Body Politic (34 page)

“And you were eight years old?”

“That time the parents listened to us. But instead of having him put away, they got him into the deaf school.”

“Did you see him again?”

“Only once. After he'd been thrown out. He was proud of it. He ran away not long afterwards. It took me a long time to blot him out. Gordon helped me, we helped each other. But I learned something from the Beast that was reinforced by the auxiliary training programme.”

“What was that?”

“The poetry of violence.”

I woke with a jerk, sweat all over my face. I was still on the sofa. Katharine's head was against my thigh, her breathing regular. I vaguely remembered sleep overwhelming me while I was telling her what Amanda had said. I lay still, feeling Katharine's warmth and aware of her scent. Outside it was still light though the sun was well down in the west. I would have got up to stretch my cramped legs but I didn't want to disturb Katharine.

So I sat and thought about the poetry of violence. I knew something about that too. I saw the Ear, Nose and Throat Man turning on me, the light falling on his scarred face and rotten teeth. But instead of seeing Caro's body, as I used to when I remembered the butcher, I pictured Amanda. The skin on her arms was smooth, sheathing well-toned muscles. When I'd stood up from the table in the cell, I glimpsed the curve of her breasts beneath the singlet and the lines of her bare, marble thighs.

And her voice went on, running through the catalogue of her crimes in an easy, even tone. Apart from when she was talking about Stewart Duncan Dunbar, she never hesitated. Like the radio announcer reading the inter-barracks rugby results on a Sunday evening.

I couldn't stop myself closing my eyes. I went straight back to Amanda in the cell.

“Fergus called me when he saw Gordon's barracks number on the documents at the crematorium. There was some bureaucratic problem and the delivery squad didn't notice how upset he was. It was the shock. I felt it too. There had been no news of Gordon's death. When he didn't come back to barracks, we assumed he'd been assigned an extra tour on the border. It wouldn't have been the first time.”

“You opened the coffin.”

“I had to see him one last time. And when I did . . . I knew without even thinking about it that I was going to track the bastards down.”

“You thought auxiliaries were being killed for their organs.”

“That's the way it looked. They'd taken his brain, eyes, liver, kidneys, pancreas, as well as other parts I couldn't identify. Since the documents were official, I knew auxiliaries must have been involved.”

“Fergus committed suicide when he realised what you were doing, didn't he?”

“I'd been using his clothes and boots. He put two and two together when he heard about the murders.”

“You used a bootlace like Stewart, didn't you? And you disguised yourself to get us off your trail. That way you gained time to find everyone who was involved.”

“And to make them sweat. They deserved that.”

“So it was all a question of personal revenge.”

“No. I'm a good auxiliary. I wanted to purge the city of the disease that was afflicting it.”

“You never thought of going to your superiors?”

“Is that supposed to be funny? Who could I trust? I was already performing at the Bearskin. I'd seen plenty of senior auxiliaries in the audience.”

“How did you come to be working there?”

“It was that bitch Knox 96 – Sarah Spence – she recruited me last December. She'd been after me for weeks. I preferred performing to letting her go down on me. Killing her wasn't exactly a hardship.”

“You didn't realise she was involved in a sex slavery deal Heriot 07 and the Prostitution Services controller were running?”

“Is that what the medical guardian meant? It makes sense. There were always these young, half-brainwashed citizens wandering around the club. I was too busy chasing the people who killed Gordon.”

“It's not clear that he was killed deliberately. I think Yellowlees was telling the truth when he said he only took organs from bodies that were dead before they reached the infirmary.”

“It's too late to ask him for confirmation now.”

“Your system was to kill every Thursday night. Because . . .”

“Gordon died on a Thursday. I had to keep him alive somehow.”

“And you were very careful to leave no prints, no traces to incriminate yourself. When you mutilated Sarah Spence in Stevenson Hall, you took off all your clothes, didn't you?”

