Skeleton Blues

by Paul Johnston

Overview

Ex-cop Quint Dalrymple discovers there is something very rotten in the independent city-state of Edinburgh in this near-future dystopian thriller.

Edinburgh, spring 2034. The weather’s balmy, there’s a referendum on whether to join a reconstituted Scotland coming up – and a tourist is found strangled. As usual, maverick detective Quint Dalrymple is called in to do the Council of City Guardians’ dirty work.

For the first time in his career, Quint is stumped by the complexity of the case. An explosion at the City Zoo is followed by the discovery of another body – and the prime suspect is nowhere to be found. Can Quint and his sidekick, Guard commander Davie, put a stop to the killings before the city erupts into open violence? Are the leaders of other Scottish states planning to take over Edinburgh, or is the source of unrest much closer to home? Quint must race to pull the threads together before he becomes one of the numerous skeletons on display …

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9780727885784
Publisher:	Severn House
Publication date:	04/01/2016
Series:	A Quint Dalrymple Mystery , #7
Edition description:	First World Publication
Pages:	256
Product dimensions:	5.70(w) x 8.60(h) x 1.10(d)

About the Author

Born and brought up in Edinburgh, Paul Johnston studied ancient and modern Greek at Oxford and now divides his time between Scotland and Greece. As well as four previous Alex Mavros novels, he is the author of the award-winning Quint and Matt Wells crime series.

Read an Excerpt

Skeleton Blues

A Quint Dalrymple Mystery

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By Paul Johnston

Severn House Publishers Limited

Copyright © 2016 Paul Johnston
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-78010-743-1

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CHAPTER 1

I was in the archives when I got the text message. It read, 'Major case. Where u?' My friend Davie never bothers writing his name and the cheap phone I'd been issued with didn't run to caller ID. I knew it was him, though. He was the City Guard commander in charge of violent crime and he frequently called on me, despite the fact that his boss thought I was a troublemaker. I tried my best.

'Busy on case,' I replied. 'Suck off.' The Council came down hard on swearing, though it claimed not to monitor mobiles. Anyway, it was true. I'd been taken on by the newly constituted Electoral Services Department to help with the voters' roll. A lot of citizens had illicitly left the city in recent months, doubtless convinced the referendum would change nothing.

'Murder,' came the reply. 'Guardian worried.'

That piqued my interest. For an investigator there's nothing like a murder and, for me, an anxious guardian was a bonus. I told Davie where I was and gathered up my papers.

A few minutes later a white 4×4 in City Guard markings pulled up outside what had been the main library when I was young.

'Busy on case,' he scoffed, as I got in. 'Someone lost their canary?' He executed a U-turn on George IV Bridge, scattering citizens on bicycles and getting a dead-eyed stare from a bus driver.

'You'd be surprised how many missing-pets cases I've been getting since the Council reversed the ban on them.'

Davie glanced at me. 'You're joking.'

'No, I'm not. Last week I traced a newt to the pond at —'

'Arsehole.'

'Charming.' I grabbed my seat as he took a hard left on to the Royal Mile, the Guard personnel manning the checkpoint having swiftly raised the barrier. 'So what's this murder?'

'Wait and see,' he said, with a grin.

'Let me guess. Auxiliary?'

'No.'

'Ordinary citizen?'

'No.'

'What, then? Something in the zoo? A peccary?'

'A what? No, much worse.'

'Than a peccary?'

'Piss off, Quint.' Davie pulled up on the esplanade outside the castle and we walked between the statues of Wallace and Bruce that stand guard at the gate.

'Are you really not going to tell me?'

'Can't. The guardian wants to brief you personally.'

'Don't tell me he's signed off on my involvement.'

'He didn't have a choice.'

My stomach somersaulted. 'It's never a tourist.'

'Got it in four.'

He kept his mouth shut till we reached the Governor's House, which had been the public order guardian's quarters for decades.

'Weeks till the referendum and one of the city's precious paying visitors is killed?'

