Macbeth

by Jo Nesbo

  ‘On the hat shelf in your wardrobe,’ she said, pointing.

  ‘Thank you.’

  He slowly smoked his cigarette listening to her fall asleep beside him. Stared at the solid brown oak door of the wardrobe. Then he laid his head on the pillow and blew rings up into the beams of moonlight from the window, saw them twist and wreathe like an Arab belly dancer. He wasn’t afraid. He had SWAT protecting him, he had Hecate protecting him, the gods of destiny were smiling on him. He lifted his head and stared at the wardrobe again. Not a sound came from it. The ghosts had made themselves scarce. And it was perfectly still outside, no drumming on the window. For sunshine did follow the rain. Love did purge you of the blood of battle. Forgiveness did come after sin.

  19

  ‘GOOD MORNING, EVERYONE,’ MACBETH SAID, meeting the eyes of everyone around the table. ‘Except that it isn’t a good morning, but the second one Banquo has been dead and the thirty-sixth hour his murderer has been wandering around free and unpunished. Let’s start with a minute’s silence for Banquo.’

  Duff closed his eyes.

  It was unusual to see Macbeth enter a room with such a serious expression; he used to greet every day and every person with a smile, come rain or come shine, whether he knew them or not. Like the first time they met at the orphanage. He must have looked at Duff, at his clothes and hair, how different the two of them were, but he had smiled as if they shared something that went deeper than such external matters, something that bound them together, that made them secret brothers. Perhaps he made everyone feel like that with this unconditional, white smile. It had conveyed a naive belief that the people around him wished one another the best and made Duff feel like a cold cynic even then. And what wouldn’t Duff have given for a smile that could rub off on those around him.

  ‘Duff?’ Someone had whispered his name. He turned and looked into Caithness’s clear green eyes. She nodded to the end of the meeting table, where Macbeth was looking at him.

  ‘I asked if we could have an update on where we are in the investigation, Duff.’

  Duff sat up on his chair, coughed, blushed and knew it. Then he began. He talked about the witnesses who had seen members of the Norse Riders and – judging by the logos on their leather jackets – another bikers’ club shoot at the Volvo outside the jewellers’ shop, Jacobs & Sons. About the jacket and Fleance’s wallet, which were found by the bank below Kenneth Bridge, but no body as yet. Caithness had given a comprehensive account of the forensic evidence, which only confirmed what they already knew – that Sweno’s gang had murdered Banquo and possibly Fleance.

  ‘There’s some evidence to suggest Sweno was personally present at the execution,’ Duff said. ‘The end of a cigarillo on the tarmac beside the car.’

  ‘Lots of people smoke cigarillos, Lennox remarked.

  ‘Not Davidoff Long Panatellas,’ Duff answered.

  ‘You know what Sweno smokes?’ Lennox said with an arched eyebrow.

  Duff didn’t respond.

  ‘We cannot allow this,’ Macbeth said. ‘The town cannot allow us to allow it. Killing a police officer is an attack on the town itself. For the heads of units sitting in this room to have the town’s confidence tomorrow, something has to happen today. For that reason we cannot afford to hesitate, we have to strike with all the strength we have, even at the risk of losing police lives. This is a war and so we have to use the rhetoric of war. And, as you know, it doesn’t consist of words but bullets. Accordingly I have appointed a new head of SWAT and given them extended powers regarding the use of weapons and also in their instructions for fighting organised crime.’

  ‘Excuse me,’ Lennox said. ‘And what are the instructions?’

  ‘You’ll see soon. They’re being worked on as we speak.’

  ‘And who’s writing them?’ Caithness asked.

  ‘Police Officer Seyton,’ Macbeth said, ‘SWAT’s new head.’

  ‘He’s writing his own instructions?’ Caithness asked. ‘Without us—’

  ‘It’s time to act,’ Macbeth interrupted. ‘Not to polish formulations of instructions. You’ll soon see the result, and I’m sure you’ll be as happy as me. And the rest of the town.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Naturally, you’ll be able to comment on the instructions when they’re available. This meeting is terminated. Let’s get down to work, folks!’ And there it was. The smile. ‘Duff, can I have a few words with you?’

  Chairs scraped back tentatively.

