Water of Death (41 page)

“Don't say a word!” Billy shouted. “They're only guessing.”

I grabbed the handles of his wheelchair and shoved him over to the window. “What the fuck have you been up to, you crazy bastard?” I hissed. “I thought you were being rehabilitated.”

“I am.” He gave me a brief, bitter smile. “What are you complaining about, Quint? I played fair. The last time you came here I put you on to Nasmyth 05, didn't I?”

“Bollocks to that, Billy. You didn't tell me anything I couldn't have found out for myself and you wanted the fat man to get an idea of the angles I was working.” I glared at his misshapen face. “You always were a big fan of the double bluff.”

“Did we have you thinking there was something rotten about the lottery?” He laughed manically. “We've been otherwise engaged, so to speak.”

There was a squeal from the other end of the room. It sounded like Davie was making more progress than I was.

Billy looked round me. “Keep your mouth shut, Nicky!” he yelled. “Shut!”

“Nicky? On first-name terms, are you?”

“Why not?” Billy said, smiling loosely.

“This is your last chance,” I said, leaning back over him. “Come clean or Davie'll squeeze it out of your pal.”

“Fuck you, Quint,” he said, spitting the words from twisted lips and spinning the wheelchair round in a surprisingly quick movement. “Don't tell them anything!”

“Right, that's it.” I pulled out my handkerchief, which wasn't exactly freshly laundered, and tied it tightly round his mouth. Then I tipped the chair on to its back and left him upended on the floor. “Look at the ceiling for a bit.” I checked he was breathing okay through his nose and went over to the others.

“I think Nasmyth 05's ready to co-operate,” Davie said, straightening up.

The auxiliary was curled up in a ball on Billy's bed, his face soaked with sweat but untouched by Davie's hands. It didn't look like degrees three or four had been necessary.

“I ran through the programme of events and he decided against buying a ticket.” Davie looked disappointed.

“You see? The threat is mightier than the cattle prod.” I sat down beside Nasmyth 05. “Let's have it then. If you're a good boy, I might even put in a word for you in my report, Nicky.”

It was strange to address the Edlott controller by name rather than barracks number but it seemed to make him relax a bit. He uncurled himself, keeping his eyes off Davie and glancing nervously at Billy, who was still ranting despite the gag.

“Never mind about Citizen Geddes,” I said. “You, Billy and Ray have been doing some illicit trading, haven't you? In books and antiquities from Craiglockhart.”

Nasmyth 05 looked at me in amazement. “How did you find out about that?”

“I'm an investigator,” I said testily. “It's what I'm good at. What was Ray's involvement?”

“He tracked the collection down in the archives and priced the books,” the auxiliary said in a frightened voice. No doubt he was remembering what had recently happened to his barracks colleague. “Some rich bibliophile got his hands on British Library stock after the London mob wrecked the place in 2003. There were pieces from the British Museum too.”

“And they were stashed in the cellar at Craiglockhart in the early years of the Enlightenment?”

Nasmyth 05 nodded. “I think the collector had something to do with the university that used the building. He was killed by the drugs gangs before he could move the stuff and they never found it. Access to the cellar was blocked by rubble.”

I nodded slowly. It was beginning to make sense. Ray had worked out the location of the books and he'd traded them with foreign dealers, probably ones known to Billy from his Finance Directorate days. I remembered the American he'd mentioned when I asked for
The Lady in the Lake
. The books accounted for the gritty dust I couldn't identify in his office and in his barracks room. But a one-armed man wouldn't have been much good at clearing rubble.

“Who did the labouring work?” I asked.

The noise from Billy had turned into what sounded like choked laughter.

“Check that he can breathe,” I said to Davie. “Well?” I turned back to the fat man. “Who dug the cellar out?”

“I  . . . I don't know.” He looked shifty.

“Davie?” I called. “Nasmyth 05's gone unco-operative again.”

“No, really, I don't know,” the auxiliary said quickly, cowering into the corner as Davie came back. “They were contacts of Ray's. I never went to Craiglockhart myself and I didn't meet them.”

