Heads or Hearts

by Paul Johnston

  I nodded. ‘I’m still not clear if Fergus Calder’s involved. It wouldn’t be very smart of him to let me investigate if he was.’

  ‘He’s not the only guardian with a power base. There’s Jack MacLean, with his business contacts in outsider states and that worm Geddes at his beck and call. And don’t forget Brian Cowan.’

  ‘The education guardian? He’s just a raving Edinburgh ideologue, isn’t he?’

  Sophia opened her hands. ‘He’s certainly raving, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t capable of organizing opposition to Council policies.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Such as I don’t know, but I don’t trust him.’

  ‘Point taken.’

  ‘What’s been going on, Quint?’

  I told her about the arms dumps and the other developments.

  ‘That’s shocking,’ she said. ‘Does Fergus know?’

  ‘I imagine Doris has told him.’

  ‘Isn’t that your job?’

  ‘At the Council meeting. Besides, there may be more to talk about by this evening.’

  ‘I hope not.’

  My phone rang and I listened to Davie’s agitated voice. In a few seconds I was agitated too.

  ‘All right, the medical guardian will want to see. She’ll give me a lift.’

  ‘What is it?’ Sophia said.

  ‘Another heart. Guess where.’

  ‘Just tell me!’

  I took her hand. ‘At the Heart of Midlothian.’

  ‘On the Royal Mile? How many tourists saw it?’

  ‘More to the point, whose is it?’

  We set off at speed in her 4×4. I caught a glimpse of Maisie’s face in a third-floor window. It was completely impassive, which sent a chill through me.

  By the time we got to the High Street, there was a Guard cordon about fifty yards on each side of the cobbles that formed the heart-shaped mosaic, which marked where the Old Tolbooth had been. It was a fitting place for the extracted organ to have been left, not only because of its shape but because many hearts had been removed there when people were hanged, drawn and quartered. And, of course, the football club where the first heart had been left took its name from the mosaic. Then there was Walter Scott’s novel The Heart of Midlothian. Someone was pulling everything together on several levels.

  The tape was raised for Sophia’s vehicle and she drove to within ten yards of the sheeting that had been raised around the Heart and the heart.

  Davie stepped towards us, followed by Guardian Doris and the tourism guardian. The latter started to complain about the effect on the city’s main source of income but Doris told her to keep her distance.

  Sophia and I put on overshoes and gloves and went into the sheeted area.

  The heart was grey-green, maggots slithering across the slick surface. It had been placed in the centre of the circle that had been picked out between the diagonals of the St Andrew’s cross. The red stones were shiny in the drizzle.

  ‘Has the crime-scene squad finished?’ I asked.

  Davie nodded.

  ‘Let’s get this thing to the infirmary, then,’ said Sophia.

  A plastic box was brought and the organ placed in it.

  ‘Get the rumour going that it’s another prank by irresponsible citizens,’ I said to Davie. ‘And that the heart’s not real.’

  He nodded dubiously. ‘They won’t all buy that. I heard some Americans say they were going home a week early.’

  ‘Too bad. The Council will no doubt put out something official. Come to the morgue when you’re finished.’

  ‘Oh great,’ Davie said, turning away.

  It took the pathologists Tall and Short under five minutes to confirm that the heart was Hume 481’s.

  ‘His body was in Granton but at least his heart was in the heart of the city,’ Tall said, getting an icy stare from Sophia. ‘At least we don’t have any more bodies missing organs, guardian.’

  He was right, but the night was still young.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Davie gave me the lowdown on the preliminary Guard investigation of the heart on the High Street – as usual, the area had been crowded, the tourists under the shelters at the sides and only citizens with jobs or homes to get to walking in the road. Several had been traced, but none had noticed anything out of the ordinary – except those who heard the screaming. This time it was a group of Africans from one of the wealthier countries.

  Guardian Doris reported all that to the Council, fortunately with no outsiders present.

  ‘This time it wouldn’t have been hard to do,’ I said. ‘The perpetrator could just have slipped the heart from a bag and walked on.’