'Try not to look so happy.'

I did what I could.

The public order guardian was in his fifties, but he looked twenty years younger. Then again, he was only appointed eight months ago and the cares of office hadn't got to him yet. Or maybe they just had.

'Ah, Dalrymple.'

'Call me, Quint.' Pause. 'Jim.'

He gave me a cold stare. 'James, if you must.' In theory even guardians could be addressed by their first names these days, but they didn't like it.

'So, you've got a dead tourist on your hands, James.'

The guardian glared at Davie.

'I had to attract his attention somehow,' my friend said defensively.

'Very well. You understand this is confidential, Dalrymple.'

'It's not the first time I've handled a tourist murder.' I cast my mind back. 'Though it's been fourteen years. Usually they're citizens and auxiliaries.'

James Michie, tall and well built though nothing like as solid as Davie, handed me a paper file marked 'Guardian Eyes Only'.

'You're not to take that out of this office.' He sat down and ran a hand over his curly brown hair. 'And spare me your customary suspicions that the city's servants are responsible.'

'You've heard how much I love auxiliaries?' Since he was appointed, there hadn't been a murder in the city – at least one that was deemed worthy of my attention. 'Do you know how many guardians and their subordinates I've found with dirty hands over the years?'

'Do you keep a count?' Michie asked acidly.

'I don't have the time.'

Davie applied his boot to my right calf.

'Never mind about that,' I said, opening the file. I took in the salient details and handed it back.

The guardian looked surprised. 'Is that it?'

'I prefer to view the body and the scene with as few preconceptions as possible.'

'I see. What else do you need?'

'The commander here.'

'Very well.'

'And an authorization enabling me to —'

'Question anyone in the city, including guardians. I know.' He gave me a plastic-covered card.

'The service here is much improved,' I observed.

'I believe you still have a mobile phone,' Michie said. 'Although you should have returned it with your last authorization.'

'Slipped my mind,' I said, looking out the window. I could see across the water to Fife. 'I take it you'll want me to attend the Council meeting this evening.'

'You take it correctly.'

We then took our leave.

'You don't have to be such a smartarse,' Davie said, as we walked down to the esplanade. 'Oh, I forgot. You do.'

'You expect me to kowtow to a prick like Jimmy Michie?'

'He's not a prick. He's good at his job.'

'Uh-huh.'

'You take the piss out of guardians on principle, Quint.'

'Wrong. In this case I was taking the mickey.'

'Ha fucking ha. Someone's been murdered.'

'I haven't forgotten. I'm trying to keep my mind off it till I see what happened.'

We got into the 4×4 and he set off at his usual breakneck speed. The tourist zone didn't look any different from usual, but as soon as we passed the checkpoint on Dundas Street the referendum took centre stage. There were Council posters encouraging people to vote 'yes', and banners and posters from the various parties involved, almost all of them demanding that people vote to join the newly reconstituted Scotland that was supported by almost all the currently independent states – Glasgow, Aberdeen, most of the highlands and islands, Perth, Fife and so on. Our own Council wanted a 'yes' vote to share in the wealth of democratic Glasgow – a world leader in both digital technology and fashion – and in the oil and gas that had been found off the north-west coast. The guardians' aim was to stay in power with minimal changes to what they thought was a benevolent dictatorship, at the same time as benefiting from the union. It wasn't clear how a future Scotland would work, but some kind of federalization was on the board.

Davie took two right turns and stopped in a cul-de-sac.

'Eyre Terrace,' I said. 'How did a tourist end up here?'

'I thought you were keeping an open mind.'

'Just thinking aloud, guardsman.'

'Commander.'

'Jackass.'

There were two more Guard 4×4s in the street.

'Subtle,' I said.

'I told the buggers to keep a low profile.' Davie stormed over to a guardswoman who was leaning against the nearest vehicle.

'Second floor,' I said, when he came back.

'I know, dung for brains.'

'What was her excuse?'

