Paul Johnston [Johnston - Impolitic Corpses

Contents

The Alex Mavros series

A DEEPER SHADE OF BLUE

(also known as CRYING BLUE MURDER)

THE LAST RED DEATH

THE GOLDEN SILENCE

THE SILVER STAIN *

THE GREEN LADY *

THE BLACK LIFE *

THE WHITE SEA *

The Quint Dalrymple series

BODY POLITIC *

THE BONE YARD *

WATER OF DEATH *

THE BLOOD TREE *

THE HOUSE OF DUST *

HEADS OR HEARTS *

SKELETON BLUES *

IMPOLITIC CORPSES *

The Matt Wells series

THE DEATH LIST

THE SOUL COLLECTOR

MAPS OF HELL

THE NAMELESS DEAD

* available from Severn House

This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the authors and publishers rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

First published in Great Britain and the USA 2019 by

SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

Eardley House, 4 Uxbridge Street, London W8 7SY.

This eBook edition first published in 2019 by Severn House Digital

an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited

Trade paperback edition first published

in Great Britain and the USA 2020 by

SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD.

Copyright 2019 by Paul Johnston.

The right of Paul Johnston to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8908-9 (cased)

ISBN-13: 978-1-78029-640-1 (trade paper)

ISBN-13: 978-1-4483-0339-7 (e-book)

Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

This ebook produced by

Palimpsest Book Production Limited,

Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland

To Neil Eric Swan,

Iuvenes dumb eramus

Here I go again. Mega-thanks to Kate Lyall Grant and her team at Severn House for their habitual excellence in every regard. Ditto, with a coup de blanc, to my longstanding and ever supportive agent, Broo Doherty, of the DHH Literary Agency. And glasses raised maybe not so often, so quickly, the next time to David Destructor McDowell for essential Embra information. Great gratitude, too, to Claire and Chris for various vital forms of backing. And love eternal to Roula, Maggie and Alexander for filling my life with, well, stuff.

N ovember 2038. Snow time.

The three-year-old reconstituted state of Scotland that name had prevailed over the old chestnuts Alba, Scotia and Caledonia is doing remarkably well. So much so that sceptics such as I are beginning to get suspicious. Of course, living in Edinburgh, confirmed again as the nations capital, has its benefits. I doubt the farmers up to their oxters in climate-change-induced drifts of the white stuff that has been covering the countrys hills since mid-October are dancing the fling, Highland or Lowland. Baa, baa, black, white or black-faced sheep, have you any wool? Yes, sir, yes, sir, but youre not getting your clippers on it for many a month.

The government, in power for two years now after free and fair elections really has turned out to be progressive, competent and serious. Given that I tangled horns in the past with both the presiding minister, the opposition leader and several other members of the cabinet, never mind numerous peoples and municipal representatives, especially those from Edinburgh, Ive been kicking myself on a daily basis. Still, a capitalist state, even one with a decent number of checks and balances, creates many an opportunity for dishonest behaviour. Which is good news for private investigators like me. ScotPol, the national public order organization, needs all the help it can get. Theres also an increased interest in reading about bad men and women, as well as in those who do the writing. Yes, one has become a published and lionized author. Put out more saltires and roaring big cats, but ditch the unicorns: we dont need any more mythical creatures, human or otherwise, in our brave new republic.

Then again, life isnt completely cloudless. My hairs gone as white as the braes, the Enlightenment-era fillings keep falling out of my teeth, and Im heavier than my wife, adopted daughter and son standing on the scales together. When Edinburgh was independent, badly fed and either drenched by the Big Wet or sweating in the Big Heat, we had more pressing problems. Like staying alive, avoiding arrest, nailing our nefarious leaders Maybe I took the latter more seriously than I should have.

But hark, the doorbell rings and, after I press the button, heavy boots thunder up the tenement stairs sixty-four of them with no reduction in speed as altitude is gained. My partner in battling crime. If not, my many enemies have finally decided to give me a terminal battering. The way I often feel, it would be a mercy. Like in the Sunnyland Slim song Be Careful How You Vote, you never know whats round the corner in a democracy creating more wealth than it knows what to do with.

At least in the benevolent dictatorship that used to run this city you knew whom to trust. No one.

A fter looking through the spyhole, I opened the door a split second before a large fist shivered my timber. Davie Oliphant stumbled over the threshold I having neatly stepped to the side and nearly went his length on the parquet floor.

Bastard, Quint, he said, regaining his balance. His large frame loomed over me, though the intimidation was leavened by his clothing. Davie hadnt got over not having to wear a City Guard uniform and his pale-blue herringbone jacket and grey trousers were ill-fitting and crumpled.

Good afternoon to you too, big man. I think theres some shortbread.

His expression lightened. How much shortbread?

An unopened tin.

He headed for the kitchen. Sophia and the kids not around?

Violin lesson.

Davie stopped rooting around in the cupboards. Hecks not even four yet.

For his sins, which are many, hes having to listen to Maisie.

He grinned. Shes great. Best eleven-year-old in Embra on that thing.

So they say. I still prefer the guitar.

Aye, right. He ripped the lid from a red tartan tin. When are you going to put that blues band together?

I was filling the kettle. When I have time.

I.e. never, he said, spraying crumbs.

I shook my head despairingly and made coffee. You could get decent beans these days and I could afford them, but the memory of Enlightenment beverages was still hard to shift. Davie, my loyal sidekick for eighteen years, deserved the best, though I wasnt going to tell him that.

He ran a hand through his thick locks. I know, he said, catching my eye. There are a few grey ones. But nothing like your white-out.

Detective Leader, I dont like your tone. I put Maisies Beethoven is God mug in front of him. Amend it or youll get Hectors Highland cow drinking cup.

Yes, sir, right away, sir. Wait a minute youre not my boss any more. He inserted more shortbread into his maw. Away and boil your