suited male auxiliary who opened the door knew who I was, but he wasn’t keen on letting me in.
‘The guardian has retired,’ he said, nose in the air as if I stank – which I did.
‘It’s urgent,’ I said, holding up my authorization.
‘Very well, I’ll advise him.’
‘No, you won’t. Tell me where he is.’
The auxiliary’s resistance was broken only when I grabbed his balls.
‘Second … floor,’ he gasped. ‘Second … door … left.’
I let him go after telling him not to call the Guard members on the premises, then ran up the stairs. The red carpet was new, which was unusual for austere guardians like Stewart. It wasn’t as if the recreation guardian received guests from other cities. Or was it? Maybe a national football league was on the cards. That had been a real success before the 2003 crisis – referees bribed, running battles between fans, a completely corrupt organizing body.
I knocked on the door. Nothing. I knocked harder. Same again. I turned the handle, but the door was locked. I pounded, not least because I could hear Guard boots thundering up the stairs – I should have pulled the auxiliary’s balls off. Then I put my shoulder to the door. On the second attempt, the Georgian hinges splintered. I stumbled in.
Too late.
The recreation guardian was hanging from the light fitting, a small table on its side beneath his feet. Around his neck was a thin cord that had cut deep into the skin. His eyes were bulging and his tongue protruding.
A guardsman pushed past me, heading for his boss’s body.
I ordered him back, then called Sophia.
It didn’t look like either of us was going to get any sleep tonight, never mind carnal action.
I had a job keeping the scene uncontaminated before the forensics team arrived. Guardians clustered at the door, Fergus Calder to the fore. I explained to them that Sophia had taken personal charge and that I needed to speak to everyone who had been in the house, without the presence of Council members. They moved away, muttering about the disgrace. Suicide is still an offence and surviving family members are severely punished, as well as the self-murderer’s name being removed from all city records. No guardian or auxiliary had ever committed suicide. As far as I knew.
Davie came up the stairs when they were clear.
‘This is a turn up for the books,’ he said, rubbing his eyes.
‘Hm.’ I let him in and closed the door. The scene-of-crime experts were working the room, while Sophia and her team were looking at the body, which had recently been cut down.
‘Bloody hell,’ Davie said, taking in the guardian’s swollen face.
‘Quite. Can you handle the interviews with the house staff? I want to know who saw him last, how he was, you know the drill.’
He nodded and left. Then Guardian Doris came in, surprisingly late. She looked as shocked as the rest of her rank.
‘I was interrogating football-club managers,’ she explained. ‘I told my people not to interrupt me.’ She looked at her colleague’s body. ‘This is awful.’
She was right about that.
Sophia stood up and motioned us over.
‘There’s no doubt he was asphyxiated. The p-m will show if any of the cervical vertebrae were fractured too. Rigor hasn’t yet set in, so he died in the last two hours.’
The scene-of-crime team leader came over.
‘Excuse me, guardians,’ she said. ‘This is curious. Apart from residue from the mud on Citizen Dalrymple’s boots, the rest of the carpet is extremely clean.’
‘As if someone vacuumed it?’ I asked.
‘Yes. The only fingerprints we’ve found are the guardian’s and those of his staff – I’ve made comparisons. Oh, and only his are on the table that he stood on and on the ligature. Which, by the way, is standard Guard-issue all-purpose cord. Finally, we’ve found no handwritten note. There is no sign of his computer.’
That was curious, though he might have left it at the directorate.
I went to the room where Davie was interviewing and told him to ask about the sound of vacuuming. Outside, the auxiliary whose testicles I’d twisted gave me a look that dripped hatred. Davie would soon sort that out.
‘Are you coming?’ Sophia said as she came down the landing.
; ‘Immediate post-mortem?’
‘Actually, no. Remember the gang leader who was asphyxiated in the cells?’
‘Muckle Tony? That was no suicide.’
‘Exactly. I want to wait and see if any bruises develop on Peter’s legs or arms. We’ll do the p-m at nine a.m. Plus, the head from the New Tolbooth will have arrived by morning.’
‘Right.’
‘In the meantime, I’m going to get some sleep. Coming?’