“Yes. I dumped the rags I used to clean myself in the barracks furnace later.”

“And the damage to her anus?”

“I used my truncheon. With a condom on it.”

“To make sure we thought you were male.”

“I had it all worked out. I had a good teacher.”

“Who?”

“Bell 03. The guy who wrote the
Public Order in Practice
manual.”

“You . . . you shouldn't believe everything you read in books. As for the driver, Rory Baillie, you trailed him from the mess?”

“Believe it or not, I didn't intend to kill him. After all, he wasn't an auxiliary. I wanted information from him.”

“But it was a Thursday night.”

“My only night off.”

“What made you change your mind about killing him?”

“I found foreign currency in his wallet. And an infirmary authorisation issued by Simpson 134.”

“After you killed Baillie, you planted Fergus's clothes in the Water of Leith to make sure we didn't suspect a woman.”

“You found them, did you? It never said in the
Guardian
.”

“What about Roussos, the Greek in the Independence?”

“I was after Simpson 134, the nursing auxiliary. She was difficult to get close to. One day I saw her meet the foreigner and hand an envelope over. So I concentrated on him.”

“You thought he had something to do with transplants?”

“There are enough tourists in wheelchairs to make you wonder.”

“After you sold a double dummy by dressing as a male transvestite, how did you persuade Roussos to go into the linen store?”

“That was his idea. He said he liked doing it in unusual places.”

“You know he was alive when you removed his eye?”

“Yes. The fire alarm went off earlier than I thought it would. My incendiary device did a good job.”

“You killed innocent people.”

“Who's really innocent, Quintilian? I know for certain you aren't. And you're the hero of the city now. I'd rather be dead than a hero in this cesspool.”

I sat up with a start, this time waking Katharine.

“Are you all right?” She ran her palm over my forehead. “You're very hot.”

“Bad dream,” I said, struggling to get the words out. I looked around, suddenly sure that the murderess was in the room with us.

Katharine pulled me to my feet. “If we're going to sleep, we may as well use the bed.”

I followed her, glancing back one last time to convince myself Amanda wasn't there. The muscles on my arms and the bruise on my chest were aching. Katharine pulled back the covers and started to take her clothes off. I saw the triangle of hair in her crotch and the dark rings of her nipples but felt no response.

“Can you understand why she killed?” I asked.

She looked across at me and nodded. “Revenge for someone she loved.” She shuddered. “I can sympathise with that. From what you said about Caro, so can you.”

I sat down slowly. She was right. We were all guilty of murder, in thought if not in deed.

“After the fire I went back to tracking Simpson 134. Eventually I took a chance and went to the infirmary. Someone came down the corridor before I could get her to tell me what had been done with Gordon's organs. I'd already decided that the medical guardian was responsible.”

“The nurse almost identified you. She saw your fingers.”

“I was lucky then. I thought you might be getting close. That's why I gave up the Thursday routine. Do you think the show I put on for the guardians was a success?”

“Brought the house down. You know, you could probably have got to the border with Yellowlees as a hostage. Some of his colleagues would have done anything to keep him alive.”

“Maybe I should have given myself another chance. What will they do with me?”

“Solitary for life.”

“Kill me.”

“What?”

“Kill me before they come. I'm begging you, Quintilian.”

“I can't. I'm not a killer.”

“I don't believe you. Besides, this would be a mercy killing.”

“What did you do with the organs you removed?”

“They're under a consignment of fish in the Scott Barracks cold store. I was going to send them to the Council when I had a complete collection.”

“Jesus.”

“Kill me. You can't let me rot on Cramond Island.”

“It's too late, they're coming.”

“You're no better than the rest of them. You dress up as an ordinary citizen but under the surface you're still an auxiliary. And a coward.”

