Water of Death (29 page)

Sophia nodded. “I agree. What do you think that agenda is, citizen?”

Time to liven things up. “That's obvious, I would have thought,” I said with a tight smile. “To get as big a cut as they can of the city's tourist income.”

There were sharp intakes of breath all round. As I expected, that hit them where it hurt. The tourism guardian exchanged anxious glances with his colleague in the Culture Directorate. After a few seconds the backlash began.

“That's pure supposition,” the finance guardian said. He was young and keen, his downy facial hair and innocent expression contrasting with a rasping voice. “These people are just psychopaths with grudges against the city.”

“They may be,” I said, looking at him mildly before I struck back. “Though that also sounds like pure supposition.”

The fresh-faced guardian's jaw dropped.

I didn't intend to give him the chance to get back into the debate. “The fact that they use words like ‘do business' and ‘negotiate' show that they're in this to make a profit.”

The Council members started nodding like a bunch of puppets. It looked like I'd made my point.

“So what do we do?” Sophia asked, her air of authority beginning to dissipate.

“What we do is we play for time,” I said. “They've already given us a bit of that. Make sure the flag on the castle is lowered this evening.”

“Good God, man,” Hamilton exploded. “That flag is the Enlightenment's main symbol of authority. If citizens see it at half-mast, they'll think the Council's losing its grip.”

I grinned at him. “You mean it isn't?”

“Citizen,” Sophia said sharply. “Bear in mind that your authorisation can be withdrawn at any time.”

I thought about daring her to sideline me then went along with her. I didn't want any more innocent people to be poisoned and, besides, this case was far too interesting to miss.

There was a stony silence, which I broke. “Lower the flag this evening as they demand. You can do it for as short a period as five minutes since they don't specify how long. You can be sure they'll be on the lookout. If any citizen notices, you can pretend a guardsman tied a loose knot.”

Hamilton wasn't keen but the other guardians agreed.

“Very well,” Sophia said. “We'll buy you your time, citizen. How do you intend to use it?”

She had me there. I spun them a line about following up leads on Allie Kennedy and the still-comatose female with the sign-of-four tattoo. I didn't want to broadcast my suspicions about Nasmyth 05 yet.

Fortunately the public order guardian took over. He reported that search teams hadn't yet been sent to the area where the woman was found because of the need to mount guards all over the city's water supply network. It looked like that buck had stopped at me. He also said that the waterman who delivered to my father's retirement home had been traced and interrogated. He'd been cleared as his tank showed no traces of nicotine, while three of the kettles in the home did. So some bugger had slipped in there without being spotted – presumably in daytime when the doors were all open and most of the old guys were out in the garden baking in the Big Heat. The postwoman had also been eliminated from the enquiry, meaning that she'd also been given the full treatment by the guard and stuck to her story. Finally, Lewis confirmed that no more bottles of the Ultimate Usquebaugh had turned up. Whoever was behind all this was running rings round us.

“No sign of the Kirkwood woman?” Sophia asked Hamilton. She gave me a sharp look.

“No, senior guardian,” he replied. “But I'm still treating her as a suspect.”

I'll bet he was. In his eyes Katharine's dissident record had always outweighed her subsequent rehabilitation.

“Anything else?” I asked, getting up to go. I was glad that Lewis had decided against mentioning – or had forgotten about – the surveillance we'd put on Nasmyth 05. I had a feeling the culture guardian wouldn't be too happy about that.

“Not for you,” Sophia said dismissively. “My colleagues and I will discuss the threat to the water supply and its implications.”

“You do that,” I said, heading for the door.

“Citizen?” Sophia called. “Find these people. The Council is depending on you.”

That made me feel really motivated.

Davie was waiting in the hall.

“What's going on?” he asked.

“We're drowning.” I told him about the message.

“Jesus,” he said when I finished. “What do we do now?”

“You tell me. We're running on empty as regards leads. The search squads I wanted to check out the area where the sign-of-four woman was found were never sent.”

