Body Politic (20 page)

“I noticed.” I was trying to come to terms with my client's activities and failing abysmally. What difference did it make to me if she serviced every tourist in the city? I wondered if her brother had any idea of all this.

Patsy gave me a knowing look. “I told you we played hard.”

I didn't want to be left on the touchline. “I saw you enjoying the show in the Bearskin the other night. Does your department supply it with boys and girls?”

For a split second the controller looked nervous. “No. The word is that Heriot 07 and his pals are running that place themselves.”

“Any idea who his pals are?”

“He's a friend of yours, Quint. Ask him.” She went back to her files.

Patsy was good, very good. If I hadn't known her in the past, I'd probably have believed her. But what I was certain wouldn't happen just had – she'd let her guard drop. That was all it took to make me very sure that the key to the investigation wasn't the t-v Katharine said she'd seen, nor was it Katharine herself, despite the doubts her file had raised. It was the city's deputy finance guardian, William Ewart Geddes.

“We can't do it, for fuck's sake.” Davie sat in the stationary Land-Rover outside my flat with his head bowed. “He's a deputy guardian, not some poxy dissident.”

I watched him as the last of the twilight drained away and scrabbled around for another way to convince him. “He's involved with the Greek who was attacked a sight more than he's admitting. That means he's also linked to the killings.”

“You're guessing, Quint.” He turned to me, the cheeks above his beard pale. “I'll get demoted. Unauthorised action against an ordinary citizen is bad enough, but against a senior auxiliary . . .”

I let his words trail away unanswered. I'd decided to go ahead with surveillance on my own if I had to. I'd have liked to follow Katharine when she came out of the infirmary too, but Billy had priority.

Davie realised I was set on it. “You're all right. When you get caught they'll just send you back to the Parks Department.”

I reckoned I might as well have a go at steamrolling him. “You've forgotten that my Council authorisation gives me the power to demand anything of you.”

He didn't buy it. “They didn't mean you to use it like that. I want confirmation from the Council.”

“Which they won't give. Billy Geddes is their favourite human being.” I glanced at him. “Anyway, what do you mean
when
I get caught?
If
I get caught.”

“Don't kid yourself. Hamilton will be on to you soon enough. He's watching us like a hawk.” Davie's voice had lost its usual confidence.

“Has he said something to you?”

“Nothing specific. Dropped a hint or two about my future career.”

“Bastard.” I grabbed his arm. “Look, if these murders go on, you won't have a career. The city's getting restless. What'll happen if there are more killings?” I went for the jugular. “Don't tell me you're frightened of that stiff-necked old cocksucker?” I sat back and waited for the explosion.

Nothing happened. I might have known. Davie let his muscles go slack and breathed in deeply. Auxiliaries are trained to withstand every kind of mental and physical pressure – at least that's what it says in the survival manual.

“I could take you in, you know, Quint,” he said calmly. “Abusing a guardian is a serious offence. Your authorisation doesn't give you immunity.”

“I don't think your boss would win a slander case. If such a thing could be brought in the city nowadays.”

Davie laughed. “Maybe not. I've heard worse said about him.” He scratched his beard thoughtfully. “I doubt he's into fellatio though.”

“I didn't mean it literally.” It looked like he'd capitulated. Badmouthing Hamilton was obviously a good tactic. “Are you looking forward to dressing up as a tourist?”

“You don't really think Heriot 07's the killer, do you?”

I shrugged. “Anyone can wear size twelve boots. Billy's cunning enough to dress himself up as a t-v and then feed me a load of horseshit to distract me.” I remembered how feeble he'd been in PE classes at school. Maybe he'd started weight-training. It wouldn't be the only thing he'd changed in his life. “No, I can't see any motive. I reckon he's involved in something the killer's targeting.”

Davie looked across in the near darkness. “All right, I'll do it.” He raised a hand. “On one condition.”

I owed him at least one. “Whatever you like.”

“Under no circumstances am I dressing in drag.”

I put a brave face on it. “Okay. See you tomorrow.” I jumped down from the guard vehicle and went up to my flat.

