Ю Несбё - Macbeth

‘Do you really mean to say, Macbeth—’

‘Hand up before you...’ Lennox started to say, but Macbeth raised his palms and nodded for Kite to continue. He was ready to take on this insubordinate querulous bastard now.

‘Do you really mean to say, Macbeth, that you, the police, cannot be criticised for anything during these operations? In the course of one afternoon you killed seven people you’d released from prison an hour earlier, nine other gang members, most of whom had no record, plus six women who, as far as we know, had nothing to do with any crimes committed by the Norse Riders. Then you tell us there’s also a family in Fife who are by definition innocent victims. And you consider that you didn’t make a single error?’

Macbeth observed Kite. The radio reporter had dark hair surrounding a bald head and a moustache that formed a sad mouth around his own. Always bad news. Macbeth wondered what fate awaited such a man. He shuffled his papers. Found the page he had drafted and to which Lady, later Lennox, had added detail. Breathed in. Knew he was in perfect equilibrium. Knew his medication was perfect. Knew he had received the perfect serve.

‘He’s right,’ Macbeth said, looking across the assembled journalists. ‘We’ve made mistakes.’ Waited, waited until it was even quieter than quiet, until the silence was unbearable, you couldn’t breathe, until the silence demanded sound . He looked down at his speech. He had to bring it alive, make it seem as if he wasn’t just quoting the text he had in front of him.

‘In a democracy,’ he began, ‘there are rules which determine when suspects must be released from custody. We obeyed them.’ He nodded as an amen to his declaration. ‘In a democracy there are rules which state that the police can and must arrest suspects when there is new evidence in a case. We obeyed them.’ More nodding. ‘In a democracy there are rules which set out how the police should react if suspects resist arrest and, as in this case, shoot at the police. And we obeyed them.’ He could of course have continued like this, but three instances of ‘We obeyed them’ were enough. He raised a forefinger. ‘And that’s all we’ve done. Some have already called what we did heroic. Some have already called it the most effective and eagerly awaited police operation in the history of this town’s suffering. And some have called it a turning point in the fight against crime on our streets.’ He saw how his nodding had rubbed off on the listeners, he even heard a couple of mumbled yeses. ‘But the way I see it as chief commissioner is that we were only doing the job we’d been given. Nothing more than you can ask of us as police officers.’

In the empty gallery he saw Lennox standing ready by the projector while following the speech in his copy of the manuscript.

‘But I have to admit it makes me feel good this evening,’ Macbeth said, ‘to be able to say police officers and do so with pride. And now, goodness me, folks, let’s put the formalities to one side for a moment. The fact is we had a big clean-up today. We paid Sweno and his murderers back in their own coin. We showed them what they can expect if they take our best men from us...’

The light shone brighter around him, and he knew the slide of Duncan had come up on the screen behind him; soon it would shift to Banquo and Fleance in uniform under the apple tree in the garden behind their house.

‘But, yes, we made errors. We made an error by not starting this clean-up before ! Before it was too late for Chief Commissioner Duncan. Before it was too late for Inspector Banquo, who served this town all his life. And his son, Police Cadet Fleance, who was looking forward to doing the same.’ Macbeth had to take deep breaths to control the tremor in his voice. ‘But this afternoon we showed that this is a new day. A new day when criminals are no longer in charge. A new day when the citizens of this town have stood up and said no. No, we won’t allow this. And now this is the evening of the first of these new days. And in the days to come we will continue to clean up the streets of this town because this big clean-up isn’t over.’

When Macbeth had finished and said, ‘Thank you,’ he stayed on his feet. Stood there in the storm of applause that broke out as chairs scraped and people rose and the ovation continued with undiminished vigour. And he could feel his eyes going misty at the cynical journalists’ genuine response to his falsehoods. And when Kite also stood up and clapped, albeit in a rather more sedate tempo, he wondered if that was because the guy knew what was good for him. Because he saw that Macbeth had won their love now. Won power. And he could see and hear that the new chief commissioner was a man who was unafraid to use it.

Macbeth strode down the corridor behind Scone Hall.

Power. He could feel it in his veins; the harmony was still there. Not as perfect as a while ago — the unease and restlessness were already on the verge of returning — but he had more than enough medicine for the moment. And he would just enjoy tonight. Enjoy the food and drink, enjoy Lady, enjoy the view of the town, enjoy everything that was his.

‘Good speech, sir,’ Seyton said, who seemed to have no problem keeping up with Macbeth’s pace.

Lennox ran up alongside him.

‘Fantastic, Macbeth!’ he exclaimed, out of breath. ‘There are some journalists here from Capitol to see you. They’d like to interview you and—’

‘Thank you but no,’ Macbeth said without slowing down. ‘No victory interviews, no laurels until we’ve achieved our goal. Any news of Duff?’

‘His car’s been found in the town, parked beside the Obelisk. The roads out of town, the airport, passenger boats — everything has been under surveillance since half an hour after we saw him driving towards the town from Fife, so we know he’s still here somewhere. We’ve checked Banquo’s house, his parents-in-law, and he’s not there. But in this weather a man has to have a roof over his head at night, so we’ll go through every hotel, every boarding house, pub and brothel with a toothcomb. Everyone, absolutely everyone is chasing Duff tonight.’

‘Chasing’s good, catching’s better.’

‘Oh, we’ll catch him. It’s just a question of time.’

‘Good. Could you leave us alone for a minute?’

‘OK.’ Lennox stopped and was soon far behind them.

‘Something bothering you, Seyton? The wound?’

‘No, sir.’ Seyton took his arm out of the sling.

‘No? The sergeant shot you in the arm, didn’t he?’

‘I have unusually good healing tissue,’ Seyton said. ‘It’s in the family.’

‘Indeed?’

‘Good healing tissue?’

‘Family. There’s something else eating you then?’

‘Two things.’

‘Out with it.’

‘The baby we found and removed from the club house after the shooting.’

‘Yes?’

‘I don’t really know what to do with it. I’ve got it locked in my office.’

‘I’ll take care of it,’ Macbeth said. ‘And the other thing?’

‘Angus, sir.’

‘What about him?’

‘He didn’t obey orders in Fife. He refused to fire and in the end left before the op was finished. He called it slaughter. He hadn’t joined SWAT to take part in this kind of thing . I think there’s a risk he might blab. We have to do something.’

They stopped in front of the lift.

Macbeth rubbed his chin. ‘So you think Angus has lost the belief? If so, it won’t be the first time. Has he told you he studied theology?’

‘No, but I can smell it. And he walks about with this bloody ugly cross around his neck.’

‘You’re in charge of SWAT now, Seyton. What do you think should be done?’