Read Online House of Dust by Paul Johnston - Free Book Online Page B

Andrew.” First names were the way in Glasgow – something to do with equality and fraternity.
    â€œWhat’s this all about, for the love of God?” he asked. “Could the arm in the bath just be some kind of a sick joke?”
    I opened the door and glanced back at him. “I doubt the donor’s laughing.”
    Back in the vacant flat upstairs Davie and I checked their statements. Duart’s secretary said the same as his boss and, since no one missing an arm had turned up inside the building and neither of them had been seen leaving the complex, we moved on to other concerns. We’d covered several procedural issues with the command centre when there was a tap on the door.
    â€œIt’s open,” I shouted.
    Doctor Verzeni appeared, his thick hair ruffled. “Citizen Dalrymple,” he said, tripping over the consonantal clusters in my name. “Administrator Raphael would like to see you.”
    â€œRight. Give me five minutes.”
    The doctor stayed where he was. “I don’t think you understand,” he said slowly. “We do not keep the administrator waiting.” The menace in his tone made me look up from my notes.
    â€œLook, pal—” Davie began, breaking off when he saw me shake my head.
    â€œI want to keep her sweet,” I said under my breath. The look on his face told me what he thought of that. “Finish off making arrangements, will you?”
    Verzeni led me back into the Bell Rooms and I began the long walk to the lounge furniture. As I got nearer the plush Walter Scott sofa a frisson of surprise ran up my spine. The administrator was talking to herself.
    She wrapped things up as I reached the end of the room, the only words that I heard being something like “imperative that camera locates subject soonest”. It was only when she touched the silver appendage round her neck that I got a hint of what she’d been doing.
    Raphael registered the direction of my gaze. “This is my nostrum,” she said, raising her hand to her chest again.
    â€œYour what?”
    â€œMy nostrum. It is what we call our personal computer cum communication device.” She beckoned me to come closer and tilted the device towards me. Something she did with her finger made a tiny screen filled with letters and digits appear. Another movement on the rear brought up a selection of icons. “It’s also voice-operated,” the administrator explained. “My own voice is the only one that activates this particular unit, of course.”
    â€œOf course,” I said, thinking of the new equipment I’d seen in the command centre. Even if it was Bronze Age compared with this. “Who were you talking to?”
    She opened her eyes wide at me in admonition. “That is none of your concern, Citizen Dalrymple.” Then her expression slackened. “Not that I have anything to hide. I was talking to my colleagues in New Oxford.”
    â€œTelling them how uncivilised we are in Edinburgh?”
    She shook her head. “I wouldn’t say that.” She shot a glance at the bathroom door. “Though I could have done without the object in my bath.” She turned to me. “Sit down and tell me what you’re doing about that.”
    I ran through the sparse fruits of my enquiries then moved on to the preliminary examination of the arm.
    Raphael raised her hand. “I’ve already spoken to the medical guardian about that,” she said. “I gather she’s intrigued by the nature of the trauma.”
    I nodded, suddenly aware that the administrator was less calm and collected than she’d been earlier. She’d laid one hand on top of the other on the upper of her crossed legs, the implant in her wrist glinting, and the slight tremor in the fingers attracted my attention. Maybe the shock was kicking in now, though she told me that she’d seen worse. And why had she spoken directly to Sophia? That