“Contacts?” I asked suspiciously. They would have needed transport. “Auxiliaries?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps.”

“Are you absolutely sure you don't know their identities?” Davie asked, leaning over the cowering, timorous fat man.

“Yes, yes, I'm sure,” he whimpered.

I reckoned he was telling the truth. There were other things I needed to know. “Alexander Kennedy.” I watched as Nasmyth 05 twitched. “Was he involved in this?”

Billy went quiet.

“Allie?” The Edlott controller looked surprised. “No, of course not. Allie's just a friend.”

“Oh, aye,” Davie said.

I put my hand on his arm. “What about the foreign currency you made from flogging the books and so on? Where have you stashed it?”

Billy started laughing again under his gag.

“I  . . . I don't know,” the auxiliary said, suddenly looking like a man who's been comprehensively cleaned out. “He was in charge of that.”

He being Billy Geddes, the Jackal, ex-deputy finance guardian and once my closest friend. I went back to him and lifted the chair upright, then undid his gag and wheeled him over to the fat man.

“The Council is going to string you two up,” I said. “Your only chance is to come clean.”

They stared at me, the fat man with wet eyes. Billy had a mocking smile on his twisted lips.

“No?” I asked. “All right, let's take it from the top. A demoted auxiliary who has some carefully obscured connection with the Culture Directorate is poisoned. Then an Edlott-winner goes the same way. Why does your directorate keep cropping up, Nicky?” I gave Nasmyth 05 an iron glare. “And then Nasmyth 67, a barracks colleague of yours, drinks the Ultimate Usquebaugh too. He found a stash of valuable books and antiquities in a building less than half a mile from the mill where the supposed poisoners are slaughtered. Now what the fuck's going on?”

Nasmyth 05 was quivering like a bludgeoned seal. “I  . . . I don't know,” he stammered.

“It's only a bit of business,” Billy said in a low voice. “We're making some currency on the side. We don't know anything about the poisoned whisky.”

“People are dying all over the city, Billy. Don't you care about that?”

“Piss off, Quint. They're not dying because of the deal we set up.”

“No, not because of the deal. But there's a connection, I'm sure of that.” I looked into his rheumy grey eyes and tried another pitch. “Do you know Allie Kennedy, Billy?”

He held my gaze. Then he glanced at the fat man and shook his head dismissively. “Never even heard of him.”

I almost believed my former friend. I probably would have if it hadn't been for that brief look he gave Nasmyth 05. I knew Billy's mannerisms. The little bastard thought he'd got round me. There was no point in trying to squeeze him any more. He'd rather swallow his tongue than open up to me. He still held me responsible for his injuries. I'd have to look elsewhere for the investigation's big break.

“What next?” Davie asked.

We were sitting in the Land-Rover outside the rehab centre watching the heat haze rise over the dried lake bed. Nasmyth 05 had just driven off with a look of immense relief on his face. I reckoned it was still worth setting him loose in case Allie Kennedy made contact with him. I hoped the fat man was so happy that he wouldn't notice the operative on his tail.

“What next indeed?” I replied. My methods had become about as random as Edlott was supposed to be.

“I don't see where this is leading us, Quint,” Davie said, gulping from a waterbottle and handing it to me. “Billy Geddes, Ray and the fat man were involved in illicit book trading. What's that got to do with the people who sent the ultimatum?”

“Ray was poisoned for a reason, I'm certain of that.”

“The Dalrymple hunch?” Davie asked sardonically.

The mobile I'd taken from him buzzed before I could reply.

“Where the hell are you, Dalrymple?”

“Lewis. I was just going to call you.”

“Don't bugger me about, man.” The public order guardian sounded like he'd had a wisdom tooth removed without anaesthetic. “I've just covered for you in the Council meeting, God knows why. The senior guardian has been asking for you repeatedly.”

“All right, Lewis, calm down. You told her I was coshed, I presume?” I hadn't fancied talking to Sophia for several reasons – most of them connected with Katharine.

“I did. Are you all right?” he asked, relenting slightly.