The absence of Katharine's perfume was almost as overpowering as its presence had been before.

Chapter Twelve

I slept badly and the tramp of workers heading for the assembly points woke me. I stood wrapped in a blanket at the window, watching the first light of dawn filter into the street below. The last Sunday of the month is when the shifts are changed in the mines and on the farms. The lucky ones coming off duty would be on their way to the pubs that open early for them, while their replacements, grim-faced and shivering, boarded the buses in silence. I remembered the times I stood in line and was surprised to find that I felt nostalgic about them. At least then I hadn't always been dreaming of mutilated corpses and a killer who vanished into the mist. I had a bad case of the ghost blues.

Davie arrived carrying a hold-all. “I scoured the barracks and managed to find some casual clothes that look a bit like a tourist's.” He held the bag open.

“A pretty poor tourist,” I said. “They'll do.” I went over to the kitchen area and rooted around for my scissors. “But first we'll have to sort out your facial hair.”

His jaw dropped. “Wait a minute. You didn't say anything about that yesterday. I'll get thrown out of the guard.”

“Don't worry. I'm not going to cut it all off. Just a trim. You look like bloody John Knox.” I pushed him down on to the sofa and set to work.

“Mind you don't cut anything vital.” Davie was sitting very still.

“Relax. It took me a few years, but my left hand can do everything my right hand used to do before I lost my finger.”

“Everything?” Davie asked with a grin.

“Everything, guardsman. There you are. Women will be queuing up.”

“That'll make a change.” He got up and brushed away the thick curls.

“Hang on,” I said. “Does Heriot 07 know you?”

“Not unless he's seen me with you.” He peered at himself in my small standard-issue mirror. “He won't recognise me even if he has. I look like a chicken that's in the middle of moulting.”

“Drop your shoulders a bit, for Christ's sake. You've got to lose that guardsman's purposeful walk.” I went to dress. “First stop Hamilton's office to fix up the paperwork. We won't get far without that.”

Davie followed me, a thoughtful expression on his face. “We're going to the castle?”

“Yes, why? Got a girlfriend there?”

He nodded slowly, but it didn't look like he had a furtive grope on his mind.

The public order guardian leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingers on the desktop. “Why exactly do you need these undercover clearances, Dalrymple? What are you up to?” He turned to Davie and looked with distaste at his trimmed beard.

“It's a long shot,” I said nonchalantly. “I'd rather keep it under wraps at this stage. It probably won't come to anything.” If Hamilton discovered I was trailing a senior auxiliary, the blades of the fan would be permanently clogged with excreta. But I had to have the undercover passes – “ask no questions”, as they're known in the directorate. Without them our surveillance activities would be interrupted all the time by curious auxiliaries.

The guardian's expression softened. “Oh, all right.” He scribbled a note. “Give this to my assistant, guardsman.” He fixed Davie with his eyes again. “I hope you're not getting yourself into anything which demeans your rank.”

“I'll make sure regulations are observed, guardian,” Davie said compliantly, avoiding my eyes.

“Sit down, man,” Hamilton said to me wearily. He shuffled the papers on his desk with the look of a man who can't decipher the clues of the crossword, let alone have a go at the answers. “How on earth are we going to find this” – he pushed the papers away – “this savage?”

I was surprised at the change in his bearing. Maybe the Council's rejection of his demand for a state of emergency had knocked the certainty out of him. It struck me that the guardian actually had little experience of this kind of crime. He was an organisation man, an administrator at heart. And like all administrators, a plotter. The question was, how far did his plotting go? Was he just protecting the interests of his directorate or had he got involved in something a lot dirtier? Now I was the one who didn't have a clue.

Davie was waiting for me in the outer office. An attractive red-haired guardswoman lowered her head as I came out, but I saw the smile on her lips.

“Let's go,” I said to Davie. “Got the ‘ask no questions'?”

He nodded, looking extremely pleased with himself.