  ‘There are visitors around the heart all the time,’ said the tourism guardian.

  ‘That’s why no Guard personnel saw anything,’ Doris said.

  ‘The last thing we want to do is start interrogating tourists,’ Jack MacLean said. ‘Stick with the prank story.’

  That was agreed by all.

  ‘A decomposing heart,’ said the education guardian. ‘One of a guardsman.’ Sophia had already confirmed that. ‘The symbolism is obvious.’

  Fergus Calder sighed. ‘Explain.’

  Brian Cowan looked at him as if he was a five-year-old. ‘Whoever’s behind this thinks the city is rotting from the inside. And that the body politic’s most important organ, the heart, has failed so badly that it has been torn out.’

  ‘The original Enlightenment Party saw the heart and the brain of the body politic as the guardians,’ I said, which got me a lot of hostile looks.

  The education guardian nodded enthusiastically. ‘And it was right. Heads have been removed, though fortunately not from Council members. That might point to the lack of brains and thought in Edinburgh. And the city is seen as heartless too, meaning we have failed in our sworn duty.’ Cowan looked around the gallery of guardians. ‘To protect citizens and give them the best life possible.’ He stared at Alice Scobie. ‘And meanwhile, illegal betting has been fostered by the Recreation Directorate. That only brings out the worst in people – grasping greed and selfishness.’

  He was quite the orator, but something didn’t ring true. I tried and failed to put my finger on it.

  ‘That will do, Brian,’ Calder said, looking at me. ‘Citizen Dalrymple, you have a lot to get through.’

  Indeed I did, but I made it as brief as I could. I didn’t want to be in the Council chamber all night.

  ‘This is all very well,’ the senior guardian said, referring to the discovery of the arms dumps, ‘but we still have no idea who’s behind it.’

  ‘I have some ideas,’ I said, ‘but they’re still provisional.’

  ‘Provisional?’ MacLean said with heavy irony. ‘How much time do you need to clear this case?’

  I smiled at him. ‘How much time do you need to sell the city to outsiders?’

  That got me thrown out, which was the point. I’d had an idea that needed to be acted on immediately.

  ‘Get a squad of Guard personnel you trust to meet us on the esplanade,’ I said to Davie as he pulled away from the Council building.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘The recreation guardian’s residence. She’ll be tied up in the meeting for what I hope is long enough for us to locate her computer, or at least her diskettes.’

  He made the call, then glanced at me as he drove up the Royal Mile. ‘You’re taking a big risk, Quint. Guardian accommodation is sacrosanct.’

  ‘Good word for a bunch of confirmed – ha – atheists.’

  ‘This isn’t a joke.’

  ‘All right. Give me a vehicle and I’ll go down myself.’

  ‘That’s not what I mean. I’ve been your partner for years and no one’s managed to demote me. But Scobie’s staff will try to stop us getting in.’

  ‘They’ll also notify her. That’s why I’m going to tell them she’s been arrested and her accommodation put under Public Order Directorate control. Plus, her staff members are to be p
ut in a single room, having been relieved of their phones. That’s why I want your people.’

  He laughed bitterly. ‘Glad we can be of service.’

  ‘By the way, what do the tails on Derick Smail and Eric Colquhoun say?’

  ‘The latter was carried home by some friends, completely out of it. Smail’s still at Easter Road.’

  We drove through the damp evening at speed after rendezvousing with two Guard 4×4s. Down on Princes Street the tourists were sampling the delights of the dope cafes and souvenir shops. There wasn’t any sign of a mass exodus. Maybe our visitors were as brainless and heartless as the victims whose body parts had been briefly on display.

  We were admitted to Moray Place on the strength of my authorization. I told the guardswoman at the checkpoint that I was going to the medical guardian’s residence to put her off the track. The trees in the circular gardens would give us some cover because where we were going was on the other side.

  The eight guardsmen and women formed up behind me and Davie. When the door opened I pushed past the besuited male auxiliary and let the hounds loose – in under a minute all were back with the staff’s mobiles. The auxiliaries were put in the reception room under the eyes of four of Davie’s people.

