Body Politic

by Paul Johnston

  I went to the outer office. “Katharine, come in for a minute, will you?” I tried to keep my voice level. I was not having a good time.

  She looked briefly at the guardian, her face impassive. Then looked even more briefly at the photo I showed her. And closed her eyes once, long enough for me to make out moistness at the corners.

  “It is Alex Irvine, isn’t it?” I prompted, touching her arm.

  She pulled away like I was a leper. “I suppose you’re going to tell me you had to be sure he was dead.” She didn’t wait for me to confirm that. “It’s Alex,” she said as she headed for the door. “The first photo I’ve ever seen of him.”

  The phone on Hamilton’s desk rang. His expression livened up after a few seconds. “Something strange, Dalrymple,” he said, his hand over the receiver. I saw Katharine stop in the doorway. “It’s your father. Apparently he’s disappeared.”

  We followed the guardian’s Land-Rover down to Trinity. Katharine sat beside me, her face blank. It was almost as if she’d forgotten what I’d done to her in the castle. Or perhaps finding her brother was all that mattered and I was her best option on that score.

  The resident nurse in the retirement home was convinced that Hector had wandered off with a book to enjoy the spring morning. It wouldn’t have been the first time. But regulations required her to report any absentee immediately and as my father was a former guardian, the local barracks commander had informed Hamilton. I was surprised the guardian had come down himself – he never got on with the old man. Then I thought of the top-secret missing persons file. Surely he didn’t think Hector had any connection with the forty-eight young people? I suddenly felt uneasy.

  I went up to the third floor. Hector’s room looked the same as it had the day before, apart from his desk. The books on Juvenal that he was working on had all been tidied away. The bed was as neatly made as ever. My father insisted on making it himself. He’d always been an early riser and he might have let himself out before the main door was unbolted. But someone would have seen him.

  The nurse, Simpson 172, shook her head impatiently when I asked her. “No, I’ve already checked with all the residents. And the door was bolted too.”

  “How about the back door?”

  “That too.”

  “And all the windows were locked?”

  “Of course.”

  I lost my patience with the woman. She was the kind of lazy and unimaginative auxiliary that somehow slips through the selection net. “That only leaves one possibility, then,” I said, giving her a rancid smile. “Unless you do conjuring tricks in your spare time.”

  “That’ll do, Dalrymple,” Hamilton said from behind me. “What is this possibility you’re talking about?”

  “It’s obvious. Somebody let my father out, then bolted the door after him.”

  It didn’t take me long to find the guilty party. The only resident Hector spent any time with was an old guy called Joe Bell. He was in the lounge, playing dominoes. He got up when he saw me and came over, his back bent from years working on the roads.

  “Hello, son. I was wondering when you’d turn up.” His rheumy eyes opened wide as Hamilton came over.

  “It’s all right,” I said. “Come into the office.”

  The nurse was sitting stiff-necked at her desk. She stood up when she saw the guardian, then cast a disapproving eye over Joe Bell and Katharine.

  “Joe, you can tell us what you know,” I said, nodding at him. “We have to be sure that Hector’s disappearing hasn’t got anything to do with the killer we’re looking for.”

  “Jesus Christ,” the old man said.

  “What kind of language is that, citizen?”

  “Do you mind?” I asked acidly. I remembered my father saying that Simpson 172 was called Florence Nightingale behind her back.

  Joe Bell smiled at the nurse’s affronted look. “Well, I suppose it’s all right. Hector wouldnae mind me telling you, son . . .” He paused, licking his chapped lips.

  “Well, go on then, man,” said the guardian impatiently.

  Joe Bell looked at me and raised an eyebrow.

  I got the message. “Is there anything you’d like in return for this information?” I asked with a grin.

  Hamilton looked like he was about to do an impression of Mussolini with a hangover. I waved a finger at him.

  “Well . . .” Joe pointed shakily at the nurse. “She doesn’t give us our whisky ration. Says it’s bad for us . . .”

  “Which it is,” the auxiliary said primly. “I always have to clean up afterwards.”

  “Perhaps you could make an exception today,” I said. It wasn’t a request.

  Simpson 172 pursed her lips then nodded.

  “Thanks very much, son,” said citizen Bell, his face a picture of bliss an icon painter would have been canonised for.

  “So you let Hector out and closed up after him this morning?”

  “Aye.”

  “He didn’t say where he was going?”

  Joe shook his head, then glanced at the guardian. “Just before I shut the door I looked out. I saw a vehicle at the end of the road. Hector seemed to be going to it.”

  “What kind of vehicle?” Hamilton asked.

  Joe found the question very amusing. He laughed until he began to choke. “What kind?” he repeated. “It was one of your lot’s. It was a bloody guard Land-Rover.”

  Considering Hector’s feeling about the guard, I couldn’t see him asking for a lift.

  “Did you see him get in?” the guardian demanded.

  Joe shook his head. “Florence here finally woke up and started down the stairs. I had to close the door sharpish.”

  “It’s a pity you didn’t come on duty when you should have,” Hamilton said scathingly to the nurse.

  “Will you check if there were any patrols around here at that time?” I asked him.

