Ю Несбё - Macbeth

Duff shrugged.

‘And this is my problem, Johnson. Hutch is going to keep trying, but he is the permanent bottom chicken. And I would prefer another bottom chicken, one who would quietly accept his fate. But as Hutch is an ill-natured troublemaker who considers he’s been given enough beatings in life and now it’s someone else’s turn, he’s going to continue to create a bad atmosphere on board. He’s not a bad engineer, but he makes my crew work worse than it would be without him.’

A loud slurp.

‘So why don’t I get rid of him, you say. And you say that because you’re not a seaman and know nothing about Seafarers’ Union employment contracts, which mean I’m stuck with Hutch until I can get something on him that would give me a so-called objective reason to offload him. Physically attacking a colleague would be one such objective reason...’

Duff nodded.

‘So? All I need from you is a yes and a signature for the Seafarers’ Union. I can get the rest from the witnesses.’

‘We were only playing, Captain. It won’t happen again.’

‘No, it won’t.’ The captain scratched his chin. ‘As I said, I don’t make a habit of delving into my crew’s backgrounds unnecessarily. But I have to say I’ve only seen the grip you had on Hutch used twice before: by the military police and the port police. The common denominator is police. So now I’d like to hear the truth.’

‘The truth?’

‘Yes. Did he attack you?’

Duff eyed the captain. He presumed he had known from the start his real name wasn’t Cliff Johnson and that the galley boy hadn’t worked in any restaurant. All he was asking for was a yes and a false signature. If and when there was ever any discussion of the real identity of this Johnson he would be over the hills and far away.

‘I see. Here’s the truth,’ Duff said, watching the captain lean across the table. ‘We were only playing, Captain.’

The captain leaned back. Put the coffee cup to his mouth. His gaze above the cup was firmly fixed on Duff. Not on Duff’s eyes but higher, on his forehead. The captain’s Adam’s apple went up and down as he swallowed. Then he brought the empty cup hard down on the table.

‘Johnson.’

‘Yes, Captain?’

‘I like you.’

‘Captain?’

‘I have no reason to believe you like Hutch any more than the rest of us. But you’re no snitch. That’s bad news for me as a captain, but it shows integrity. And I respect that, so I won’t mention this matter again. You’re seasick and you’re lying, but I could use more people like you in my crew. Thanks for the coffee.’

The captain got up and left.

Duff remained seated for a couple of seconds. Then he took the empty cup to the galley and put it in the sink. Closed his eyes, placed his hands on the cold shiny metal and swallowed his nausea. What was he doing? Why hadn’t he told him the truth, that Hutch was a bully?

He opened his eyes. Saw his reflection in the saucepan hanging from the shelf in front of him. His heart skipped a beat. His hat had ridden up to his hairline without him noticing. Hutchinson must have clipped it when he swung. The scar shone against his skin like a thick white vapour trail after a plane in the sky. The scar. That was what the captain had been staring at before he put down his cup.

Duff closed his eyes, told himself to relax and think through the whole business.

Their departure had been so early the newspapers wouldn’t have been out on the streets the day they left, so the captain couldn’t have seen any WANTED pictures of him. Unless he had seen Duff’s face on the TV broadcast of the press conference the evening before. But had there been any sign of shock in the captain’s eyes when he saw the scar — if he had seen it? No. Because the captain was a good actor and didn’t want to show that he had recognised him until they set upon him later? As there was little he could do about that, he decided the captain hadn’t realised, but what about the others? No, he had been standing with his back to them until the captain had ordered them out. Apart from Hutchinson, lying in front of him. If he had seen the scar he didn’t strike Duff as the type to scour the news.

Duff opened his eyes again.

In two days, on Wednesday, they would dock.

Forty-eight hours. Stay low for two days. He must be able to do that.

The organ music started, and standing between the rows of benches in the cathedral he could feel the hairs rise all over his body. It wasn’t because of the music, nor the priest’s or the mayor’s eulogies, nor Duncan’s coffin being borne down the aisle by six men, nor was it the fact that he hadn’t taken any power. It was because of the dreadful new uniform he was wearing. Whenever he moved, the coarse wool rubbed against his skin and gave him the shivers. His old one had been cheaper material and was more worn-in and comfortable. He could of course have chosen the new black suit delivered to police HQ, which could only have come from Hecate. The quality of the wool cloth was much better, but strangely enough it itched even more than the uniform. Besides, it would have been a breach of tradition to turn up to a police funeral in anything but a uniform.

The coffin passed Macbeth’s row. Duncan’s wife and two sons followed it with lowered heads, but when one son happened to look up and met his eyes, Macbeth automatically looked down.

Then they all filed out into the aisle and joined the cortège. Macbeth positioned himself in such a way that he was walking beside Tourtell.

‘Fine speech,’ Macbeth said.

‘Thank you. I’m really sorry the town hall didn’t agree to the town paying for the funeral. With closed factories and falling tax revenues, I’m afraid such demonstrations of honour are way down the list. Still pretty uncivilised, if you ask me.’

‘The town hall has my sympathy.’

‘I don’t believe Duncan’s family feel the same way. His wife rang me and said we should have driven his coffin through the streets and given people the opportunity to show how much they cared. They wanted what Duncan wanted.’

‘Do you think people would have done that?’

Tourtell shrugged. ‘I honestly don’t know, Macbeth. My experience is that people in this town don’t care about so-called reforms unless they see them putting food on the table or providing enough for an extra beer. I thought change was beginning to take place in the town, but if so the murder of Duncan would have made people seething mad. Instead it seems as if people have accepted that in this town good always loses. The only person who’s opened his mouth is Kite. Are you going to Banquo and his son’s funeral tomorrow?’

‘Of course. Down in the Workers’ Church. Banquo wasn’t particularly religious, but his wife, Vera, is buried there.’

‘But Duff’s wife and children are going to be buried in the cathedral, I’ve been informed.’

‘Yes. I won’t be there personally.’

‘Personally?’

‘We’re going to have officers posted here in case Duff decides to pitch up.’

‘Oh yes. You should accompany your children to their graves. Especially if you know you’re partly responsible.’

‘Yes, it’s funny how guilt marks you for life, while honour and glory come out in the wash the same night.’

‘Now, for a second there, Macbeth, you sounded like a man who knows a bit about guilt.’

‘So let me confess right here and now that I’ve killed my nearest and dearest, Tourtell.’

The mayor stopped for a moment and looked at Macbeth. ‘What was that you said?’

‘My mother. She died in childbirth. Let’s keep walking.’

‘And your father?’

‘He ran away to sea when he heard Mum was pregnant and was never seen again. I grew up in an orphanage. Duff and I. We shared a room. But you’ve probably never seen a room in an orphanage, have you, Tourtell?’