Water of Death (48 page)

“Guardsman!” I shouted.

Nothing.

“Guardsman!”

This time I got a response. His body jerked into life and he swung his head towards me. When I skidded to a stop, he was on his feet and fumbling with his beret.

“You arsehole,” I said. “I thought you'd been got at.”

“Sorry, citizen,” he said, avoiding my eyes. “I've been doing double shifts.”

“Okay,” I said, getting my breathing under control. “Forget it. Let me in.”

He fumbled with the key and opened up.

“What's going on, Quint?” Katharine said, her face showing alarm.

“Nothing. I panicked.”

“Allie?” Hilda said, sitting up and smiling expectantly. “Is that you, Allie?” She looked to both sides of me.

Katharine and I exchanged glances then she spoke to Hilda in a low voice.

“Don't worry. They'll be back soon. It's time to get up now.”

Hilda stared at Katharine like she'd never seen her before.

“Allie? Agnes?” she called plaintively. “Don't leave me all on my own.”

Watching the woman's desperation made me feel worse. Overnight I'd changed my mind about using Hilda at the inauguration. She was so fragile and unbalanced. I remembered the closed curtains and Agnes saying that her mother didn't like the sun. Besides, the sight of Hilda under guard might make Allie Kennedy even more determined to strike. But Sophia wouldn't listen. She insisted on sticking to the plan when I called her from the castle. She even said she wanted Hilda at the Edlott facility at the bottom of the Mound for the whole morning. There was nothing I could do to talk her out of it. I wasn't looking forward to telling Katharine.

I tried to separate the women but Hilda started wailing. I had to shout into Katharine's ear and hope that Hilda wouldn't get even more agitated. Fortunately she calmed down quickly.

“You bastard,” Katharine said when I finished, her eyes narrowing. “You're going to use this poor woman as bait? That's disgusting.”

“I tried to talk the senior guardian out of it—”

“The senior guardian? You mean your tight-arsed friend Sophia. I might have known that bitch was behind this.” She gave me another fierce glare. “But it was your idea, wasn't it?”

Hilda was sitting on the bed, her grey hair hanging loosely over her face.

I raised my shoulders weakly. “It's about the only chance we've got of stopping him in his tracks.”

“Bullshit, Quint. The Council's got ten thousand auxiliaries to do its dirty work and you want to use a woman who's half-demented by what's happened to her family? You make me sick.”

I felt pretty sick myself. “There's a guard vehicle waiting,” I said, looking at my watch.

Katharine shook her head then helped Hilda off the bed.

“Allie?” she asked hopefully, her shoulders drooping and her legs in the crumpled citizen-issue trousers unsteady. “Agnes?”

I smiled helplessly at her and headed for the door. If the day continued the way it had started, I'd have to think about finding a new line of work.

Princes Street during the Big Heat. Flags hanging limply in the still air, tourists taking refuge from the sun under the maroon and white canopies of the street cafes, music from the bands in the gardens drifting over the masses. And today, hundreds of extra guard personnel in uniform around the Edlott installation on the steps of the former Royal Scottish Academy – not to mention hundreds more in plain clothes all over the place. By eleven o'clock the crowds had already started to gather at the booths and tents that the Culture Directorate had set up in the paved area to the east of the neoclassical temple. Huge banners draped above the Doric columns proclaimed the virtues of Edlott in various languages. The lottery was “Best for Value, Best for Prizes, Best for Excitement” – probably right if you were a cheapskate tourist who fancied a free blow job at one of the city's knocking shops. The pairs of sphinxes at the front and rear of the grandiose building gazed into the distance with fully justified superciliousness. And all the time the tourists were pouring drinks of all kinds from the kiosks down their throats, I could hardly bring myself to look.

A rostrum had been erected halfway down the east side of the mock temple, and Hilda was put in a seat at the front of it from the start. Some of the tourists gave her curious glances, wondering about the badly dressed woman with the restless eyes and unwashed hair who was sitting centre stage. Maybe they thought she was part of some expressionist cabaret that the culture supremos had laid on, unaware that Edinburgh's version of theatre is unencumbered by creativity of any kind. Then again, the squad of armed guardsmen around her probably suggested she was our equivalent of royalty, with that institution's traditionally dire taste in clothes. Katharine was at the back of the dais, leaning against a column. From time to time Hilda would look round and smile weakly when she saw that Katharine was still nearby. I reckoned it wouldn't be long before she started calling her Agnes.

I kept my distance, not fancying any more blasts of Katharine's righteous anger. The Public Order Directorate's mobile operations unit – a nice title for the clapped-out caravan that was almost as old as Lewis Hamilton – had been parked at the end of the row of Edlott ticket booths against the Princes Street Gardens railing. Davie, Hamilton and I tried to coordinate the guard activities but there were so many personnel in the area that we had to leave most of them to their own devices. Time went by incredibly slowly and I found myself sticking my head out every few minutes to check that Hilda and Katharine were still in position. We had auxiliaries with binoculars all round the area but none of them reported any suspicious sightings.

Finally, there was a buzz on one of the caravan's phones.

“Senior guardian's vehicle approaching,” a red-haired guardswoman announced.

We piled out of the door and moved through the crowd towards the rostrum. Loud music that was supposed to combine local folk rhythms and stately magnificence blared from the speakers hanging under the streetlights as Sophia arrived in an open carriage. Fortunately the horses weren't startled by the noise or the crowds. She stepped down gracefully in front of the dais, wearing a white blouse and a long Enlightenment tartan skirt that must have been horrendously hot. The culture guardian came over to greet her. The seats on the platform were now full, Hilda still to the forefront and Katharine next to her. I spotted Nasmyth 05 to the rear, a notebook in his hand and a lot of sweat on his brow. I'd been keeping track of him. He hadn't been anywhere apart from the Culture Directorate until he arrived here. He seemed to be taking his department's big day very seriously. To his left was a group of citizens sporting fake smiles and historical costumes. They were former winners of the lottery. At least Fordyce Kennedy had managed to avoid this parade.

