Body Politic (31 page)

“I haven't much time, Patsy,” I said, waving Hamilton back. “Tell me what's been going on here.”

Patsy looked at me quizzically. “I thought you said Billy had talked?” Her lips creased. “Fuck you, Quint. You made me . . .”

“Forget it, Patsy. If you want me to keep the public order guardian off your back, you'd better co-operate. Whose idea was it to sell off citizens as sex slaves?”

She laughed scornfully. “Whose do you think?”

“But Billy couldn't have done it without you.”

“I provided the technical know-how.” She sat down on one of the beds and smoothed the cover. “He worked the deal with the Greek Roussos in the Indie and found this place.” She looked around at the drab walls and shook her head. “The kids were better off on their backs in Athens than in this shite-hole. We told them they were in line to become cultural representatives and gave them some Greek money to impress them. And we told them not to tell anyone else till their jobs were confirmed.”

That explained the banknote I found in Adam Kirkwood's flat. “And when you'd run preliminary checks on them, they were picked up. Did you give them any choice?”

She shrugged. “No. After they were picked up, we made sure they couldn't get away.”

“Simpson 134 checked their medical records?”

“That's right. The Greeks only wanted young, fully fit specimens. And photographs they could drool over.”

“What about Rory Baillie?”

“We used him to drive them around; I trained them with Sarah Spence in different places. Some of them were in the Bearskin that night you were there.”

I walked over to her. “Billy's in intensive care.”

Patsy looked like a snake had started to glide up her leg. “The killer?”

I shook my head. “He ran in front of the horses in Princes Street Gardens – trying to get away from me.”

She stared at me. “Are you proud of yourself, Quint?”

“No.” I bent over her. “Christ, Patsy, you knew a maniac was butchering the others in your scam. Why didn't you run earlier? Why didn't Billy?”

She looked up at me. “There was so much money coming to us. I could've got out of this bastard city and started somewhere else.” She stood up slowly. “Besides, it didn't make any sense. We couldn't see what the murders had to do with this business. It isn't all just some crazy coincidence, is it?”

“What do you think? Patsy, what about the medical guardian? Did he have anything to do with this?”

I knew before she spoke that the answer was negative. I turned to go.

“Quint,” Patsy called. “You'll do what you can for me?”

I passed Hamilton in the doorway. She was his now.

Davie called before I got to the Transit. “Subject went into his residence a minute ago. I'm trying not to look too suspicious in the gardens in Moray Place.”

“Right. Keep on him.”

So Yellowlees was out of the infirmary. But his files weren't. Time to take a look. The fact that Katharine was there gave me an extra incentive. I was wondering what my payment for finding her brother would be.

Then, as I drove towards the centre through the drizzle, I remembered my father. Like the murderer, I'd lost track of him in this lunatic city. Maybe Patsy had the right idea. Maybe it was time to get out. But first I had a lot of unfinished business.

Chapter Nineteen

IN THE INFIRMARY
a ward had been set aside for the sex slaves. A senior nursing auxiliary told me she'd contacted the medical guardian and told him about the ten tranquillised patients. She was surprised that he hadn't arrived to take charge. I wasn't, but he might still turn up any minute.

Katharine was sitting by her brother's bed holding his hand. Her face was close to his and they were deep in conversation. Adam Kirkwood was pale, but he looked healthy enough. Patsy had been feeding the slaves up. I turned back before I reached them, but Katharine spotted me.

“What are you up to now, Quint?” she asked.

I shrugged. “I've still got a murderer to catch.”

She stood up, pulling her brother into a seated position. “
We
have, you mean.”

“Katharine, you've got your brother back. You've done your part.”

She looked at me like a schoolmistress about to sort out the class villain. “There's a connection between the killings and what Adam's been through, isn't there?”

“It looks that way to me.”

“So Adam and I have a right to be involved.”

“What are you talking about? This is a murder investigation, not a human rights forum.”

