Body Politic (25 page)

“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.

“Right. I'll pick you up at the gallows. Out.”

“What's the plan?” Davie asked.

“Katharine's an expert at getting into hotel rooms. I want to have a look at the contents of the envelope Billy passed to our friend here.”

“Oh aye?”

“I'm prepared to make another bet. He knows Andreas Roussos. In fact, it wouldn't surprise me to find out that he was staying at the Indie before it went up in smoke.” I looked at Davie. “Any takers?”

There was no reply.

I called for a guard vehicle and left Davie watching the door of the hotel. Katharine didn't seem too concerned when I asked her to go home and change into something a bit more seductive than her carpet. I sent her off in the Land-Rover and went into the castle to get the film developed.

While I was waiting, I went to see Lewis Hamilton. He was sitting at the conference table in his office with several mountain ranges of files in front of him.

“Ah, Dalrymple,” the guardian said, looking up blearily. “Any news?”

“Nothing concrete yet. Have you picked up any trace of my father?”

He shook his head, avoiding my eyes. “I put my best auxiliaries in charge of collating the reports from the barracks.” He stood up and ran a hand through his hair. “None of them had a patrol vehicle near the retirement home this morning.”

“Really?” I frowned at him. “Have they all been checked?”

He nodded. “And all the directorates.”

“So where the hell did that Land-Rover come from?”

“Maybe the old citizen was mistaken.”

I looked out over the city, wondering where Hector was. If he'd just wandered off, the likelihood was that he'd have been picked up by now.

“You're not thinking the killer's involved, surely?” said Hamilton. “His modus operandi hasn't included kidnapping.”

But someone's has, I thought. I considered telling him that I knew about the young men and women who were missing, then rejected the idea. Obviously the Council was suppressing any mention of them. Christ, maybe the guardians themselves were all involved in some massive scam. Letting Hamilton know that I'd seen the file might be a good way to end up dressed in eighteenth-century costume on the gallows.

“Look, I'm not going to be at the Council meeting this evening,” I said. I saw his eyebrows shoot up. “You can handle the daily report, can't you? After all, there isn't exactly a lot to tell your colleagues.” I picked up a file from the table. “What are you doing?”

He shrugged, looking sheepish. “Trying to compile a list of auxiliaries who had Thursday nights off duty and also attended the fire.”

I'm sure he was expecting me to comment on the fact that he was even considering the possibility of an auxiliary being linked with the killings, but I couldn't be bothered. Besides, he was carrying out a piece of drudgery that I'd started doing myself but had given up on the grounds that anyone clever enough to commit the murders was capable of covering his tracks by swapping shifts.

“Keep up the good work,” I said, unable to resist a dig.

He didn't pick it up. “Dalrymple,” he said as I reached the door, “I never wanted Hector to leave the Council, you know. Only . . . priorities changed. The real world was harder than we'd imagined.”

The tyrant's excuse through history. I remembered that he and my mother had vetoed the anti-corruption safeguard. You could say they were responsible for all that had happened recently. The question was, how directly?

Katharine looked at me unflinchingly after I sent Davie off to keep an eye on Billy Geddes. We were in the back of the Transit, lit by the streetlamps on Princes Street.

“Let me get this straight,” she said. “You want me to pick up Heriot 07's contact and locate the envelope?” Her eyes glinted and stayed on me.

“You can handle that, can't you?”

“And exactly how far do you want me to go?”

I looked out at the hotel, then at my knees. “As far as you have to. This is our best lead.”

“All right.”

I felt her gaze suddenly move off me. She stood up and undid the buttons of her coat, then lifted her short skirt and smoothed the top of her black stockings. I knew very well that the show was for my benefit. She wanted me to be aware of the potential consequences. Given the thin white blouse and almost transparent bra she was wearing, I had no doubt what they'd be. Unless our man had other inclinations.

I picked up the file I'd pulled on him. “Nikos Papazoglou,” I read. “Born 1997, Thessaloniki. Accredited as a resident tour group leader four months ago. Until last week, he had a room on the second floor of the Independence. Staff report seeing him often with Andreas Roussos in the bar and restaurant. Did you ever see him in the hotel?”