  He nodded. “I’ve already circulated an instruction to all barracks to look out for your father.”

  My mobile buzzed. I turned away.

  “There’s movement here,” Davie said. “Subject’s coming out. I’m off to the van. Out.”

  Hamilton was curious. “What’s going on?”

  “I’ll keep you posted.” I beckoned to Katharine and we moved off.

  “Dalrymple,” the guardian called. “I’m sorry about all this. We’ll find Hector.”

  I was surprised by how sincere he sounded.

  A middle-aged female auxiliary with sad eyes drove us down Inverleith Row.

  “So, another one goes missing,” Katharine said. “I can’t see what your father’s got to do with the murders. Or with Adam.”

  “Join the club.” I shook my head, unwilling to talk in front of the driver. Then my mobile rang again. It was one of my mother’s assistants requiring my presence immediately at Moray Place.

  “Shit,” I said under my breath, then redirected the driver. “You’ll have to contact Davie and find out where he’s heading,” I said to Katharine. “I can’t get out of this.”

  She nodded and reached for the Land-Rover’s mobile.

  “Aren’t you exhausted?” I asked. “You hardly slept.”

  “I’m fine.” She smiled bitterly. “I’m used to all-night performances.”

  I couldn’t think of an answer to that. At the Darnaway Street barrier I jumped down.

  “I’ll catch up with you as soon as I can.” In the second it took the auxiliary to engage first gear, I looked at Katharine. I was letting her loose on the investigation without any supervision. When she’d gone, I put in a call to make sure Davie kept an eye on her, but his mobile was engaged.

  They were on their own.

  “Mother, what’s happened to you?” I stood on the landing outside her study and stared.

  She walked towards me with no awkwardness, the pain apparently gone from her joints. “I feel twenty years younger,” she said, her voice strong and unwavering.

  I walked around her. She allowed me to examine her, a
n almost coquettish smile on her lips. Although her hair was still devastated, her face was no longer so moon-shaped and her skin had fewer blemishes. She led me into the room, stepping out like a model on a catwalk. The sudden change in her character was about as likely as the existence of teetotallers in the House of Commons before independence.

  “You remember I told you that the medical guardian was working on a new approach?” my mother said. “This is the result.”

  “He’s actually found a cure for the lupus?”

  She raised her hand, more to restrain her own excitement rather than mine. “Not yet. But this treatment substantially neutralises the effects of the disease.” Her face was glowing. “I’ll be able to go on working for years.”

  I frowned at her. “You know Hector’s disappeared, don’t you?”

  She nodded, avoiding my eyes. “The public order guardian has informed me. It’s hardly the first time.”

  I considered bringing up the forty-eight missing young people but decided against it. She would insist on knowing how I’d found out. “It’s the first time when there’s a murderer at large.”

  “Do you really imagine the killer has any interest in your father, Quintilian?” She ran her fingers slowly down her cheeks as if to ensure the smoother surface really belonged to her.

  “You don’t care, do you?” I leaned over her desk. “Why should you? After all, it’s years since you’ve seen him.”

  Her eyes flared and she opened her mouth like she was going to argue about that. Then she looked away. “Stop it,” she said softly. “This is of no benefit to either of us.”

  “No benefit!” I shouted. “You always think about who benefits, Mother. Christ, this isn’t a philosophy tutorial. Aren’t you even slightly concerned?”

  She moved over to the fireplace, her eyes fixed on the marble fluting. “What I feel, Quintilian, is no business of yours.” She gazed at me sternly. “What’s important is that you find the murderer. You are not to allow your father’s disappearance to distract you.”

  As usual when I’m told to do something, my inclination was to do the opposite. But in this case I couldn’t fault my mother’s reasoning. Her lack of feeling for Hector was nothing new. I turned to go.

  “One other matter,” she said. “Heriot 07.”

  I stopped in my tracks. Surely she couldn’t have discovered we were tailing Billy Geddes.

  “Have you seen him recently?” Her tone was neutral.

  “Yes, I have.” I watched her carefully. “Why the interest?”

  Her expression gave nothing away. “As I’m sure you know, he has been allowed to handle certain activities with a free hand.”

  I wasn’t sure if I was really hearing this. My mother in league with the city’s chief fixer? “I know he parades around like a semi-reformed drug gang boss.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said sharply. “He has been permitted certain privileges, but he’s worth them. Without the income he provides, the city would be insolvent.”

  “He’s on the take, Mother.”

  “Rubbish. We tolerate his car and his clothes, that’s all.”

  I looked at the Renoir and shook my head. “I don’t think it stops there.”

  She looked at me without twitching a muscle. “Then find out and report. To me, though – not the Council.”

  I headed for the door.

  “And Quintilian?” She waited for me to look back. “Be careful. Heriot 07 has some powerful friends.” She turned to gaze into the mirror above the fire.

  I went down the stairs slowly, trying to work out exactly why the senior guardian had called me to Moray Place.