  I ran up the stairs to what had been Peter Stewart’s private quarters. No laptop. Alice Scobie obviously had it with her. Her desk was covered in papers, none of which at first glance was suspicious. There were no diskettes to be seen. Obviously she was careful – and we didn’t have time to take the place to pieces.

  ‘What’s all that?’ Davie said, pointing at a pile of boxes.

  ‘The guardian hasn’t had time to unpack.’ I lifted down the top one and opened it. ‘Athletics, netball and curling trophies, plus team photos.’

  ‘Similar in this one,’ Davie said.

  I took down another. This time the contents were books – the usual handbooks issued to deputy guardians, bound annual directorate reports and …

  ‘Wait a minute,’ I said. ‘The History of Scottish Football, 1867–2000.’

  I flicked through the pages of the large tome. There was a brown envelope between pages 224 and 225. It was unsealed. I pulled out three printed pages. The first was a birth certificate dated 4th January 2005 for one Alistair Lyon Stewart, parents Peter and Mavis, unmarried. I handed it to Davie.

  ‘The ex-guardian had a son? How did that happen?’

  Auxiliaries were only permitted to have children from 2015, when the drugs wars ended and social disorder ended – they were seen as potential distractions before that.

  ‘The usual way, I expect.’

  ‘Smartarse.’ I handed him the second page.

  ‘Confined to Rehabilitation Centre Number 5 on 8th March 2028, heroin addiction. Shit, that must have been embarrassing for the guardian.’

  ‘Check the name.’

  ‘Alistair Stewart Lyon. His names were changed round and a citizen background fabricated. Secretly, his father thought.’

  The third page, a photocopy, was handwritten. I read it aloud.

  ‘“Thirtieth of June, 2031. I, Peter MacCraw Stewart, recreation guardian, hereby confirm that I am the father of Alistair Stewart Lyon, permanent inmate of Rehabilitation Centre Number 5 and former heroin addict. I admit that I facilitated the change of my son’s name in order to protect my position. Signed, P. M. Stewart.”

  ‘So that’s what Alice Scobie had over her predecessor,’ I said. Then I had a thought. I called the command centre and got them to put me through to the rehab centre. The female auxiliary who ran the place was initially reluctant to talk, so I read her my authorization.

  ‘What is it you want, citizen?’ she said, pronouncing my status as if it tasted of citizen-issue meat paste.

  ‘Alistair Lyon. I need to talk to him.’

  There was a pause. ‘That isn’t possible. Nor would it have been if you’d rung before his death.’

  My heart skipped a beat. ‘When did he die?’ I said, looking up at the light fitting from which Peter Stewart had hung himself.

  ‘Last Wednesday afternoon.’

  The former guardian had committed suicide that evening.

  ‘Did Lyon have visitors?’

  Again, the auxiliary paused.

  ‘This will go no further but I need confirmation,’ I said. ‘Did the ex-recreation guardian visit?’

  ‘Once a month, in disguise. We had an … arrangement. Not that there was any point. Alistair Lyon had been a vegetable for over a year.’

  That stuck in my craw. ‘Maybe that made it even more necessary for his father to see him. Be careful I don’t go back on your immunity.’

  ‘Sorry, citizen. I didn’t mean anything by it.’

  ‘Which is even worse. What was this arrangement you had with Peter Stewart?’

  ‘I … he looked after my daughter. She’s a clerk in the Recreation Directorate.’

  ‘Right. Notice that I’m not asking for her name. But you’ll understand that I can easily find it out if you cross me.’

  ‘Yes, citizen. Thank you, citizen.’

  I cut the connection. Some of the staff in the city’s welfare services were good, but a lot only thought of themselves – a result of the Council’s less than caring attitude towards Edinburgh’s neediest. At least that couldn’t be said of Peter Stewart. Or could it? Would it have been better if he’d come clean about his son and the EPL betting scheme he’d been manipulated into waving through?

  ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ said Alice Scobie, moving swiftly into the room.