'Didn't you recognize the 4×4? The medical guardian's here.'

I might have known that Sophia, my supposedly secret lover, wouldn't have been able to keep away.

We found the scene-of-crime team packing up when we got to the second-floor flat.

'Afternoon, citizen,' said the man in charge. I'd run into him often at sites of violent death. 'We're finished. The medical guardian's people will take the body to the infirmary.'

'You still won't call me Quint, will you, Andy?'

He narrowed his eyes. 'Raeburn 297 to you, citizen. You were demoted.'

Some Guard personnel have never got over that, even though I left the Guard in 2015 on my request and demotions have been forgiven – one of the Council's many attempts to make the 'perfect' city more user-friendly.

'Anything you have a burning desire to tell me?' I asked, knowing what the reply would be.

'My report will be in before the Council meeting.'

'Wonderful.' I wanted to see things for myself, but scene-of-crimes people can speed the process up – though they can also mislead, intentionally or otherwise.

'The body's in the bedroom,' Raeburn 297 said. 'Quint.'

I laughed, then looked around the living room. It was a standard two-bedroom citizen's place, though the curtains – some kind of red plush – were unusual and definitely not from the Supply Directorate. The sofa and armchair were newer and more comfortable than mine, though that wasn't difficult.

'The named resident is one Clarinda Towart,' Davie said.

'Did she find the body?'

'No, she hasn't been seen today, either here or at her work. I've distributed her photo and description to all barracks.'

'Let's have a look.' He handed me his file. The unusually named Clarinda was blonde, thirty-four and very attractive. 'She's in the Prostitution Services Department.'

'Aye. Normally to be found in the Waverley Hotel.' That was the city's most expensive tourist establishment.

'What was she doing bringing a client home?'

'If that's what happened. Good question.'

'Thanks, sidekick. We'll follow it up after we view the body. Who reported it, then?'

'Anonymous phone call to the command centre at 11.58 a.m. Male voice, muffled.'

I heard footsteps in the other room.

'What are you waiting for?' said Sophia McIlvanney.

'Medical guardian,' Davie said respectfully.

'Are you coming in or not?' she said, eyeing us impatiently. 'I do have other duties.'

I resisted the temptation to call her 'darling'. Just.

'Good afternoon to you, too.' I'd last seen her two nights ago. She had been tender then, but that wasn't her default mode when she was working.

We followed her into the bedroom. There was a strong smell of excrement. An oriental man with light brown skin was lying face up on the floor. He was naked, his arms and legs open wide. It was hard to judge his age as he was completely bald.

'Cause of death was strangulation,' Sophia said, pointing to the deep red furrow on his throat. 'Ligature, thin strip of leather half an inch wide – the technicians have it. Time of death between two and four last night, I'm estimating. The post-mortem may narrow that down.'

I kneeled down beside the dead man. 'No watch.'

'Stolen, probably. His clothes are gone too.'

I waited for her to continue. She wasn't fond of interruptions.

'No evidence of sexual activity – no condom either. There's no obvious marking on the body apart from —'

'The bruise on his sternum, suggesting that the killer held him down by one or both knees.'

'Correct,' she said tartly. 'Of course, it's easier to garotte from behind.'

'Maybe this killer likes looking in his victim's eyes,' said Davie.

'A pleasant thought.' I looked back at Sophia. 'Did you find any ID?'

'Yes,' she confirmed. 'Raeburn 297 has it. I didn't catch his name, but the victim's Malaysian.'

'Chung Keng Quee,' Davie supplied. 'I've got a guardswoman checking what the Tourism Directorate knows about him.'

I looked around the bedroom. The walls had been painted scarlet and the bedclothes were a similar colour and silk, as far as I could tell.

Sophia was watching me. 'Yes, silk. This has the characteristics of a bawdy house.'

That made me laugh. 'Have you been reading historical novels?'

Spots of red appeared on her cheeks. 'I suppose you'd call it a knocking shop.'

