Cecilia’s surname turned out to be Colquhoun. The file I accessed in the command centre helpfully informed me that the name was pronounced ‘Ca-hoon’. I knew that, but auxiliaries who’d never been out of the city and had no experience of the weirder clan names didn’t. No doubt Brian ‘Know-All’ Cowan had provided a helping hand.
Davie was walking up the cobbles as I was heading down.
‘You all right, big man?’
‘I’ll survive. At least I can hear better.’
So could I. We’d been luckier than the nightly tourist winners of the All the Way Club on Rose Street’s ‘Feel Up Mary Queen of Scots or David Rizzio’ competition.
I told him where I was going.
‘I’ll drive you.’
I took in the state of his face. The stapled wounds had turned into a rainbow of pain. ‘All right, but you stay in the 4×4. The poor girl’s been shocked enough.’
He wasn’t impressed, taking it out on the kerb stones and setts of the Old Town. He’d calmed down by the time we reached Haymarket.
‘This is where it all started,’ he said, taking the road next to the one that leads to Tynecastle.
I was looking at the file on Cecilia’s parents in the evening light. For once the sky wasn’t depositing felines and canines by the truckload on us. ‘Mother, Ailsa, a hairdresser, father, Eric, a … hang on, we might need backup.’
Davie perked up. ‘Oh aye? What is he?’
‘A … bad man. Two years on Cramond Island back in the drugs wars for—’
‘Drugs-gang activity.’
‘Genius. Then seven separate years down the mines for acts of civil disobedience.’ That was the Guard’s phrase for getting up their collective nose. ‘Stealing from a shop, then from a coal depot, bartering illicitly obtained Supply Directorate whisky – two terms for that – bartering stolen water during the Big Heat – another two terms – and, get this – crossing the city line. He was sent home a month ago from his last stint.’
‘Think he might have gone back to his old ways?’
‘There’s no shortage of city-line crossing in this investigation.’
Davie drove past the rust-reddened steel supports of Murrayfield Stadium.
When I was young I saw the Scotland rugby team win rarely and lose frequently there. More recently it’s been used for barracks rugby, but citizens pay little attention to that now football is back.
‘Here we go. Among Eck’s close friends, going all the way back to school, is one Derick Smail.’
‘The Hibs manager.’
‘Correct.’
‘That’s definitely suggestive. But why do you want backup?’
‘Eric Colquhoun is nineteen stone and a certified fight fan, two of the fists in action being his own.’
Davie glanced at the latest photo. ‘Just a fat lump. I can take him easily.’
‘Except you’re staying in the vehicle.’
‘I’ll sneak round the back and rescue you if things get nasty.’
He turned up Clermiston Road and parked about fifty yards from the Colquhoun house. I took my life in my hands and walked to the front door, while Davie disappeared into the drizzle.
I was let in by a woman whose spectacular coiffure did little to deflect attention from the wrinkles on her face. I said I was a private investigator – no lie – and that I needed to see Cecilia. She might have believed me, but Eric had my number the second he lumbered into the hall.
‘Fuckin’ Citizen fuckin’ Dalrymple,’ he roared. ‘I ken exactly what kind ae Council-lickin’ shitebag yous are.’
I saw Cecilia stop halfway down the stairs. ‘Eric, surely you don’t want to upset your daughter. She’s had a terrible loss.’
‘No’ as terrible as the yin you’re aboot tae get, pal.’
Then he raised his arms like a cartoon monster and twitched all over, before crashing to the floor. Davie came from the rear of the house and removed the Hyper-Stun’s prongs from the now motionless heavy’s back. He cuffed his hands and ankles, then stood up. What was bothering him was the same thing I was struggling with – neither Ailsa Colquhoun nor her daughter had emitted a sound. Maybe this was par for the course with Eck. Then I wondered how he knew who I was. I’d been in the Edinburgh Guardian often enough over the years, but I had the feeling this was more recent. His daughter might have told him about me. Then again, so might Derick Smail.
‘Come away in,’ said Ailsa, leading us into a tidy sitting room. The furniture was standard issue, but she’d made an effort to smarten it up with brightly coloured rugs and throws. ‘Would ye like some tea?’
I declined. ‘I’m sorry about that, but your man was about to make mincemeat out of me.’
‘Aye, he’s terrible. That’ll be him back to the mines fir another year, Ah suppose.’ She sounded hopeful.
‘It depends on how much he cooperates.’
‘He was never much for cooperation.’
‘I noticed. Listen, I need to speak to you, Cecilia. Alone.’
‘That’s fine,’ her mother said to my surprise. ‘Tak him up to yer room, lass.’
Cecilia smiled and inclined her head at me. I motioned to Davie to stay where he was – if he’d fully recovered his wits, he would charm Ailsa into giving away the family secrets.
‘In here,’ Cecilia said.
Her room was very unlike the sitting room. It was more spartan than the Supply Directorate norm, the walls bare and the bed covered by a thin blanket that must have been woven before the crash of 2003. Everything was spotless, though.
‘Sit down, citizen,’ she said, pointing to the chair by the small table. She sat primly on the bed. Now that her face wasn’t red and wrought by initial stress, I saw that she was an attractive young woman. But her eyes, grey and unwavering, were disconcerting and her manner dispassionate.