  I called Davie on the mobile as soon as I got outside. It seemed Billy Geddes had just walked into the former Royal Scottish Museum in Chambers Street. Whatever he was after, I was bloody sure it wasn’t culture.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I GOT THE guardsman who answered my call to drop me where the Transit was parked at the corner of George IVth Bridge and Chambers Street. Through the window I saw Davie slumped forward over the steering wheel. He was so still that for a few panic-stricken seconds I thought something had happened to him. When I pulled the door open, he stirred.

  “Wakey fucking wakey, Davie. God, you gave me a shock. It looked like you were murder victim number three.”

  “Sorry.” He rubbed his eyes. “Not enough sleep recently.”

  “I know the feeling. Where’s Billy?”

  “Still in the museum. Katharine’s on him.” He punched me lightly on the chest. “Hey, she told me about your father. Don’t worry, he’ll turn up.”

  “That’s what everyone’s saying.” I nodded at him. “Thanks, Davie.” I was touched by his concern. “I hope Katharine’s keeping her distance.”

  “She seems to know what she’s doing. She made me requisition a scarf and a horrendous tartan jacket from one of the tourist shops. She looks like a mobile carpet.”

  “Is that right? I’m obviously out of my depth. I’ll just go as I am.” I pulled my scarf up over my mouth.

  “She’s got a mobile, by the way. I had one sent down from the castle. Shouldn’t she have an ‘ask no questions’ as well?”

  “I wouldn’t worry,” I said as I got out. “She seems to be getting on fine. Wait for me here. Awake if you can manage it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I turned into Chambers Street. There were signs on every available wall advertising the exhibits in what’s now called the Museum of Edinburgh. As I ran up the broad steps below the main entrance, I remembered going up them countless times with my grandfather – he loved the place.

  The buzz of my mobile made me stop.

  “Quint, where are you?” Katharine’s voice was low.

  I told her.

  “You’d better get inside. Subject’s been giving a man with a dark complexion the eye and I don’t think it’s because he fancies him. I’m in the natural history hall, under the whale’s tail.”

  I flashed my “ask no questions” at the ticket clerk. The museum was free when my grandfather used to take me but the Council changed that years ago. I went into the east hall where the blue whale’s skeleton hangs from the roof arches. Looking around cautiously from behind a pillar, I saw Billy Geddes at the far end. A stocky female in a virulent red and yellow jacket was examining a display case full of monkeys. I strolled over to her.

  “Heriot 07 just nodded to the other guy,” Katharine whispered. “They’re getting closer.”

  “Stay down here. Billy might recognise me. When they split up, I’ll follow the other guy. You stick with Billy.” I glanced at the jacket. “Couldn’t you find anything a bit less conspicuous?” She must have padded it out with a lorryload of pullovers.

  “I like to be centre-stage.” She pouted like a vamp who’d turned to fat and moved away, showing interest in a gruesome exhibit about the craft of taxidermy.

  I went back into the main hall and ran up the curved staircase to the first floor. From the balcony I could see Billy and his contact clearly. I had the camera in my pocket but I didn’t want to risk attracting their attention with the flash. The other man had greasy black hair and was wearing a tan leather jacket that Anderson in the drivers’ mess would have killed for. He was younger than both Andreas Roussos and Palamas, the diplomat Billy had met on Calton Hill, but I was pretty sure he was the same nationality. Unfortunately, I couldn’t make out his fingernails.

  The two of them were carrying on an animated conversation, oblivious to Katharine who was about twenty yards away. Then Billy looked around. I felt my stomach turn over and tried to disappear behind a supporting column. Billy caught sight of the skinned otter in the taxidermy display and wrinkled his nose in disgust. His contact tapped him on the chest impatiently and Billy produced an envelope from his pocket. It was secreted in the man’s jacket before I could blink.

  The olive-skinned man turned and walked quickly away. I went down the stairs three at a time, assuming that Billy would be
hanging back to let him get clear. By the time I got out of the museum, my man was heading right towards the South Bridge. He seemed to be on the lookout for a cab. I called Davie and told him to pick me up. By the time the Transit arrived, the man had stopped a taxi.

  “Follow that cab,” I shouted as I jumped in.

  “Very funny,” Davie growled, accelerating away.

  “I’ve always wanted to say that.”

  “How sad.”

  The taxi driver ahead went through the checkpoint at the top of the North Bridge, drove down to Princes Street then turned left.

  “Which hotel do you reckon?”

  Davie’s chin jutted forward. “He looked foreign, right enough. Maybe he’s heading for one of the consulates.”

  “Doubt it. He’s hardly dressed like a diplomat.”

  “True enough. How about the Boswell?”

  “Too full of geriatrics for this specimen. I go for the Waverley. Bottle of malt on it?”

  “How am I supposed to talk the barracks steward into giving me one of those?”

  I grinned. “That’s part of the fun.”

  The taxi slowed down then drew up outside the Waverley. It was built on top of what used to be the railway station.

  “Shit,” said Davie with a groan. “How long have I got to come up with the whisky?”

  “I’m a generous soul.” This time I had no problem with using the camera. I fired off several shots of the man as he got out of the cab. Now I’d be able to identify him in the archive. “I’ll give you twenty-four hours.”

  My mobile buzzed before he could express his gratitude.

  “Subject just went into the Finance Directorate,” Katharine reported.