Although it was a Sunday morning, senior auxiliaries like Billy Geddes are expected to make an appearance at the office. Davie changed into his tourist clothes and went off to keep an eye on the Finance Directorate in Bank Street. I didn't expect Billy to go anywhere revealing during daylight, but there was a chance he might meet someone during his lunchbreak.

I walked across the esplanade and down to the infirmary. There was a lot of noise in the ward containing the fire victims, patients garrulously comparing experiences and nurses clattering around with trolleys. But the figure in Katharine's bed was inert. I was a few yards from it before I realised that the occupant had grey hair and fleshy shoulders.

“She discharged herself an hour ago, citizen,” said a familiar voice. “She shouldn't have. The doctor didn't have a chance to examine her arm again. But I couldn't stop her.”

Simpson 134, the senior nurse I'd seen the day before on my way to the Prostitution Control Department, was standing in the centre of the ward. Her subordinates moved around her like drones in the service of a queen bee. I paid less attention than I might have to her chest because I was cursing myself for not putting a guard on the door. She heard some of the words I came out with and looked about as impressed as the former king did when the mob told him where he could put his crown.

“Any idea where she went?” I asked.

“She said she was going home.”

The nurse's mordant tone puzzled me. “Is something troubling you, Simpson 134?”

She eyed me coldly. “The city is being terrorised by a lunatic and you ask if something's troubling me? Why aren't you chasing the killer instead of that female citizen?” She turned away abruptly and walked out.

There was a guard vehicle by the gate. I flashed my authorisation and got the guardsman to take me to Katharine's flat. I felt uneasy. It seemed unlikely that she could have met anyone or that anything could have happened to her in the short time since she left the infirmary. A worrying thought came to me. If she had seen the killer from the far end of the corridor, then it was very possible that he had seen her too.

“You look like you've seen a ghost.” She stood at the door, her hair wet and a towel round her shoulders.

I felt a wave of relief dash over me, then recovered the power of speech. “Are you all right? They said you shouldn't have left the infirmary.”

“Checking up on me?” Katharine asked, her eyes wide open and ice-water cold.

“You're a witness, for God's sake.”

Her expression slackened. “I suppose I am. Sorry.” She let me into the flat.

“Is your arm okay?”

She flexed it slowly. “A bit sore but I'll manage.” As she sat down on the sofa, her dressing-gown parted to reveal a length of thigh.

I gulped and tried to look elsewhere. “Why did you discharge yourself?”

“It's a madhouse there,” she said, shaking her head. “Even in the middle of the night there are porters running up and down the corridors with patients on trolleys.”

I pulled out my notebook and flicked through the pages. There was no need to remind myself of what I was going to ask her, but I was looking for a way to put it off.

“What is it?” Katharine asked with a smile that made my heart beat faster. “You've got that faraway look again.”

No point in delaying any longer. “Andreas Roussos in room 346: did you provide sexual services to him?”

She didn't turn away. Only the disappearance of her smile suggested that the question might have had some effect. “You've been checking up on me, haven't you?” she said quietly. “I was hoping you wouldn't get around to the department's files.”

“Answer the question, Katharine.”

“All right. Why do you think I was so sure it was a t-v I saw with him? He wasn't interested in women, Quint.”

I thought about the fact that the murder victims had been sodomised. Maybe there was a link there with the Greek's sexuality. I didn't fancy it much. I had a feeling we were supposed to think the killer was a sex freak like the ENT Man.

Katharine sat up and leaned over to me. “I want to help, Quint. Why won't you let me? You've forgotten all about Adam.”

I hadn't. It was just that he was missing while she was right in front of me. He didn't have her track record either. “Why do you do it? No one's forcing you to fuck all those men.”

She looked down at me without flinching. “What's that got to do with your investigation?”

“I'll tell you. From the start you've held things back from me. I had to ferret out your dissidence conviction and the fact that you whore for the Tourism Directorate. How do I know you haven't got more secrets?” I piled on as much indignation as I could. “On top of that, you expect me to accept your help? Christ, Katharine, you're not living in the real world.”