Water of Death by Paul Johnston Page A

people.” Her eyes were more playful than the rest of her face, which wasn’t a hard trick for them to pull off.
    â€œThe bad people. Yes, well, I don’t know if the person I’m going to ask you about was necessarily one of those.”
    Knox 42’s lips twitched for a second or two. She probably thought that constituted a smile. Still, some of her rank don’t even make that much of an effort to be human.
    â€œYou never know, citizen. It’s often the most unlikely people who turn out to be the worst ones of all.” Her voice was flat and empty. She was old enough to have been in the Enlightenment from the beginning like I had. Like Frankie Thomson had. We were the ones who had the most to be disappointed about, who’d been let down most by jokers who should never have been allowed on to the Council. If I’d been put in charge of a licensed dope and wanking parlour, I wouldn’t have been too happy either.
    â€œTrue enough,” I said. I’d have liked to talk to her about the old days and what we used to believe in but it was far too late for that. “Frankie Thomson. What can you tell me about him?”
    â€œWhat can you tell me about the old sot, citizen?” No twitch of the lips this time. “He didn’t turn up for work this morning. I had to get a couple of the girls to clean out the bogs.”
    â€œI hope they washed their hands before you set them loose on clients.”
    That went down like compulsory overtime at harvest time on the city farms. Eventually Knox 42 went to the filing cabinet on the rear wall of the windowless room.
    â€œWhat do you want to know, citizen?” she asked wearily.
    â€œWhy don’t you just give me the file?” I took a chance and smiled at her. Amazingly that worked. She handed it over.
    I flicked through the pages. They were mainly time sheets and appraisals. Frankie T. didn’t seem to have been a favourite of his boss.
    â€œYou knew he was a DM.”
    â€œAs you see.” Knox 42’s gaze was unwavering.
    â€œDid that cause you any problems?”
    â€œWhy should it? City Regulations state that demoted auxiliaries are to be treated in exactly the same way as other ordinary citizens.”
    I smiled. “That’s a nice fairy-tale. You and I both know that auxiliaries often give their former colleagues a bad time.”
    Knox 42 shrugged. “I don’t work that way. DMs aren’t my favourite people but I don’t come down hard on them.”
    â€œThat’s a relief,” I said. “What about the things you don’t put in here?”
    The auxiliary poured herself a glass of water from a bottle she took from her drawer and drank deeply. She didn’t offer me one. “Like what, citizen?”
    â€œLike did you let him take the remains of the joints from the ashtrays? Did you let him bring his friends in for a peek at the girls? Did you feed him booze to keep him quiet when things in here got out of hand?”
    The edge I’d slipped into my voice didn’t seem to get to her.
    â€œNo, citizen,” she said, looking at me stolidly. “None of those.”
    â€œCome on,” I scoffed. “Everyone knows that cleaners in the clubs are a source of black-market grass and tobacco.”
    Knox 42 shook her head. “Not from here they aren’t. I check the grass and hash stocks every day personally and I distribute them to the girls myself. All personnel are body-searched every time they leave the premises. And the ashtrays are emptied into a sack that’s sealed and sent back to the Drugs Department daily for reconstitution.” She gave me a stern glare that Hamilton would have applauded wildly. “As for citizens other than accredited staff even reaching the front door, forget it.”
    Impressive. I almost believed her and, anyway, the scene-of-crime squad would report any traces of grass or tobacco found in the dead man’s