Her eyes flashed. “Oh, I see. When it suits you, you take my help. When it doesn't, you dump me.”

“What's this all about, Katharine? Adam's back. What more do you want?”

She came up to me. The look on her face almost made me run away. “Look, Quint,” she said in a harsh whisper, “I've been fucked by the Council and I don't care about myself any more. But Adam's still young. He didn't know much about what life's really like. Patsy Cameron and the rest of them have seen to that though. I'm going to stick with this to the end, then I'm going to make them pay.”

“Personal vendettas don't help.”

“Don't they?” she replied indifferently. “Come on, Adam. Citizen Dalrymple needs our help.”

I watched as her brother got out of the bed unsteadily. I couldn't see him being much use but the mood Katharine was in, I didn't fancy objecting.

“Lock the door, Adam,” I said.

We were standing in Yellowlees's outer office.

“What are we looking for?” Katharine asked.

I started to pull open filing-cabinet drawers. They were all unlocked, which was a bad sign. “The organs that the murderer cut out can all be transplanted.”

“But transplantation's illegal, isn't it?” Adam Kirkwood said. For a big guy, he had an incongruously high voice.

“So's selling people as sex slaves,” said Katharine.

“Quite.” I went over to the door leading into the medical guardian's inner sanctum. It was locked. I put my shoulder to it and the poor quality wood quickly gave way. “I'll look in here. You two see if you can find anything about transplantation out there. And tell me if you find any files about the auxiliary Scott 391. I'll explain later.” I hadn't said anything about Yellowlees's lupus research and his treatment of my mother. If there were any papers about that in the infirmary, they would be in his private office.

But there was nothing. We found patients' reports, memoranda on infirmary administration, personnel files on medical staff and a heap of other documentation but not a hint about transplants or about the lupus. And nothing about the dead auxiliary.

Katharine squatted down by the mound of files. “I don't get this,” she said, pulling Adam down beside her. “Obviously the organs the murderer removed couldn't have been used for transplantation.”

“No, they were hacked out pretty crudely.”

“So why do you think there might be transplants going on in the infirmary?”

I told them about Scott 391 – how the sight of his body in the crematorium had affected the sentry there and how Yellowlees had mislaid his file. “It could be that organs were removed from him.”

Katharine's forehead was furrowed. “But what's that got to do with the killer mutilating corpses?”

“Search me,” I replied. And what's it got to do with the ENT Man? I asked myself. “Whatever the reason, my hunch is that Yellowlees is the next victim on the killer's list. He got the guardian's girlfriend last time and . . .”

“Your hunch?” Katharine said scornfully. “You run investigations on hunches?”

“They've never failed me yet.” I nodded at Adam. “My hunch about Jamaica Street Lane was right, wasn't it?”

Katharine stood up. “But you need evidence, even in this city. And you haven't got a thing, have you?”

“If I had, I'd have arrested the guardian.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Quint, you're a bastard. You're using Yellowlees as bait, aren't you?”

I shrugged. “My father's still missing. I think there's some connection with all of this.”

“I thought you disapproved of personal vendettas,” she said with an ironic smile. “God, you're as much of a hypocrite as the rest of them.” She took her brother's hand and pulled him to his feet. He was looking pretty queasy.

On the way to the exit I checked with the security squad commander. Billy Geddes was in a stable condition and no one had been near him except the nurses. A stable condition meant that he still hadn't come round. I wished I could have had five minutes with a conscious Billy: he would at least have explained why he had a copy of Yellowlees's lupus research in his flat. But that would have been too easy.

I headed for the Transit and the Assembly Hall. I couldn't shake Katharine and her brother off. It didn't look like I was going to get much of a reward for finding him after all.

I called Davie before the Council meeting started. “Where are you?”

“On the Mound. I saw the medical guardian go in to the Assembly Hall five minutes ago.”

“Right. Trail him when he comes out and keep in touch. I'll be close. And Davie?”

“What, Quint?”