I was, but I didn’t. We both dropped into the arms of Morpheus a nanosecond after our heads hit the pillows.
THIRTEEN
I could have done with another twelve hours’ sleep, but the breakfast Sophia’s staff provided got me going – bacon, scrambled eggs, sausage, wholemeal toast and coffee that would normally only be available in the best tourist hotels. Sophia liked a few luxuries.
Maisie was in her school uniform. Edinburgh kids only get a two-week holiday in what passes for summer and she was still in class.
‘Why are you here, funny Quint man?’ she asked, as I stole her untouched sausage.
‘Well, very odd Maisie girl, your mother and I are working together.’
‘Uh-huh,’ she said, far too knowing for a six-year-old. ‘Are you making a baby?’
Sophia choked on her coffee, while my mouthful of sausage only just stayed where it was.
‘No, dear, we’re not doing that. Quint’s helping me with some problems.’
‘But he’s not a doctor.’
I smiled. ‘No, but I’m very good with my hands.’ I grabbed her and tickled her until her laughter turned into squeals.
Sophia gave me a frozen look. ‘That’ll have put her in the mood for study.’
An auxiliary appeared and took Maisie away. She stuck her tongue out at me, but only because I’d done so first.
‘What age are you, Quint?’ Sophia demanded.
‘Twelve. And next birthday I’ll be eleven.’
‘Plus thirty-nine.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Time we went for the p-m’s.’
Suddenly breakfast didn’t seem like such a joy after all.
Davie called when we were on the way to the infirmary.
‘Bet I had a better breakfast than you,’ I said.
‘Bet you didn’t have a bigger breakfast than me.’
‘Ha. Find out anything interesting last night?’
‘Not really. The guardian went to his room at 21.05 and no one heard anything from him after that. They said he seemed normal enough. Apparently he wasn’t much of a talker at the best of times. And – guess what? – no one heard any vacuuming.’
‘What do you think?’
‘Not sure. I ran the house machine from the room and it wouldn’t have been audible except on that floor. Those old houses are pretty solid. By the way, what did you do to Watt 529?’
‘Who?’
‘You know who.’
‘Ah. He was obstructive. I took temporary possession of his nuts.’
Davie laughed. ‘We’ll get you back in the directorate yet, Quint.’
‘Hm. Guess where we’re going.’
‘I’m not attending another p-m, thank you. Anyway, Guardian Doris wants me to help with the football manager questionings. And they’ve brought in Madman Lamont’s girl.’
‘I thought the guardian finished with the managers last night.’
‘None of them talked. Then there are the other Porty Pish members. They’ve come round from their stunnings.’
‘Good luck with all that. See you later.’
I turned to Sophia. We were halfway up Lothian Road and the rain was ricocheting off the bonnet.
‘What happened at the p-m last night?’
‘My preliminary observations were confirmed. Hume 481 was killed in daylight, around midday, cause of death heart failure due to shock. He’d taken a heavy blow to the back of his head. As I said yesterday evening, he was gagged and his wrists and ankles were bound – those bonds subsequently having been taken off – and his heart was removed with some skill.’
I remembered what Billy had said about transplantation and asked the question.
‘It’s not very likely. You’d want a sterile location to remove the organ, certainly not al fresco. Besides, the first one wasn’t transplanted.’
‘I wonder where heart number two’s going to turn up.’
‘Don’t,’ she said with a shiver.
I put my hand on hers. Even though the driver could probably see that in his mirror, she didn’t shake it off. That was progress. She liked to imagine that our liaison was secret. It wasn’t.
In the morgue, Tall and Short were waiting for us with eager looks that I didn’t take to at all.
‘Where do we start?’ the former asked Sophia. ‘The guardian or the head?’
‘The latter,’ she replied.
We went over to the table where a small sheet covered a football-shaped lump. Short whipped the cover off with a flourish.
There’s something about decapitations that really gets me. To varying degrees all dead bodies are obscene, but severed heads are the ultimate desecration of the body because they contain what makes us what we are – the brain and all its layers of sense processing and thought, emotion and personality. No wonder the ancient Celts used to set their enemies’ heads in gates and walls to exploit their spiritual power.