  ‘Nailing you to the wall,’ I said, holding up the sheets of paper. ‘Davie, relieve the guardian of her phone and service knife. And the pen in her breast pocket. In fact, cuff her. She’s no better than a gang boss.’ I gave her a tight smile. ‘In fact, she is a gang boss.’

  Alice Scobie struggled, but she had no chance against Davie. As we headed for the door, she spat at me. A confession in saliva.

  Doris arrived as we were putting Alice Scobie into an interrogation room at the castle.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ she said, her face white. ‘You can’t arrest a guardian!’

  I told her what we’d found out. She didn’t look convinced, even after she’d read Peter Stewart’s declaration.

  ‘What does that prove?’

  ‘That Scobie had leverage over him. When we go through the files in her computer, you can be sure her involvement in the gambling racket will come to light.’

  ‘You won’t be going through her files, Quint. That’s guardians’ work.’

  I raised my shoulders. ‘Up to you. But be advised that I’ve called Fergus Calder. He was shocked but he gave me his support.’

  The guardian’s fists were clenched and I almost thought she was going to attack me. Then she turned and walked away in rapid strides. Off to talk to the senior guardian, I reckoned. That was why I’d told him first. His surprise had seemed genuine.

  I went into the interrogation room. Davie had attached Alice Scobie’s handcuffs to the chain in the floor.

  ‘I’m not saying anything to you,’ she said, her eyes down.

  ‘True, you’re entitled to be questioned by your peers,’ I said. ‘But Fergus Calder’s given me the job.’

  ‘You’re wasting your time.’

  I grinned. ‘This is as good as it gets for me, grilling a guardian. Davie, will you bring in the electric heater.’

  ‘You don’t scare me, you demoted shit.’

  ‘Maybe not. But the people who put you up to organizing the EPL betting scheme do, don’t they?’

  She looked away, her expression less assured.

  ‘How about we do it this way? I ask you a question and if you keep quiet, I’ll take that as a positive response. Helping will earn you a lighter sentence.’

  That wasn’t a promise I could realistically make. Still, she didn’t say anything, so I went on: ‘You set up the football gambling scheme.’

  Silence.

  ‘Are
Fergus Calder, Jack MacLean or Billy Geddes involved in the gambling?’

  She couldn’t resist answering. ‘All three of them are useless fools.’

  ‘Did you get that bit about “useless” fools, Davie?’ He was taking notes, even though the secret tape was running. It’s surprising how nervous that makes suspects.

  ‘I did,’ he said in his most efficient tone.

  ‘How about Andrew Duart?’

  She kept quiet. So the Glaswegians were in on it. I’d thought as much.

  ‘The Lord of the Isles?’

  Silence again. Got him.

  ‘The leader of Inverness, whoever he is?’

  ‘It’s a she.’

  ‘Whoever she is.’

  Silence. This was going surprisingly well.

  ‘Are there any more guardians or senior auxiliaries involved?’

  Silence.

  ‘Adam 159?’

  Silence. I’d been sure the deputy supply guardian had his finger in the pie.

  ‘Any other guardians?’

  ‘No.’

  Her reply was so firm that I immediately knew it was a lie.

  ‘That’s enough,’ she said. ‘I’m not saying anything more and my silence can’t be construed as agreement.’

  I was surprised she’d admitted as much as she had. That made me suspicious, but giving her the third degree wasn’t an option unless the Council approved.

  ‘All right,’ I said. ‘I’ll have some food and drink sent in.’

  ‘I don’t want anything from you, Dalrymple. You’re a louse.’

  We left her.

  ‘If you’re a louse, what am I?’ Davie pondered.

  ‘A dung beetle,’ I suggested.

  He punched me on the upper arm and I squealed.

  Guardian Doris had been listening. She took me to her office, a sober look on her face.

  ‘Alice admits to setting up the gambling scheme,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I can’t believe it.’

  I wasn’t sure that I could either – at least, that Scobie had done it without help. But who in the city would she have got that from? Unless Glaswegians had been sent over the city line. Was that who the Dead Men really were, at least some of them? Gambling experts?