“I feel like shit but don't let that worry you.”

“Very well, I won't. Where are you, Dalrymple? Have you discovered who was looting the cellar in Craiglockhart yet?”

I'd reported the treasure-trove earlier but said nothing about Nasmyth 05 or Billy. I didn't want the Council to haul them in and risk losing my only leads.

“Never mind about the cellar now. I'm with Hume 253 in Newington,” I said, being deliberately inaccurate about our location. “There haven't been any more messages from the poisoners, have there?”

“Nothing. Which makes your friend the archivist's death even more puzzling, don't you think?”

“Mmm.”

“By the way, you might be interested to know that the Land-Rover you drove to Craiglockhart has turned up.”

“Bloody right I might be interested, Lewis. Where?”

“In a back yard in Liberton. Outside the city line.”

“Okay, I'm sending Davie there immediately. Get a scene-of-crime squad on to it too.”

“They're on their way. Where are you going?”

“There are things I need to check in the archive. Out.”

Davie looked at me as he started the Land-Rover. “Any chance of you telling me what you're going to check?”

“No,” I said, glowering at him. “The Dalrymple hunch is no laughing matter, pal.”

“Am I laughing?”

I hadn't lied to Hamilton when I said I was going to check the archive – I just hadn't specified which archive. Nasmyth Barracks used to be the university veterinary college, which traded under the unfortunate moniker of the Dick Vet. Nowadays there are no vets in residence here, only a large number of dickhead auxiliaries. I got access to the barracks archive by waving my authorisation at the commander. She didn't like it. She was even more pissed off when I told her to keep my visit to herself.

I sat sweating in the poorly lit basement and went through Ray's personal file. Auxiliaries' documentation, apart from that relating to senior personnel like Nasmyth 05, is held in their barracks until they die, when it's supposed to be transferred to a central databank separate from the archive dealing with ordinary citizens. It was too soon after Ray's death for that to have happened to his file yet. I went through the pile of papers in the thick maroon folder quickly, disregarding the Personal Evaluations, Service Records and appraisals. What I wanted were the Close Colleague Lists. Every auxiliary's relationships are noted so that they can be controlled and curtailed if necessary. The Council's never been keen on auxiliaries getting too close to each other – you never know, they might start behaving like normal human beings. And even though citizens are treated more openly these days, the Council's servants are still governed by strict regulations.

I went back to the beginning of Ray's career as an auxiliary. He was three years younger than me and had completed the training programme in 2012. Then he'd done the usual tours of duty on the border before working his way up the guard hierarchy. I stopped and looked at the Close Colleague Lists for those years. There weren't that many barracks numbers on them. It seemed he'd always been a reserved type, happier with his nose in a book than down the barracks bar with the lads and lassies. I started writing the numbers in my notebook. I soon realised that even though there wasn't a multitude, there were still enough to keep me checking other auxiliaries' records for days.

Then I reached the last year Ray spent in the guard before he lost his arm and got a jolt that made my knees smash up against the underside of the desk. Christ, that was it. I remembered the pick-up truck I'd seen near the central archive. And fingernails discoloured by reddish-brown earth.

The Dalrymple hunch had paid off.

“Quint?” Davie had obviously got himself a new mobile. “We've found plenty of good prints on the Land-Rover's door and steering wheel.”

“Have you now?” I was in an ancient transit van that I'd commandeered from the Nasmyth Barracks vehicle pool. “Some of them will be mine and Katharine's. I want you to check the others against the guard register in the castle.”

“You think that guard personnel are involved?” Davie said. His voice was a mixture of surprise and extreme scepticism.

“I know that guard personnel are involved, my friend.” I gave him the barracks number I'd found in Ray's file.

“What?” Now he was in shock. “You're kidding.”

“No I'm not. Run the check.”

“Where are you, Quint?” he asked. “Do I hear an engine?”

“Yup.” I swerved to avoid a tourist bus at the East End of Princes Street.

“Where are you heading?”

“Let me know the result of the fingerprint check as soon as you can.”