“Be careful, my friend. I've got a feeling we're near the end of this caper.”

“Not before time. I want my bed. Out.”

I laughed then ran over to the entrance as Hamilton's Land-Rover pulled up.

“We'll tell them about Billy and Patsy Cameron, but not about the dead guardsman and the fact that Yellowlees lost his file, okay?”

The public order guardian was looking pleased with himself. No doubt he'd spent a happy time ripping Patsy to pieces. “Very well, Dalrymple. By the way, I had the senior guardian on the line. She was shocked to hear about the sex slaves.”

I bet she was. She'd be even more shocked if she knew that Billy had a copy of Yellowlees's research.

“She also offered both of us her congratulations on the outcome of the investigation,” Hamilton added with a self-satisfied smile.

I was unimpressed that she hadn't bothered to call me personally. “In case you've forgotten, there's still a killer on the loose,” I said. Hamilton was an easier target than my mother.

The Council meeting was a ludicrous performance, the guardians trying to outdo each other in expressions of disgust and horror at the news of the sex slave scam. The only one who kept a low profile was Yellowlees. He sat through it all without making any comment, his fingers in the usual pyramid beneath his nose and his mane of hair as tidy as ever. But he didn't look at me once.

I thought about my mother again. A few days ago she had been much better. I'd expected to see her resume her place at the centre of the horseshoe table by now, but the deputy senior guardian was still acting as speaker. Was the treatment losing its effect? Or did she have some other reason for keeping away?

At the end of the meeting, Yellowlees left the chamber without speaking to anyone.

“What now, Dalrymple?” asked the public order guardian. “Did you find out anything more about that dead guardsman?”

“I'm still working on it,” I said vaguely. I'd been hoping he'd forgotten about the ENT Man's brother. I should have been down at Scott Barracks checking out his close colleagues and trying to find out why the sentry in the crematorium had committed suicide. But there wasn't time for that. I was sure the killer was about to strike again. I'd given Yellowlees a chance to come clean and he'd rejected it.

Hamilton walked on. “I'm going back to the castle to continue the interrogation.” He seemed to be so keen on nailing Patsy that he'd lost interest in the murderer. Maybe he was hoping that we'd scared him off.

“What about my father?” I called after him.

He stopped and turned round. “We're still looking,” he said feebly. “What else can we do?”

I didn't respond and went past him to the Transit, hoping that might distract him from his assault on Patsy. That was all I could do for her.

Katharine was waiting for me. Her brother had crashed out in the back of the van. “Well, what next?”

“We wait.” I looked at my watch. “It won't be long.”

I got that right.

My mobile rang ten minutes later.

“I've lost him.” Davie sounded desperate.

“Where are you?” I started the Transit and slammed it into gear.

“Corner of Frederick Street and Rose Street. A bloody great group of Japanese came out of a shop and . . .”

“Stay there,” I shouted, slewing round the bend and on to the Mound. “Did you see anyone with him before you lost him?”

“No!” Davie shouted above a babble of foreign voices.

The mobile slipped from between my ear and neck. “Shit.” I braked hard behind a horse-drawn carriage that was overloaded with women wearing chadors.

“Quint?”

I felt Katharine's eyes on me as I jumped the lights on Princes Street. “What?”

“If you put me through the windscreen of this wreck, there'll be big fucking trouble.”

She wasn't just making polite conversation.

Davie was waving his arms frantically. “The guardsman at the far end of Rose Street saw the guardian a few minutes ago. He was getting into a taxi with a male tourist wearing a pinstripe suit and a baseball cap.” He pushed in beside Katharine and peered at Adam Kirkwood in the back.

“Height?” I asked as I turned into the pedestrian precinct.

“Who's this?” Davie asked.

“What bloody height was the tourist?” I shouted.

Davie spoke on his mobile. “About five feet nine inches, he says.”

“Five feet nine inches?” I repeated. “But the murderer takes size twelve boots.”

“Watch out!” Katharine screamed.