House of Dust by Paul Johnston

sitting shoulder to shoulder in the front of the Land-Rover that Davie was driving at full speed towards the infirmary.
    She shrugged. “I’ve been in the drop-in centre in Ferry Road since yesterday evening. The usual stream of desperate kids, most of them more frightened than aggressive. I tried to give them what advice I could.” She shook her head. “There was even one poor lad, Gus was his name, who’d had his wrist broken. He wouldn’t tell me how.”
    I managed to stop my jaw from dropping.
    â€œHe was worried about going to the infirmary but I eventually managed to pack him off there this afternoon. Anyway, some boys I’ve known for a couple of months came in to play table tennis. It was one of them who’d heard a rumour about one of the L.L.s being attacked in Socrates Lane.”
    â€œWhat was his name?” I asked.
    â€œOh no,” Katharine said firmly. “I’m not landing him in it. He wasn’t involved, I’m sure of it.”
    I nudged her gently. “Not your source. You said you could identify the victim.”
    â€œWait till I see him; if it’s who I think it is, I’ve met him a couple of times.” She gave me a tight smile. “Then, if you and the medical guardian ask nicely, maybe I’ll tell you his name.”
    I looked ahead as the monuments on the Calton Hill came into sight at the top of Leith Walk. And wondered if Katharine would ever let me forget the torrid relationship that Sophia and I had during the Big Heat of 2025.
    We stood outside the intensive care unit and watched the nurses hovering over the guy with one arm. Tubes and wires hooked his motionless frame to several machines. Katharine was in with him, swathed in surgical robes.
    This time I glanced round before Sophia reached me. “Anything new?” I asked.
    She regarded Katharine with glacial eyes then nodded. “I’ll tell you after Citizen Kirkwood does what she has to do.”
    The seal on the door hissed as it opened to let Katharine pass.
    â€œIt’s him all right,” she said, pulling her mask down. “George Faulds. They call him Dead Dod.”
    Davie shook his head as he wrote down the name, then went off to run a check.
    â€œWhat else do you know about him?” Sophia demanded.
    Katharine shot me a glance. “Ask me politely, guardian,” she said in an arch voice.
    Sophia hit me with her eyes too – I was everybody’s punch bag. “Oh, for goodness’ sake. Citizen Kirkwood,” she said mechanically, “please tell us what else you know about this George Faulds.”
    â€œThat’s better.” Katharine handed the robes she’d been removing to the guardian. “Not much, as it happens. I’ve only seen him a few times in the centre. He has a reputation for being a loner. And he has quite a temper. He once broke a snooker cue over his knee when he missed a shot.” She shrugged. “At least it wasn’t somebody else’s knee.”
    â€œHe’s definitely a Leith Lancer?” I asked. There have been cases of kids, desperate to join the gangs, doing their own tattoos. They usually end up with broken heads, but not severed arms.
    Katharine nodded. “Oh aye. A Lancer and proud of it.” She looked at me. “What happened to him, Quint? It looks like he’s lost an arm.”
    Sophia passed the robes to a nursing auxiliary and turned away. “That information is classified,” she said.
    I put a hand on her shoulder. “Katharine’s helped us, Sophia. She works with these kids. She’s entitled to know.”
    The guardian wasn’t convinced, but finally she gave in and took us to her office. “There are some strange aspects to this case,” she said, sitting down at her desk and opening a grey folder. “First of all, the patient doesn’t appear to have lost much blood.”
    â€œWhat?” I said. “He had an arm