'Whatever it is, it shouldn't be for tourists.' I turned to Davie. 'We'll need to ask the checkpoints, not just the nearest one, if anyone of the victim's description was let through.'

He nodded and went into the living room to make calls.

'Well, this is nice,' I said, moving closer to Sophia.

She stepped away. 'You do know that Malaysia is a major player in the Far East and one of the city's best sources of high-paying tourists?'

'Actually, yes. Presumably that's why Michie's got me on the job. When will you have the p-m results?' She recently started doing autopsies again to keep her eyes and hands in; previously she'd concentrated on directorate administration and policy.

'Before the Council meeting.'

'Can you brief me first? I don't want to go in there with just my dick in my hand.'

She slapped my face, not very hard. 'You know I don't like that kind of language.'

'It's a quote,' I said, keeping my distance. 'Well, a paraphrase. From The Godfather.'

She looked at me blankly.

'Seminal 1970s gangster film.' The Council had allowed citizens to see many previously banned movies as part of its 'look how good we are to you' drive a few years ago. That didn't mean its own members watched them.

Sophia shook her head. 'Popular culture is a waste of time.'

'Not of mine.'

She pressed buttons on her mobile and ordered paramedics to pick the body up.

'I'll see you later, Quint,' she said.

'If you're lucky.'

She raised her hand, but then gave me a sweet smile.

Victory.

'Getting anywhere?' I asked Davie.

'The night squads from all the north-side checkpoints have been told to go to the castle. If they don't have anything, I'll get all the others up.'

'Taxis?'

'They aren't allowed outside the central zone with tourists.' He scowled.

'Unless —'

'Extra money changed hands. I doubt you'll get anyone to own up to that.'

'Their numbers will have been registered at the checkpoints, even if the passenger managed to ...' He broke off when he realized that Guard personnel could have been bribed too. 'Shit!'

'Quite. Any news on the unusually named Clarinda Towart?'

'No.'

'Hasn't anyone noticed that the victim's missing from the Waverley?'

'The maid reported that the "Do Not Disturb" sign was on the handle. I've got a man on the door.'

'We'd better get up there, then.'

We headed out.

'Anyone spoken to the neighbours?'

'The guardian told me not to.'

I sighed. We'd been down this road often in the past. The Council was very keen on discretion. As if the locals wouldn't have noticed the Guard vehicles in the street.

'He didn't tell me though,' I said, stepping across the landing.

The scuffed black door opened a second after I knocked.

'City Guard,' I said, allowing Davie to lour over the short thin man in a grey singlet. 'Can we come in, please?'

'Ah ken you,' the citizen said, blinking. 'You're Dalrymple, that detective guy.'

'But Ah don't ken you,' I said, smiling to put him at his ease.

'Charlie Dixon,' he said, stepping back and ushering us in. 'You'll have tae excuse the mess. Since ma wife died ...' The words trailed away.

'Sorry to hear that,' I said. 'Recently?'

'Aye, last month. They cut aff both her breasts, but it wus too late.'

'I'm very sorry, Charlie,' I said, motioning to Davie to keep his distance.

The living room was in a hell of a state, clothes hanging off the furniture and dirty plates on the table, chairs and floor.

'You should be able to get help from the Social Services Department.'

'Och, Ah cannae be bothered.'

'Davie, will you call them?' If the commander was irritated by the request, he didn't show it.

Charlie cleared a space for me on a less than pristine chair. He sat down opposite, failing to notice that he was crushing a copy of the Edinburgh Guardian. Best thing for it.

'Can you tell me anything about the woman opposite?'

He looked up at me blearily. I'd noticed several empty bottles of citizen-issue whisky around the place.

'Lady Clarinda?' he said bitterly, scratching his stubble with long fingernails. 'Thinks she walks on water, that yin does. She always treated Linda like durt. Ah dinnae speak tae her.'

'Do you know what she does?'

'Obvious, isn't it? She's a fancy woman. One o' they that whores themselves for the city.'

