Water of Death by Paul Johnston Read Free Book Online Page B

insistently.
    He caught my tone and looked up. “Oh, very well. Body found by the Water of Leith. Sounds like heatstroke or the like.”
    â€œTell me more,” I said, leaning over him.
    â€œMiddle-aged male. No identification on the body.” The guardian glanced at me then reached over for a buff folder. “Ah, I see what you mean. What age is that missing lottery-winner?”
    â€œFifty-two.”
    â€œYou don’t think it’s him, do you?”
    â€œOnly one way to find out, Lewis,” I replied, heading for the door. “Call your people and tell them to keep their sticky fingers off the body till we get there.”

Chapter Three

    We piled into Hamilton’s Jeep and headed off the esplanade. His driver, a middle-aged guardswoman with a heavily freckled face, seemed to be enjoying herself as she turned down Ramsay Lane at speed.
    â€œWhat do you reckon?” I said to the guardian as we roared past the Assembly Hall where the Council used to hold its daily meetings. “Murder, suicide, accident or natural causes?”
    â€œMy driver has a perfect safety record.”
    I almost fell off my seat. There had never been much evidence that Lewis Hamilton possessed a sense of humour, let alone that he was prepared to show it off in front of his staff.
    â€œSurely we shouldn’t be prejudging, Dalrymple,” he went on. “But if you insist on playing games, our statistics clearly show that death from natural causes is the most likely, especially at this time of year. Accidental death comes next. Apart from dissident-related killings around the city line, there have been hardly any murders in Edinburgh since 2022. And, I’m glad to say, suicide is still illegal.”
    I put my hands out as we swung on to the Mound and down towards Princes Street. The guardian was having a veiled go at the members of the Council who had tried to repeal the regulation banning suicide. There had been an idea that citizens would feel they had greater control over their lives, or rather deaths. The conservative wing had won that particular battle.
    I took in the panorama from our elevated position. To the right protruded the stump of the Enlightenment Monument, as the original Council had renamed the Scott Monument. Its upper sections have been dropping off regularly in recent years and there’s now a rectangular structure of scaffolding covered with tarpaulin around the top. There are vast maroon hearts painted on each side, along with the names of the foreign companies that have done sponsorship deals with the Council.
    To my left a dustcloud was rising from the racetrack in the gardens. During the Big Heat spectators watch the horses from air-conditioned stands that look like a giant’s greenhouses. What used to be lawns and flowerbeds are mostly rock gardens filled with cacti these days, though the floral clock has been kept in operation. It was being watered by a morose Parks Department labourer who had his hose at arm’s length like he’d been asked to hold someone else’s dick. Splatters of the city’s precious water raked our windows as we reached the main thoroughfare. Before we crossed to Hanover Street I caught an eyeful of awnings and flags. Edinburgh has turned into an open-air cafe society, at least in the centre where the tourists go. They were easy enough to spot, their well-cut clothes in stark contrast to the faded Supply Directorate waiters’ uniforms and overalls worn by the citizens who work in the tourist zone. Some young Chinese were watching satellite television from micro-receivers on their wrists. No doubt they were keeping up with the Beijing Stock Market – pandaflation had been rampant.
    â€œI still don’t see why you’re coming with me,” the guardian said testily. “The chances that this is your missing Edlott winner can’t be very great.”
    I shrugged. “So we rule out this guy and I get back to