  ‘You can go too, Priscilla,’ Macbeth said. ‘And please close the door after you. Thank you.’

  The room emptied. Duff braced himself.

  ‘Come here. Sit closer,’ Macbeth said.

  Duff stood up and moved to the chair beside him. Tried to be relaxed, breathed calmly and avoided involuntarily tensing his face muscles. Conscious that he was sitting within spitting distance of the man who killed Duncan.

  ‘I’ve been thinking of asking you about something,’ Macbeth said. ‘And I want you to be absolutely honest.’

  Duff could feel his throat constrict and his heart race.

  ‘I wanted to offer someone else the post of head of Organised Crime. I know your first reaction is disappointment—’

  Duff nodded, his mouth was so dry he wasn’t sure his voice would obey.

  ‘—but only because I want you to be my deputy. How do you feel about that?’

  Duff cleared his throat. ‘Thank you,’ he said hoarsely.

  ‘Aren’t you well, Duff?’ Macbeth wore an expression of concern and placed a hand on Duff’s shoulder. ‘Or just a wee bit disappointed? I know how much you wanted Organised Crime, and I can understand you’d prefer an operational post to helping an awkward bugger like me find his words and feet.’ He smiled the white smile as Duff did his best to answer.

  ‘You’re my friend, Duff, and I want you close by. How does that proverb go?’

  Duff coughed. ‘Which proverb?’

  ‘Proverbs are your domain, Duff, but never mind. If you insist on Organised Crime I’ll give it some thought. I haven’t said anything to Lennox yet. You look really dreadful. Shall I get you a glass of water?’

  ‘No, thanks, I’m fine. I’m just a bit exhausted. I barely slept before the raid and I haven’t had a wink of sleep since Duncan’s murder.’

  ‘Only a bit exhausted?’

  Duff pondered. Shook his head. ‘No, I’d actually been wondering whether I could have the next two days off. I know we’re in the middle of an investigation, but Caithness can . . .’

  ‘Of course, of course, Duff. No point riding a horse to death just because the rider’s in a hurry. Go back home to Fife. Say hello to Meredith from me and tell her you have to stay in bed for two days at least. And those are, believe it or not, the chief commissioner’s orders.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I warn you I’ll come and check you’re resting in Fife.’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘And then you come back with an answer regarding the deputy position in three days.’

  ‘Deal.’

  Duff went straight to a toilet and threw up in the bowl.

  His shirt was drenched with sweat and it was only an hour later, as he was finally driving over the old bridge, that his pulse dropped back to normal.

  Lady walked through the restaurant and gaming room. She counted nine customers. Tried to tell herself that straight after lunch was the quietest time. She went to see Jack in reception.

  ‘Any new clients today?’

  ‘Not yet, ma’am.’

  ‘Not yet? Will there be any later today?’

  He smiled apologetically. ‘Not that I know of.’

  ‘Did you pop into the Obelisk, as I asked?’

  ‘Of course, ma’am.’

  ‘And there it was . . . ?’

  ‘Quiet, I would s
ay.’

  ‘You’re lying, Jack.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  Lady had to laugh. ‘Jack, you’re always a comfort to me. Is it the murders here, do you think?’

  ‘Maybe. But someone also rang asking specifically for the room Duncan died in. At a pinch, the bodyguards’ room.’

  ‘People are sick in the head. And talking about sick, I’d like you to do a bit of probing around this boy Tourtell had with him. Find out how old he is.’

  ‘So you think . . . ?’

  ‘Let’s hope for the boy’s sake he’s over sixteen. And for ours he’s under.’

  ‘Any special reason for this information, ma’am?’

  ‘Storing up ammo just in case, Jack. The mayor appoints the chief commissioner, and even if the mayor usually follows the pecking order, in a case like this we can never be too sure, can we?’

  ‘That’s all?’

  ‘Well, we’d like to see Tourtell put more pressure on the Gambling and the Casino Board to scrutinise the Obelisk’s business practices, of course. I’ve been patient and tried the kind approach, but if it doesn’t produce any results soon, we’ll have to take more drastic action.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can find out.’

  ‘Jack?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am?’

  ‘Have I been sleepwalking recently?’

