The Blood Tree by Paul Johnston

project? I’m not sure. He didn’t strike me as being particularly senile.”
    â€œWhat about that pet of his? Poor thing. It must be suffering from a major identity crisis.”
    â€œPoor thing?” I braked as a football bounced across the road in front of me. A small girl stood with her mouth open at the sight of the guard vehicle. She was probably even more shocked when I didn’t stop and take her name. “Cerberus is without question the most loathsome creature I’ve ever come across.” I glanced at her and grinned. “And that includes senior auxiliaries.”
    Katharine ignored that observation. “It’s not the animal’s fault,” she said. “I thought genetic engineering wasn’t allowed in this city.”
    We crossed the bridge over the Water of Leith beyond Canonmills and approached the Botanics.
    â€œMaybe its genes weren’t engineered or modified,” I said. “Maybe Gavin Godwin wasn’t being straight with us. He might just have found a way to make dogs fancy cats.”
    â€œCome on,” Katharine scoffed. “He was on the Genetic Engineering Committee. He obviously knew how to fiddle around with genes and embryos.”
    I nodded. “Don’t worry. I’ll be raising that point with Hamilton. He’s been seriously twitchy ever since he saw which file had been tampered with.”
    Katharine shook her head as I turned into Inverleith Terrace, the branches of the trees in the Botanics hanging over the road. “You’ll be far too busy with this suspicious death now to worry about the break-in.”
    Christ. The dead male auxiliary. I’d forgotten about him. I felt the extra rush that I always get at the beginning of cases involving suspicious death. The increase of youth gang activity has meant that homicide is more common than it used to be under the Council, but there still aren’t many murders. Especially not of auxiliaries.
    That may have explained why what looked like every guard vehicle in the city had pulled up in Arboretum Road.
    â€œBloody hell, Davie,” I said as he came out of the mêlée of guard personnel. “Haven’t these people got anything else to do?”
    â€œThis is a bad one, Quint,” he said in a low voice. His face was solemn. “You know what it’s like when an auxiliary goes down.” He glanced around. “Everyone wants to get involved.”
    â€œWhere’s the body?” I asked.
    â€œI’ll take you straight there,” Davie replied. His eyes rested on Katharine. “What about . . . ?”
    â€œI’m coming too,” she said firmly.
    I looked at her. “Are you sure? You’ve got to go back to work tomorrow, haven’t you? There’s no point in—”
    â€œSod the Welfare Directorate,” she said. “I’m due some days in lieu anyway. This sounds much more diverting.”
    â€œIt’s definitely that,” Davie said, biting his lip. “If you’re sure, Quint . . .”
    I shrugged helplessly. Arguing with Katharine was never a good idea. Besides, it’s useful to have back-up you can rely on.
    â€œThis way then.” Davie set off towards the gate. Guardsmen and women got out of his way, more because of the thunderous look on his face than his commander’s insignia.
    We went through the gate into the gardens’ seventy acres. A temporary checkpoint had been set up and we had to flash ID. Fortunately the gardens are only open to tourists at weekends as they’re outside the central zone. Special buses are organised and guard patrols are increased to ensure the locals don’t do anything embarrassing in front of the paying guests – like gawp at their expensive clothes and cameras. At least we wouldn’t be bothered today.
    Davie bore to the left. “The body’s in the copse,” he said.
    That area of the Botanics is less