The word shot through me like the volley from a firing squad. I sat up, disentangling myself carefully from the sheets, and went into the living room. Outside it was dark but the curfew hadn't come into effect yet. I looked down at the road in the glow from the streetlights. Suddenly I was certain that I didn't want to sleep again for a long time. In my dreams I couldn't separate myself from Amanda. She'd used the manual I wrote to kill, in the mistaken belief that the city had been selling organs for profit. But even when I was awake, I couldn't condemn her. Gordon, Katharine, Adam, Billy, Amanda and I all had the, same background. We were the children of families where love and affection had been replaced by devotion to the cause. The real criminals were in the Council.

The lights flashed three times then were extinguished. Ten o'clock. The realisation crept up on me like a footpad in the night. In the perfect city, the only way to express free will was to commit murder.

Chapter Twenty-one

I FINISHED MY
report on the investigation as quickly as I could and spent the next week trying to forget the murderess. Without much success. After a couple of sleepless nights and days spent wandering aimlessly around the city, I even considered going back to the Parks Department – after all, I still had the Transit. Katharine talked me out of that. After Adam's cremation, she seemed to accept his death. In the castle they carried out psychological tests on Amanda, followed by what passes for a trial in Edinburgh. I kept away.

The next Thursday Katharine and I were called to the Council chamber. Two chairs had been placed in front of the horseshoe. The medical guardian's place was empty. It looked like a tooth had fallen from an old man's gum.

My mother kept her head lowered over a pile of papers while we were ushered in. Finally she raised it slowly and looked at me. Her face was even more swollen than before and her hair thinner.

“The meeting will come to order,” she said, her voice unsteady. “The contents of the various reports on the activities of the self-confessed murderess Scott 372 are noted. Are there any further comments before we close the file on her?”

No one could find anything to say.

“Next business. Public order guardian?”

Hamilton got to his feet. “My interrogation of the Prostitution Services controller is now complete. Steps have been taken to locate the citizens who were sent to Greece. They will be repatriated as soon as possible.”

My mother nodded and made a note.

“As regards Heriot 07,” Hamilton continued, “he is making progress. The doctors expect him to be able to face questioning soon.”

I'd visited Billy earlier in the week. He was just about coherent and had been told he'd be spending the rest of his life in a wheelchair. I couldn't find much to say to him.

“I trust that Heriot 07 will return to the Finance Directorate when he is fully recovered.” Billy's chief looked expectantly at the senior guardian as if what he'd said was perfectly natural.

My mother gave me an uneasy glance. “That will need to be discussed at a later date. Heriot 07 is guilty of serious crimes.”

“But where would we be without him?” said the finance guardian. “He made all the deals that . . .”

“That will do, Donald,” my mother said firmly. “If you'd kept a tighter rein on your deputy, perhaps none of this would have happened.”

The old man looked like he'd just stood on a six-inch nail. He waved his hands weakly and slumped down on to his chair. He wouldn't be in a job for long, I reckoned. Running my eyes along the guardians, I was struck by how wan and impotent they appeared – like the survivors of some natural catastrophe who had come so close to annihilation that they would never be able to return to the way they used to live. Even the younger ones sat slackly in their chairs. The only Council member with any life in him was Hamilton. I soon found out why.

“Senior guardian,” he said, getting up again and glancing at me meaningfully. “I would draw your attention to the memorandum I drafted concerning citizen Dalrymple. The recordings of the prisoner's confession suggest that he is in possession of information which may relate to the murderer codenamed the Ear, Nose and Throat Man. My directorate's opinion is that there are grounds for his arrest.”

I admired his spirit, going into battle with my mother over me. Perhaps he thought she was in a weak enough condition to accept his advice. When I saw her glacial expression, I realised he might well have a point.

Then she drew herself up and turned to him imperiously. “Guardian, without citizen Dalrymple's work this case would not have been brought to a satisfactory conclusion. You of all people must be aware of that.” She gave the irony a few seconds to sink in. “I have considered your memorandum and have concluded that further investigation of a five-year-old case is not in the city's interest.”