Though I wasn’t sure how much spiritual power had been abstracted from Grant Brown’s head. It was a sorry specimen, the hair plastered about the slack face, the eyes closed and the lips badly damaged. As for the neck, it was lacerated but clean, the arteries and veins like electrical wires rather than once living capillaries.
‘It’s Brown,’ I said, comparing the face with the one in the file on a nearby table.
Sophia nodded. ‘And I think a saw was used.’
Tall was bent over the table. ‘Yes, the spine was severed between the C4 and C5 vertebrae by what I’d hazard was a hacksaw with a low number of tpi.’
‘Teeth per inch,’ I said. ‘So fourteen or thereabouts?’
The pathologist raised his eyebrows. ‘That would seem about right, citizen. We’ll know more after further tests.’
‘Leave it for now,’ Sophia said, turning back to the recreation guardian and pulling off the larger sheet that was covering him. ‘Och, Peter, how did it come to this?’
I was surprised even by that small display of emotion. The two guardians had never struck me as being close.
‘Look here, Quint,’ she said, pointing at bruises that had blackened on his lower thighs.
The pathologists craned forward, but I didn’t need to. It was obvious that Peter Stewart had been pulled downwards like Muckle Tony Anderson. The question was, who had got to him? Had he been in bed with the gambling bosses or had he been about to spill the pulses? He couldn’t tell us now.
I called Davie.
‘Meet me outside the infirmary. Tell the guardian I need you.’
‘Yes, darling.’
I took Sophia out of the morgue. ‘What’s happening with your investigation into the truth drug?’
‘Good question.’ She took off her elbow-length gloves and made a call.
‘Nothing?’ I said when she’d finished.
‘None of the suspects will talk. My head of security says they’re shit-scared, to use his words.’
‘Keep them under several locks and keys.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Better you don’t know.’
‘Charming,’ she said, but she was smiling. ‘Maybe we can meet in the late evening.’
‘Guardian, I must warn you that such behaviour can be habit-forming.’
‘Citizen, I already know that.’ She turned back to the tables in the morgue.
I left her to death’s realm. I had football on my mind.
The Recreation Directorate had moved to a recently completed building in the Market District. Davie turned left off Lothian Road and parked in front of the block o
f glass and steel. The conference hall was only a hundred yards away. A lot of Guard personnel and vehicles were stationed around the circular building.
‘The governors of Orkney and Shetland are being taken there,’ Davie said. ‘There are extra units all along the road from the airport.’
Interesting: the senior guardian and his sidekicks had done what I suggested.
‘Maybe we’ll take a walk over there later,’ I said. ‘Find out anything from your interrogations?’
‘Aye, Lucy MacGill’s just a scared wee lassie. I think she’s glad Madman’s gone. She wasn’t in the Pish.’
‘Fair enough. What about Eck Colquhoun?’
‘Still doing a decent imitation of an angry elephant seal. I threw a bucket of pig swill over him and left him to marinate.’
‘Didn’t know you were so well up on cooking terminology.’
‘I’m a gourmet.’
‘Gourmand, you mean.’
‘It’s possible to be both.’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘What about the football managers?’
‘I had one Alan Mowat of St Bernard’s Rangers. A right loudmouth, you know the kind.’
‘Who said nothing useful. Did he mention Peter Stewart?’
‘No.’
‘Any other managers? Any other guardians or senior auxiliaries?’
He glared at me and shook his head.
‘All right. I want you to put the fear of any deity you fancy up Peter Stewart’s people.’
He grinned. ‘My kind of job.’
I let him march ahead with a look on his face that would have made Godzilla turn tail. Not that I had more than a vague memory of who or what Godzilla was.
By the time I got to the spacious entrance hall, which was hung with banners bearing the insignia of the ten EPL teams, there was a distinct atmosphere of fear about the place. Auxiliaries were scurrying about like ants that had just been hit with anti-ant spray.
‘Where’s the guardian’s office?’ I asked when I got to Davie.
‘Top floor,’ he replied, leading me to the lift. ‘Eight.’
We were conveyed upwards quickly enough to make me regret breakfast yet again. At least it didn’t reappear.
There was more scuttling about in the open-plan office in front of us.
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