‘Have you found out anything about what happened to Grant?’ she said.
I wasn’t going to tell her about his head and where it had turned up – at least, not yet.
‘Cecilia, I want you to be straight with me. Do you know what Grant did in his free time?’
Her head dropped, her chin resting on her alabaster neck.
‘You do,’ I surmised.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,’ she said, eyes still down but voice steady.
‘Tell me now.’
She hesitated before speaking. ‘He was smuggling. He went to the city line beyond Colinton at night. Cigarettes mainly, I think.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t smoke.’
‘Who did he sell them to?’
She looked up and caught my gaze. ‘The Pish. He played football with Allie Swanson. I didn’t like him.’
I nodded. She didn’t seem to be concealing anything now.
‘I think he sold them at his work too.’
The Housing Directorate foreman needed to be hauled in.
‘And he was into betting as well.’
I disguised my interest. Apart from Edlott, gambling was only for tourists – the regulations were still clear about that. There weren’t many illicit schemes because the Guard nailed citizens who indulged.
‘Who did he bet with and what on?’ I said when she stopped being so forthcoming.
‘All the Hibs players bet on the games, their own as well as the other clubs’.’
That was interesting. Derick Smail must have known about that – and the bosses of the other EPL teams. No doubt that was why Alec Ferries had gone to ground. Fortunately Guardian Doris already had the others in the castle. I sent her a text to make sure they stayed there. Then I remembered Jack MacLean’s concern about the managers being questioned, as well as the senior guardian’s. Council scandal number 247 coming right up …
‘How are you doing?’ I asked Cecilia.
‘I’m empty,’ she said with a brave smile. ‘I loved Grant, whatever he did. Now … now I’ve got nothing.’
I stood up and took her hands.
‘You’re young, you’re pretty and you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. Grieve for him, then let him go and get on with things.’
I left her on the bed, aware that my words had been nothing more than platitudes. Downstairs, Davie and Ailsa were chattering like primary school kids in break. After a while he got up and shook hands with her, a highly unusual action for a Guard commander to take with a citizen.
‘What was all that about?’ I said after we’d pushed the still unconscious Eric Colquhoun into the back of the 4×4.
‘She knew my mother,’ Davie said. ‘They went to school together.’
‘I don’t suppose you picked up any usual snippets of information.’
He shook his head then turned the vehicle round. ‘Except maybe this.’
I glared at him in the last of the gloaming.
‘The Hearts manager’s wife, Eileen Ferries, is a customer of hers. Apparently the club’s as rotten as it comes. The shame of it.’
‘Don’t worry. There’s a gambling scheme. Hibs are the same, it seems. And all the other members of the EPL.’
He grinned. ‘What a relief.’
There was a groan from the back seat.
‘Yous are fuckin’ deid,’ said Big Eck.
‘Not as deid as you’re going to be,’ countered Davie.
‘Leave him alone,’ I said. ‘Remember Sophia’s little helper?’
He laughed. ‘That’s right. They’ll all be spilling their guts.’
Which was true, I thought. But then where would the city be?
So many people had been taken to the castle that there wasn’t enough secure space. Eventually the duty commander decided to chain some of them to the weight-lifting apparatus in the gym. She was smart enough to gag them so they couldn’t concoct a story that would at least muddy the puddles, if not save their backsides.
‘What now?’ Davie asked, a file in his hand. ‘This is the list. Who do you want to take to the medical guardian first?’
‘Let’s do it the usual way first. Remember what the truth drug did to Skinny Ewan.’ I ran an eye down the names. ‘You take Derick Smail.’
‘I like it.’
‘And I’ll take the Morningside Rose manager.’
‘Kennie Dove? They won the league last season. I always thought he was a good guy.’
‘Another reason why you aren’t interviewing him.’
I was given a windowless room beneath the command centre. There were two chairs, one fixed to the concrete floor. As I’d ordered, the Morningside manager was brought in wearing handcuffs and a chain that was then attached to the ring under his seat.
‘Call me Quint,’ I said with an extravagant smile.
‘Right you are,’ the thin, short man said. ‘Quint.’ He was wearing a brown leather jacket and matching corduroys, as well as a loosely fastened black-and-blue striped tie.
I leaned over and undid the knot. ‘I’ll take that. Wouldn’t be the first time that someone’s hanged himself in the castle recently. Sort of.’
Dove’s eyes opened wide. ‘Why would I do that, citizen? I mean, Quint.’
‘Because you’ve been mixing with some very unsavoury people.’
He laughed nervously. ‘Aye, well, in this business you need long teeth to survive. See Derick Smail, he—’
‘I don’t mean your counterparts, though I’m sure they’ll be equally complimentary about you. I’m talking about illegal betting.’
‘What?’ His face was suddenly paler than a December morning when the haar rolls in from the Forth.
‘How rife is it?’
The manager looked dazed, even confused. ‘How what?’
‘Rife – common, prevalent, rampant.’
‘Em, citizen … Quint, you’re making a mistake here.’