  ‘Not on my shifts, ma’am.’

  ‘Are you lying again?’

  ‘You might have popped down to reception last night, but I wasn’t sure whether you were asleep or not.’

  She laughed. ‘Jack, Jack, if only everyone was as good as you. I had a suspicion. The key was in the lock on the outside of the door when I woke up.’

  ‘Anything in particular on your mind? You only sleepwalk when something’s bothering you.’

  ‘Is there anything else but bother?’ Lady sighed.

  ‘And dreams? Do you have the same dream again and again?’

  ‘I’ve told you, Jack. It isn’t a dream, it’s a memory.’

  ‘Sorry, but you can’t know that, ma’am. You can’t know it happened exactly like that if you see it every night. Then the dream becomes a memory. For all you know, the child died a natural death.’

  ‘The eternal comforter. But I don’t need comfort. I don’t need to forget. Quite the opposite, I need to remember. Remember what I’ve given up to be where I am, to put a price on my childless life every single morning when I wake up between silk sheets beside a man I’ve chosen to spend the night with, and can go downstairs to my place, to a life I’ve created for myself. Where I’m respected for what I am, Jack.’

  ‘None of us is respected for what we are, ma’am. We’re respected for what we can do. Especially if there’s something we can do to the person we want respect from—’

  ‘You’re too clever to be a receptionist, Jack.’

  ‘—and unfortunately that’s why a receptionist’s wisdom doesn’t gain much respect. He’s a harmless observer, a eunuch and occasionally a comfort to those who are respected.’

  ‘I’m glad you never had children, Jack. You’re the only person I can talk to about neglecting your own baby without it arousing the shocked revulsion it would from parents. You’re a clever, tolerant man who prefers understanding to condemnation.’

  ‘What is there to condemn? A young girl growing up in impoverished circumstances, who’s raped when she’s thirteen, becomes pregnant and – abandoned and without a roof over her head – gives birth to a child she cannot keep alive?’

  ‘What if I didn’t try hard enough?’

  ‘What if you had died in the process, you mean? You were thirteen. Not an adult, but with a sharp mind. Should your future be sacrificed for a newborn baby, a seed which still isn’t aware it’s alive, which still doesn’t feel longing, guilt, shame, true love, indeed is not really human, just a millstone around the neck of a young girl whom life has punished enough as it is? That this thirteen-year-old was unable to keep both of you alive, but survived herself, has to be called good luck within the bad luck. Because look what she achieved afterwards. She set up a little brothel. Set up a bigger, more luxurious one, which catered to the needs of everyone from the police commissioner to the town’s most important politicians. Sold it and established the town’s best the casino. And now – hey presto – she’s the queen of the town.’

  Lady shook her head. ‘That’s taking it too far, Jack. Embellishing my motives and granting me an amnesty for my misdeeds. What is a casino, what are the dreams of idiots against a real child’s life? If I’d demanded less of my life I might have been able to save hers.’

  ‘Did you demand so much in reality?’

  ‘I demanded acceptance from others. No, more – respect. Yes, and love. Those are gifts that are not granted to everyone, but I demanded to be one of the few. And the price is having to lose my child again and again, night after night.’

  Jack nodded. ‘And if you could choose again, ma’am?’

  Lady looked at him. ‘Perhaps we’re all, good or bad, only slaves of our desires, Jack. Do you believe that?’

  ‘I don’t know, ma’am, but with respect to slaves of desires I’ll check out this boy of Tourtell’s tomorrow.’

  Macbeth exited the lift in the basement and stood for a couple of seconds inhaling the smell of leather, gun oil and male sweat. Looked at SWAT’s motto under a fire-breathing red dragon: LOYALTY, FRATERNITY, BAPTISED IN FIRE, UNITED IN BLOOD. My God, it felt like a minor eternity since then.

  He walked through the door to the SWAT common room.

  ‘Olafson! Angus! Hey, what is this? Sit down, don’t jump up like a couple of recruits. Where’s Seyton?’

  ‘In there,’ Angus said in his unctuous priest-like tone. ‘Sad to hear about Banquo. The lads are collecting money for a wreath, but you probably aren’t—’

  ‘One of the boys any more? Of course I am.’ Macbeth pulled out his wallet. ‘Thought you were on sick leave, Olafson. Where’s the sling?’

