Body Politic Read Free Page A

start. I don’t suppose you’ve got a photo?” The Council has strictly controlled the taking of photographs, seeing them as a major element in the cult of the individual that had helped to destroy the United Kingdom.
    She showed me a small, blurred copy of a handsome young man who was looking straight into the camera with the hint of a mocking smile on his lips. “Just this, I’m afraid.” The only way people can get pictures of their loved ones is by sneaking photocopies of ID cards.
    â€œI’ll track down his file and see what it says. If it’s been brought up to date.”
    â€œCan you do that?” She was staring at me. “I thought citizens’ files were classified.”
    â€œDepends who you know.” That line usually provokes admiration, but Katharine Kirkwood just looked puzzled. “He’s twenty-four, so obviously he’s done his year on the border.”
    â€œFinished it three years ago.”
    â€œAnd you last saw him when exactly?”
    â€œTuesday before last, 10 March. I came round here. I often do.”
    I looked around the small room, keeping to myself the fact that over the last three months I’d had half a dozen cases of missing young people. I hadn’t found any of them. “Anything different? Anything been taken?”
    She got up and walked about, picking up and laying down objects that were clearly familiar to her. She went into the bedroom and re-emerged after a couple of minutes. “Everything’s as it always is. Adam’s very neat.”
    â€œIs there anything you haven’t told me, Katharine?”
    She looked like she was going to object to my use of her first name, but nothing came of it.
    â€œI need to know. If it turns out he’s part of some dissident cell, I’d prefer to be told before they start using me as a punchbag.”
    She shook her head. “No, he’s not a rebel. You can be sure of that.” She raised her hand to her forehead. “What worries me most is how he was the last time I saw him. Kind of nervous – not frightened exactly, but excited, as if something important was about to happen. I’ve never seen him like that before. He wouldn’t tell me about it. Said it was secret.”
    I didn’t like the sound of that and went into the bedroom to conceal my expression. If Adam Kirkwood was into something classified, I’d be giving myself a headache for nothing. Still, maybe she was worth it.
    Where he slept was unusually tidy, more like a barracks than a private room. The deal wardrobe contained labourer’s fatigues like mine and the few casual shirts and trousers that the average citizen possesses. A pair of size twelve running shoes took up one corner. When you look round a place you normally form an impression of the person who lives there. Not in Adam Kirkwood’s case. I felt like an archaeologist breathlessly opening a golden sarcophagus to find nothing but dust and moth-eaten shrouds.
    Back in the main room I continued snooping around, aware of Katharine’s eyes on me.
    â€œHow are you going to track him down?” she asked.
    I sat down on the sofa beside her. “I’ll check the archives first. I know my way around there. I’ve got contacts in other places too – the Misdemeanours Department, the Labour Directorate – to see if he’s been drafted into the mines or on to one of the city farms” – I skipped the hospitals, where unidentified bodies turn up more often than you might expect in a city whose population is carefully monitored – “the Deserters’ Register. Did your brother ever talk about crossing the border illegally?”
    Her eyes narrowed. “That’s what the guard asked too. Adam isn’t a deserter any more than I am. I don’t like the Council but Edinburgh’s safer than all the other cities. Neither of us wants to leave.” She moved her hand to her eyes