I shared his disgust. The Council should have stopped providing prostitutes of both sexes to tourists years ago, but they were a major source of income.

'Have you ever seen her with a client, Charlie?'

His eyes widened. 'Whit, doon here? She's in one ae the big hotels. Besides, tourists arenae allowed oot o' the zone, and you wouldnae see her wi' an ordinary citizen.' He caught my eye. 'Here, whit's happened? What are they Guard cars doin' in the road? There hasnae been a murdur?'

'What makes you say that?'

'Only ... Ah heard a right racket last night. Shoutin' and screamin', mustae been aboot two in the mornin'.'

'Clarinda?'

Charlie thought about that.

'Dinnae ken. Didnae sound like her. One o' the voices was pretty shrill though.'

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Skeleton Blues by Paul Johnston. Copyright © 2016 Paul Johnston. Excerpted by permission of Severn House Publishers Limited.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Editorial Reviews

★ 02/01/2016
In 2034, the independent city-state of Edinburgh, the setting of Johnston’s excellent seventh Quint Dalrymple whodunit (after 2015’s Heads or Hearts), is a repressive Orwellian regime, governed by a council of guardians. Though Quint, a skilled detective, has resigned from the Public Order Directorate, Jim Michie, the current head of his old department, asks him to handle a sensitive murder investigation. A Malaysian tourist, Chung Keng Quee, was found strangled in the bedroom of Clarinda Towart, an employee of the Prostitution Services Department, who has gone missing. The authorities are puzzled why Clarinda brought a client home. Since Edinburgh is on the eve of a referendum about joining a newly reconstituted Scotland, Michie wants the case closed quickly and discreetly. When Quint interviews a witness at the local zoo, a bomb explodes, killing the witness as well as a pygmy hippo. As the stakes rise, Johnston keeps the logical twists coming while making his dystopian future plausible. (Apr.)

Publishers Weekly

2016-01-21
Beneath the skin of Johnston's seventh dystopian whodunit is the threat of a revolution so virulent it could bring the whole series to an end. Enlightenment Edinburgh is still independent in 2034, but its citizens are sorely tempted to rejoin Scotland after "decades of violence and mob rule." As he awaits the referendum that will determine his hometown's fate, former City Guard Quintillian Dalrymple gets an urgent request from his old friend Davie Hume, the City Guard commander in charge of violent crime, to consult on the strangling of a Malaysian visitor in a missing prostitute's home. Clarinda Towart of the Prostitution Services Department had every right to entertain Chung Kee Quee in the city's central zone. So why did she take the trouble to break the law by smuggling him into the flat where he was killed? Battling as usual both the criminal element that threatens to engulf the city from below and the bureaucrats who are preying on it from above, Quint follows a torturous path that links the dead man to a strangled gangster, a family of dwarfs, a dangerous new toxin, and a legion of skeletons. But he can't possibly guess how closely the mystery will be tied to the impending death of his own cancer-stricken father. Quint's previous consultations (Heads or Hearts, 2015, etc.) have guaranteed high body counts, and this one is no exception. This time, however, the running battle between the lowlifes and the avowed guardians of the law is so widespread, uncompromising, and intense that it's hard to see how either Quint or Edinburgh can possibly survive. The plot, which is even more labyrinthine than usual, will challenge the ingenuity, not to say the memory, of the staunchest readers. But Johnston's nightmarish Edinburgh is so densely imagined that it'll linger in the memory long after the plot is forgotten.

Kirkus Reviews

"Quint is a charismatic and tenacious central character who is blessed with the ability to get straight to the point. He is a maverick outsider who has every reason to distrust the council of guardians. The story is well plotted and compelling. I found myself glued to the story until the end. I have no hesitation in recommending this novel."

P Hayers

"If you like mysteries with a different twist or novels set in a dystopian society then I recommend Skeleton Blues, even if you haven’t read any of the other Quint Dalrymple books."

A Milton