  ‘Slung it.’ Olafson’s lisp made him sound Spanish. ‘The doctor thought I’d destroyed all the tendons in my shoulder and would never be able to shoot again. But then Seyton looked at it and suddenly it was fine again.’

  ‘There you go. Don’t trust doctors.’ Macbeth passed Olafson a wad of notes.

  ‘That’s too much, sir.’

  ‘Take it.’

  ‘It’s enough for a coffin.’

  ‘Take it!’

  Macbeth went into his old office. Which wasn’t actually an office but a workshop with gun parts and ammunition on shelves and benches, where the typewriter had been moved unused to a chair.

  ‘Well?’ Macbeth said.

  ‘The boys are briefed,’ Seyton said, sitting with a thick instruction manual in front of him. ‘And ready.’

  ‘And our two Gatling girls?’ Macbeth nodded to the manual.

  ‘The machine guns are coming at about eight, early tomorrow morning. You spoke to the harbour master, I take it, so that the boat could jump the queue?’

  ‘We couldn’t have the girls coming late to the party. And there’ll be a little job for you lads later tomorrow.’

  ‘Fine. Where?’

  ‘In Fife.’

  20

  THURSDAY MORNING. FIFE WAS BATHED in sunshine.

  Duff was swimming.

  Full, muscular breaststroke, ploughing a path through the cold heavy water.

  He had long preferred the saltwater of the river, it felt lighter to swim in. Which actually was strange because he had learned that saltwater gave you more buoyancy, which had to mean it had greater density, which in turn had to mean it was heavier than freshwater. Nevertheless, until recently he had preferred the river, which as well as being freezing cold was so polluted that he felt dirty every time he emerged from it. But now he was clean. He had got up early, d
one his exercises on the cold wooden floor beside the guest bed, made breakfast for the family, sung a little birthday song for Ewan, driven the children to school and afterwards walked with Meredith the half a mile or so down to the lake. She had talked about how many apples there were on the trees this autumn, their daughter getting her first love letter – though Meredith was privately very disappointed it was from a boy who was three years younger than her – and Emily wanting a guitar for her twelfth birthday. Ewan had been in a fight in the school playground and had brought home a note for his parents. He had agreed with Mum that he would have to tell Dad himself, but it could wait until after his birthday party today – there would be plenty of time then. Duff asked if postponing the evil moment wouldn’t mean Ewan would be dreading it for an unnecessarily long time.

  ‘I don’t know what he does most.’ Meredith smiled. ‘Look forward to something or dread it. The boy he had a fight with yesterday is in the class above him, and Ewan said the boy kicked little Peter first.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Ewan’s best friend.’

  ‘Oh, him,’ Duff lied.

  ‘Ewan said he was sorry but he had to defend his pal; Dad would have done the same. So he’s keen to hear what you have to say.’

  ‘I’ll have to be balanced then. Condemn his behaviour but praise his courage. Say something about taking the initiative to make up instead of waging war. Reconciliation, right?’

  ‘I’d appreciate that.’

  And as he and Meredith glided out through the water Duff decided there and then that he would never swim anywhere except in their little lake in Fife.

  ‘Here it is,’ Meredith panted behind him.

  Duff turned onto his back so that he could watch her while he floated, moving his hands and kicking his feet. His body was pale with a greenish tint under the water whereas hers, even in this light, was golden brown. He spent too much time in town; he had to get more sun.

  She swam past him and crawled ashore onto a large water-smoothed rock.

  Not any rock. Their rock. The rock where their daughter was conceived one summer’s day eleven years ago. They had come to Fife to escape the town and had found this lake almost by chance. They had stopped because they saw an abandoned little farm Meredith thought looked so sweet. And from there they saw the water glitter, walked for ten to fifteen minutes and found the lake. Although the only other creatures by the lake were a couple of cows, they had swum to this hidden rock across the water where it was unlikely anyone would see them. A month later Meredith had told him she was pregnant, and in total euphoria they went back, bought the house midway between the lake and the main road and after their second child, Ewan, was born, the plot by the lake where the cabin now stood.