Body Politic by Paul Johnston Read Free Book Online

could that be? She’d been . . . torn apart, but the blood was only in the corner where she was lying.”
    â€œYes, how could that be?” I tightened my grip on her bony shoulders. “Tell me exactly what you saw as you approached her.”
    â€œThe gaping hole,” Linda replied without hesitation, her voice as bereft of emotion as a hanging judge’s. “The great hole in her abdomen. Like an animal had taken a bite out of her.” This time she didn’t sob, but she seemed unaware that the door had opened quietly. The public order guardian came in.
    â€œWhat about her face?” I asked quickly. “Did you see it?”
    â€œNo, thank God. Her tunic was wrapped around her head. It was soaked in blood.” She was looking at the floor. “Is it true what I heard, that her liver was cut out?”
    â€œYou shouldn’t pay attention to gossip, guardswoman,” said Hamilton firmly. “Have you finished, Dalrymple?”
    â€œScarcely even begun, guardian,” I replied. “Scarcely even begun.”
    â€œWhere to now?” Davie asked. “The infirmary?”
    I was looking at the mobile phone that was fitted beneath the Land-Rover’s rusty vent. “Yes, the infirmary. Remind me about reporting procedures in guarded premises, will you?”
    â€œEvery hour, on the hour. New code word each time.”
    Which is a pretty good example of the Council’s mania for security. No wonder they need so many auxiliaries. I didn’t share my thoughts with Davie, though I had a feeling he might have agreed.
    â€œSo what happened at Stevenson Hall last night? Did the killer time his arrival and departure to avoid the calls, or was he just lucky? Or . . . I wonder.” I glanced at the bearded figure beside me in the dim light from the dashboard. This was a chance to find out how enthusiastic he really was. “Davie, while I’m at the postmortem can you talk to the guard commander who was on duty this morning? Tell him you’re working with me; he’ll know that I have Council authority by now. Find out whether Sarah – I mean the dead guardswoman Knox 96 – gave all the correct responses.”
    â€œNo problem.”
    Most auxiliaries would have had a hard time taking orders from an ordinary citizen, but Davie didn’t seem to care. Maybe I would be able to make use of him. If he managed to squeeze an answer out of the commander.
    The Land-Rover swung into Lauriston Place, just missing a horse-drawn carriage containing four tourists. We came to the gateway of the city’s largest hospital. It bore the ubiquitous maroon heart emblem and the legend “The City Provides”. Is that right? I thought. Provides what? Mutilation for female auxiliaries?
    Before I was five yards away from the vehicle, I heard Davie speaking on the mobile.
    I walked into the mortuary and my nostrils were instantly flushed out by the sweet and sour reek of formaldehyde.
    â€œAh, there you are, citizen,” said Yellowlees, the medical guardian, with a warm smile. He looked so welcoming that I clenched my buttocks. Then I remembered the reputation he had for womanising years ago. “We’re ready to begin.” He was standing next to the slab where the cadaver had been laid out.
    Hamilton came in, his face turning greyer than his beard when he saw the dead guardswoman. He’d always been squeamish at post-mortems. I’m not particularly proud that I can turn my feelings off temporarily. A nursing auxiliary with a bust like the figurehead on a tea clipper handed us masks and gowns.
    Yellowlees nodded to her. “Very well, Simpson 134, start taking notes on –” he glanced at the tag on the subject’s ankle – “Knox 96.”
    â€œShe had a name, you know.”
    They all stared at me.
    â€œSarah Spence. In case you’re interested.”
    Simpson 134 was the first to look away.
    â€œReally?”