Davie nodded guiltily. “I know. The guardian made me rescind the order. I tried to talk him out of it but  . . .” He shrugged helplessly.

“You can make up for that now by helping me do the search.”

He nodded without enthusiasm. “I'm off duty now and I could do with some sleep.”

“Tough, guardsman,” I said with a grim smile.

We went out into the heat and got into his guard vehicle.

As we drove up the Royal Mile, I looked out at the tourists. They were strolling around with their usual mixture of shallow enthusiasm for the monuments and unwilling fascination for the bargains in the Supply Directorate's visitor-only stores. Prices were a lot lower than in their own countries and even if they wanted to, they couldn't buy tins of Air of Auld Reekie, waistcoats in Enlightenment tartan or guaranteed scrapie-free haggis anywhere else.

Davie took the corner at George IVth Bridge and accelerated past the central archive. I remembered how Ray had been the last time I was there and considered stopping to find out if he was any better. There had been something weird about his manner. I told myself to leave the poor sod alone. His arm was probably still giving him hell, thanks to the Medical Directorate's policy of prescribing nothing but the weakest painkilling drugs on grounds of cost.

We slowed at the junction with Forrest Road and I looked idly past Davie's head. A pick-up shot past in a blur of maroon, going in the direction we'd come from. I thought I caught a glimpse of Dirty Harry at the wheel, with some of his crewmen and a load of tools in the back. I wondered vaguely what a Fisheries Guard vehicle was doing in this part of town, then Davie rode the bend and the thought exited from my mind faster than an Edlottwinner's commitment to equality of property and opportunity.

Twenty minutes later we were standing on the bridge over the Water of Leith in Colinton, watching the narrow stream as it dribbled over the stones towards the centre. In the old days, with the mills and factories on its banks, it had been an artery running through the body of the city. These days during the Big Heat it was shrunken and sluggish – as good a symbol as any of contemporary Edinburgh's diminished potency. It seemed the poisoners were into semiotics as well as comedy. Or maybe they'd just been inspired by the blues song Ry Cooder and Taj Mahal recorded seventy years back – “If The River Was Whisky  . . .”.

“We'll have to split up, Davie,” I said, looking at the guard map I'd taken from the Land-Rover.

“Is that a good idea?” he said. “You know the kind of people you can run into out here. Not that I'm bothered on my own account, of course.”

“Of course not,” I said. Davie wasn't in the habit of bothering about physical danger. “I'll just have to trust to fate. You take the west bank and I'll take the east.”

“And I'll be in Currie afore ye?” he asked with a grin.

“Ha. We'll meet after the next bridge. At Redhall Mill.”

He peered at the map then nodded. “Okay. Mind your back.”

“Mind your own.”

I watched his heavy frame shift away down the riverside, head moving from side to side as he immediately went into the search procedure he'd learned during auxiliary training. I headed off the bridge and followed the track I'd been down earlier. In the distance I could still hear the relentless cawing of crows but there wasn't much else going on in the parched undergrowth and woodland. I walked in a broad zigzag, hoping that I'd come across something I'd missed in the morning. I didn't.

Until a noise I couldn't place interrupted the drone of heat-dazed insects and chirrups from thirsty birds. At first I thought someone had punctured a bicycle tyre. I stopped and looked around. Nothing. I was about to move on when the hissing came again. This time unmistakably human. I reached for my mobile, suddenly aware that I had no means of defending myself. A vision of the dissident woman's battered face flashed before me.

“Leave the mobile.” The order came from the trees on my left and was in quiet, controlled tones that made identification difficult.

I looked over but could see nothing. Slowly I put the mobile back in my pocket and raised my hands to the level of my chest without making any sudden movements. Plenty of the head-bangers who frequent the area outside the city line can put a knife through your chest from twenty yards.

“I'm on my own and unarmed,” I said, standing very still and wishing I'd stuck with Davie.

There was a long silence, during which I reviewed my life and decided that there were still things I'd like to do – such as getting paralytic on several more birthdays and seeing the winter sun turn the castle walls the particular shade of reddish purple that no photograph can properly reproduce.