‘Is that right? So no one’s making books, setting odds, taking wagers? No one’s fixing games?’
‘Em …’ Kennie Dove’s eyes were all over the place, except on mine. ‘Can I see your authorization?’
I handed it over.
‘You’re allowed to question guardians and senior auxiliaries?’
I nodded.
‘Talk to the recreation guardian then,’ he said, folding his arms. ‘I’m not saying another word.’
The door behind me opened.
‘Citizen, a word,’ said Guardian Doris.
I followed her out.
‘I’ve been listening,’ she said.
‘I might have known you’d have the place wired for sound.’
She shrugged. ‘My domain, my rules.’
‘Uh-huh. I take it you’ll be calling the recreation guardian up here for a wee chat.’
The guardian shook her head. ‘Peter Stewart isn’t involved in any gambling scheme.’
I considered the tall, white-haired guardian. It was true that he had a reputation for probity. He’d been a world-class athlete, but being unable to leave Edinburgh when he was young meant he’d never competed against his peers. Then again, the last Olympic Games were in 2000, when he was still a schoolboy. The headquarters of international sports organizations were among the first targets of enraged mobs in Switzerland.
‘So why’s Kennie Dove fingering him?’ I asked.
‘Because Dove is a scheming runt who’ll do anything to distract us from his real bosses.’
‘Who are?’
‘I’m working on that.’
‘But you have suspicions.’
The guardian smoothed back her hair. ‘Not that I’m willing to share. I have no evidence.’
‘Except the heart.’
She pursed her lips. ‘Which you have singularly failed to explain, never mind find out who removed it. Or even who it was removed from.’
‘I’m working on that,’ I said, repeating her phrase and feeling the need to change the subject. ‘Why don’t we take Dove over to the infirmary and give him a mild dose of the guardian’s truth drug?’
‘You’re sure he won’t talk otherwise?’
‘Oh, he’ll talk – if you set your heavies loose on him. But that would be breaking the regulations, wouldn’t it?’ I tried not to smirk.
‘The truth drug is not covered by any regulation,’ she said, her eyes flashing.
‘There you are, then.’
‘That’s not what I … oh, very well. Go ahead.’
‘Given the rivalry between Hearts and Hibs, I think Derick Smail would benefit from the same treatment. Unless Hume 253’s already on to the seventh degree.’
She led me to a door down the corridor and opened it. The Hibs manager’s expression was that of a man a bus was about to collide with, but he was unmarked.
I took Davie aside and told him the plan. He said that Smail had clammed up too, though he hadn’t mentioned the recreation guardian.
We handed them over to a quartet of Guard personnel and went down to the esplanade.
‘Do you think Peter Stewart could be dirty?’ I asked Davie.
‘Never heard the slightest whisper. He’s not the most active guardian, but he’s strict about the regs.’
I nodded. We got into a 4×4 and went to the infirmary, the prisoners in another vehicle to our rear. I found Sophia in her office, lines of exhaustion on her face.
‘I think we’d better postpone our personal rendezvous,’ I said, looking at my watch. It was five to ten.
‘I was about to call you.’
Although she had the usual icy grip on her emotions, I could tell she was upset.
‘What is it?’
She looked up at me and then shook her head. ‘“Things fall apart, the centre cannot hold.”’
‘William Butler Yeats, no less.’ I went over and put my arm round her shoulders. She was very tense.
‘The truth drug,’ she said in a low voice. ‘It’s disappeared.’
That was more bitter than sweet – we’d shaken someone’s cage, but he, she or they had managed to jemmy open the door and fly away. The question was, how far?
‘It’s my fault,’ Sophia said, standing by the safe in the supposedly high-security drugs storage room. ‘I should have split the consignment. I only found out when I went to check how much was left. I had a feeling you’d be wanting more.’
‘How many staff knew the combination?’
‘Three. Don’t worry, they’re all confined to quarters, but they deny involvement.’
‘Which isn’t to say one of them didn’t pass the combination to someone else.’
‘Hm.’ Sophia looked like she’d been rabbit-punched.
I took her hand. ‘It’s not your fault. The investigation is making certain people nervous, which is a good thing. Presumably nobody saw any unauthorized personnel down here.’
‘No. Pity we don’t have security cameras.’
‘I’ll get a scene-of-crime team to attend.’ I checked the floor. The surface was tracked with footprints, all of them similar.
‘How many people have a key to this room?’
‘Fifty-seven,’ Sophia replied hopelessly.
I called the Guard command centre and arranged for a forensics team. They’d do their job, but I wasn’t optimistic about the results.
‘Never mind,’ I said. ‘Get the lock changed and reset the combination. For the time being, keep the latter to yourself.’
‘That’s totally impractical, Quint,’ she said, her voice rising.
‘All right. Give it to the chief chemist. You trust him, don’t you?’
‘He’s a she. I don’t know who to trust any more.’
I nodded. ‘That’s the way of things when, as you said, the centre cannot hold.’
She gave me an exasperated look. Fortunately my phone rang. It was Davie.
‘Quint, meet me at the 4×4. A body’s been found and guess what?’
‘Surprise me.’
‘The heart’s been removed.’
It had only been a matter of time.