There was more strident music, then the culture guardian stepped up to the microphone at the front of the rostrum and started blathering on about the wonders of Edinburgh and, in particular, Edlott. Maybe he was working to a subtle plan, because the tourists soon stopped paying attention to him and got stuck into buying more lottery tickets. Eventually his voice rose to a crescendo as he introduced the senior guardian. There was a round of applause which started off feebly but was quickly boosted by the large number of auxiliaries present. They should have been concentrating on spotting Allie Kennedy – all of them had been issued with a copy of his file photo.

As Sophia rose from her seat, Nasmyth 05 appeared in front of the platform. He ushered on a group of porters pushing a clear plastic, heart-shaped contraption. It looked as if it had been ripped out of a replica dinosaur's chest and the maroon streamers trailing from it were like severed arteries. Trust the Culture Directorate to consign Edlott's balls to the emblem of the city. By this time I'd pushed my way to the front of the crowd. I caught Katharine's eye. She smiled humourlessly and gave a quick shake of her head. Being forced to listen to Council bullshit was probably the worst torture she could imagine. I wasn't exactly enjoying myself either. At least Hilda had perked up. She seemed to be trying to follow events, her face more animated.

“Dear and honoured visitors,” Sophia said, her voice ringing across the crowd from the speakers. “The independent state of Edinburgh is proud to welcome you to this inaugural international draw of the city lottery. We, the representatives of the citizen body on the Council of City Guardians, hope you will agree that Edlott is the ultimate lottery. The ultimate thrill.” She looked round the gathered multitude and graced them with a smile warmer than any I'd ever received. “Have you all bought your tickets?”

There was a hiatus as tour guides translated the senior guardian's words and hustled the few remaining customers to the booths. Sophia watched as the activity gradually subsided and the ticket sellers began to pull down the shutters. Nasmyth 05 nodded to her when all the booths were closed.

“And now it's time to roll the balls!” she cried with remarkable zeal. Guardians will do anything for tourist money.

The former winners at the edge of the podium pulled flags from their pockets and started waving them frantically. The only thing that suggested Sophia might be uncomfortable with her involvement in this idiocy was the involuntary step to the rear that she took when the first ball was ceremonially dropped into the heart-shaped container by the culture guardian. She stayed away from the microphone as the preparations for the draw continued, beads of sweat glistening on her forehead.

Then, as the last ball went in, it happened. There was a sudden movement to Sophia's left. Arms were wrapped round her neck and chest and she was forced to bend backwards, her legs unable to open much in the tartan skirt. The crowd gave a collective gasp, then everything went quiet and the balls in the drum rolled slowly to a standstill. Katharine was motionless, leaning forward in her seat with her mouth open. As I looked closer, I saw the small bottle that had been jammed between Sophia's lips.

“Dalrymple! Tell the guard to stand back!” Hilda's harsh voice was picked up by the microphone and projected over the silent mass of people like feedback from a seriously spaced-out guitarist. Her eyes focused on me. “You know what's in the flask, don't you?”

I nodded. “No one's going to make a move on you, Hilda.” I could see Hamilton to my left. I signalled to him to call off his people. God knows where Davie had got to. The guards responded to his command and space began to clear around Hilda and Sophia.

I stepped towards the rostrum. “What do we do now?” I shouted.

“What we do, citizen, is go for a wee talk,” Hilda said, her voice shrill. She dragged Sophia to the left, heading off the platform. In front of them I saw Nasmyth 05 trying to get out of the way, his face as pale as suet.

“Get the front door open,” Hilda yelled.

“Keep the crowd back,” I said to Hamilton. Auxiliaries started doing that. I saw guardsmen at the north end of the mock temple moving tourists away from what had been the main entrance to the building when it was a gallery. Hamilton took charge of the microphone. He was always at his best telling large numbers of people what to do. He asked for calm and a restrained clearance of the area, pausing to allow the guides to translate. I followed Hilda and Sophia round the front corner. They were on the steps under the columns, frightened tourists spilling away from them on to Princes Street.

“What the hell's going on?” Davie said from behind me.

“Where have you been?” I demanded.

“Sorry. Caught short.” He stared ahead. “Is that Hilda Kennedy with the senior guardian?”

I nodded. “Ready to give her a lethal dose of the Ultimate Usquebaugh.”

“Bloody hell. What now?”

“She wants to talk. Keep close.”

I waved the guard personnel on the pavement back and went up the steps. The heavy door was standing ajar, a guardsman looking sheepish beside it.

“What happened?” I asked.

“She took my knife,” he said. “Told me she'd kill the senior guardian if I—”

“All right,” I said, biting my lip and turning to Davie. “Stay here. I'll keep in touch by mobile. And tell Hamilton to watch his step. If Hilda Kennedy wants to be escorted out of the city, we'd better comply. Otherwise we'll be a senior guardian short.”

Hilda's voice came ringing from the marble halls. “Dalrymple! Get in here on your own or the bitch dies.”

“Jesus,” Davie gasped. “Do you want my knife, Quint?”

I shook my head. “That'll just make things worse.”

“Worse?” Davie said as I went in. “How could they possibly get worse?”

Chapter Twenty-One

Hilda Kennedy wasn't taking any chances. She dragged Sophia well inside the disused building and found a spot in a long room that offered no cover to anyone trying to sneak up behind her. I walked in slowly, my footsteps ringing in the empty hall. It had been the Culture Directorate's headquarters until a few years ago but now it was empty. There had been plans to turn it into a disco but the acoustics were too bad, even for music as dire as that.