Then there was a quick movement to my left. I turned involuntarily, realising too late what a bad idea that was. Till I saw who it was.

“Katharine?” There was no mistaking the fair hair and bronzed features that had appeared from behind a tree trunk. Or the well-honed knife in her right hand. A wave of relief washed over me – she was alive, she was safe. Then I felt my heart still pounding in my chest. “Where the fuck have you been?”

“What's the matter, Quint?” she said, stepping out of the undergrowth warily. “I thought you'd be glad to see me.”

The excitement became too much for me and I sank to my knees. I looked up as she approached. “Christ, I thought I'd had it there. Thanks a lot.”

“Sorry.” She kneeled down beside me. “I had to be sure you were on your own.”

“I'm not,” I said with a taut smile. I owed her a shock.

Katharine turned round rapidly, her body tense. “What do you mean?”

“Davie's with me.” I touched her arm. The skin was surprisingly dry for all the sticky heat in the glade. “Don't panic. He's on the other side of the river.”

She was up and away into the bushes before I could move a muscle. “Get off the path,” she called over her shoulder. “There are some crazy people around.”

“You're telling me,” I said under my breath. I followed her into the undergrowth. “What the hell are you doing out here? There's an all-barracks search going on for you in the city.”

She took a waterbottle from her belt and drank from it before handing it to me. The contents had a strange, inert taste but I was too thirsty to worry.

“I thought as much,” she said, nodding. “I spotted what looked like surveillance people in your street and got a bad feeling. What do they think I've done?”

It was crunch time. Either I was right about Katharine or I was dead. “You had a couple of bottles of whisky in that backpack you left at my place,” I said, watching her carefully. A cloud of insects had begun to form around us, sensing a pair of large meals. “Where did they come from?”

She returned my gaze steadily then laughed. “Are you telling me that the entire guard population of the city is looking for me because of a couple of bottles of contraband whisky?”

“Where did they come from, Katharine?” I repeated. “This is not a joke.”

Her brow furrowed. “No, apparently it isn't. Well, if you must know, they came from here.” She broke off and looked out from the cover of the bushes to check for unexpected visitors.

“What do you mean from here?” I demanded, glancing around at the undergrowth.

Katharine turned her head back towards me and gave me an indulgent smile. “Calm down, Quint. Not here as in this very spot.” She squatted on the carpet of dried leaves. “I mean up the path about two hundred yards. There's a ruined mill house.”

I wanted to tell her about the poison in the Ultimate Usquebaugh but forced myself to get her story first like a good, impassionate investigator. “So how did you come across the bottles?”

She looked at me quizzically. “What is it about that whisky, Quint? You're not being straight with me.”

“I will be. Just tell me how it came into your possession.”

“If you insist.” She folded her legs into a more comfortable position. “I was on my way into the city and I was looking for somewhere to lay up for the night.” This wasn't exactly the most direct route from the farm to the city but I let that go. “Like I say, there's this old mill upstream. I heard voices when I got near it. Glaswegian accents, at least some of them. A couple of candles were burning inside but I couldn't see much through the window.”

“You made sure you weren't spotted?”

Katharine wasn't impressed. “I know how to look after myself, Quint. You didn't think I was going to walk in the door and ask for a share of their dinner, did you?”

I shrugged. “How many people were there?”

“Four or five. I can't be certain. One of them was a woman.”

Who was currently fighting for her life in the infirmary, I reckoned.

“They were arguing about something,” Katharine continued. “I couldn't make out what. The woman was pissed off and the guys were laying into her. I didn't like the look of them. They were heavy types. Smugglers or worse. The kind we used to drive away from the farm. Pretty soon they put out the lights and turned in. Two of the men came out and one of them disappeared into the woods. The other sat down outside the door to keep watch. He lit a cigarette with a lighter that had a big flame.” Katharine paused and looked at me, a strange smile on her lips. “That's when I recognised him.”