Ю Несбё - Macbeth

‘What’s his name?’

‘Jones.’

Lennox saw Duff staring at him.

‘Lars Jones,’ Lennox said. ‘Anything wrong?’

‘You’ve got pupils like a junkie.’

Lennox moistened his tongue and laughed. ‘That’s how it is when you’re born half-albino. Eyes sensitive to light. That’s one reason my family prefers indoor jobs.’

Duff shivered in his coat. Looked over at Inverness Casino again. ‘So, three days. What shall we do in the meantime?’

Lennox shrugged. ‘Keep our heads down. Don’t rock the boat. And... I can’t think of a third way to say that.’

‘I’m already dreading my next meeting with Macbeth.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘I’m no actor.’

‘You’ve never fooled anyone?’

‘Yes, but people always see through me.’

Lennox glanced at Duff. ‘Oh? At home?’

Duff shrugged. ‘Even my lad, who’ll be nine in a couple of days, knows when his dad’s telling fibs. And Macbeth knows me better than anyone.’

‘Strange,’ Lennox said, ‘that two people who are so different have been such close friends.’

‘We’ll have to talk later,’ Duff said, looking to the west. ‘If I set off now I’ll be in Fife by sunset.’

Lennox stood looking in the same direction as Duff. And thought it was good that nature had arranged things in such a way that rain showers always hid the view from those who were behind so that you could always be optimistic about a quick improvement in the weather.

‘I have a feeling we’re over the worst,’ Macbeth said, stretching for the lighter on the bedside table and lighting his cigarette. ‘Everything will get better now, my sweet. We’re back where we should be. This town is ours.’

Lady rested a hand on her chest, felt her still-racing heart under the silk sheet. And talked between breaths: ‘If your newly acquired enthusiasm is an indicator of your strength, darling—’

‘Mm?’

‘—then we’re unbeatable. Are you aware how much they love you out there? People in the casino talk about you, say you’re the town’s saviour. And do you read the papers? Today The Times suggested in its leader that you should stand in the mayoral elections.’

‘Was that your friend, the editor?’ Macbeth grinned. ‘Because you asked him?’

‘No, no. The leader wasn’t about you. It was a comment piece on Tourtell not having a real rival and being re-elected despite being unpopular.’

‘You don’t become popular by being Kenneth’s lackey.’

‘So your name was mentioned as someone who theoretically could challenge Tourtell. What do you say to that?’

‘To standing as mayor? Me?’ Macbeth laughed and scratched his forearm. ‘Thank you, but no thank you. I’ve got a big enough office and now we have more than enough power to do what we want.’ His nail rasped over the little hole in his skin. Power. He had injected himself with a syringe, and the sales pitch hadn’t exaggerated.

‘You’re right, darling,’ she said. ‘But muse on it a little anyway. When the idea matures it will perhaps feel different — who knows? By the way, Jack received a parcel for you this morning. A biker brought it. Heavy and very well packed.’

Macbeth waited for the feeling of ice in his veins, but it didn’t come. Must have been the effect of the new dope. ‘Where did you put it?’

‘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.

‘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?’