Ю Несбё - Macbeth

‘Perhaps it was a nuclear test,’ suggested one of the others. ‘The Soviets are supposed to have some shit going on in the Barents Sea and shock waves apparently go all the way round the world.’

‘Any messages about that, Sparks?’

‘No.’ Sparks laughed. ‘The only excitement is a search for a guy with a white scar right across his face.’

Duff stiffened. Kept piling dishes as he listened.

‘Yeah, it’s gonna be good to get ashore tomorrow.’

‘Is it hell. Missus says she’s pregnant again.’

‘Don’t look at me.’

Good-natured laughter around the table.

Duff turned with the tray in his hands. Hutchinson had lifted his head and suddenly sat bolt upright. The few times they had met after their skirmish Hutchinson had looked down and avoided Duff’s face, but now he was staring at Duff with wide-open eyes. Like a vulture that has unexpectedly and happily spotted a helpless, injured animal.

Duff shoved open the door to the galley with his foot and heard it clatter behind him. Put the tray down on the worktop. Damn, damn, damn! Not now, not with less than twenty-hours to land.

‘Not too fast here,’ Caithness said, looking through the windscreen.

The taxi driver took his foot off the accelerator, and they drove slowly past the Obelisk, where people were streaming into the street from the main entrance. Two police cars were parked on the pavement. The blue lights rotated idly.

‘What’s going on?’ Lennox said and thrust his blue face between the two front seats. He was — like Caithness — still wearing his uniform, as the taxi had collected them from outside the church straight after Duncan’s funeral. ‘Has the fire alarm gone off?’

‘The Gambling and Casino Board closed the place today,’ Caithness said. ‘Suspicion of breaching the Casino Act.’

They saw one of the policemen leading out an angrily gesticulating man in a light suit and flowery shirt with impressive sideburns. It looked as if the man was trying to explain something to the policeman, who was obviously turning a deaf ear.

‘Sad,’ the driver said.

‘What’s sad?’ Lennox asked. ‘Law enforcement?’

‘Sometimes. At the Obelisk you could at least have a beer and a game of cards without dressing up and coming home ruined. By the way, do you know that the factory you want to go to is closed?’

‘Yes,’ Caithness answered. Thinking that was all she knew about it. Police Officer Angus had rung that morning and implored her to bring Inspector Lennox from the Anti-Corruption Unit with her to Estex. They would find out the rest when they got there. It was about corruption at the highest level and for the moment they mustn’t mention their meeting to anyone. When she said she didn’t know any Police Officer Angus, he had explained to her that he was the guy in SWAT with the long hair who she smiled at and said hello to in the lift. She remembered him. He was cute. Looked more like an affable, unworldly hippie than a SWAT man.

They glided through the streets. She saw the unemployed men leaning against the walls sheltering from the rain, fags in mouths, wet coats, hungry, weary eyes. Hyenas. Not because they were born like that; it was the town. Duncan had said if carrion was all there was on the menu, you ate carrion, whoever you thought you were. And irrespective of what they did at police HQ the best way to reduce crime was to get the town’s citizens back to work.

‘Are you opening Estex again?’ the driver asked, squinting at Caithness.

‘What makes you think that?’

‘I think Macbeth is smarter than Duncan, the blockhead.’

‘Oh?’

‘Closing a great factory just because it’s leaking some gunge? Christ, everyone who worked there smokes. They’ll die anyway. That was five thousand jobs. Five thousand jobs this town needed! Only some upper-class twit from Capitol could be so snobbish. Macbeth, on the other hand, is one of us — he understands and he does something. Let Macbeth take charge for a bit and maybe people will be able to afford a taxi again in this town.’

‘Talking of Macbeth,’ Caithness said, turning to the back seat. ‘He’s cancelled the morning meeting two days in a row and he looked very pale in church. Is he ill?’

‘Not him,’ Lennox said, ‘but Lady. He’s barely been at HQ.’

‘Of course it’s good of him to look after her, but he’s the chief commissioner and we have a town in our charge.’

‘Good job he has us there.’ Lennox smiled.

The taxi stopped in front of the gate, from which hung a chain with a padlock. The CLOSED sign had fallen onto the potholed tarmac. Caithness got out, stood by the driver’s open window and scanned the abandoned industrial wasteland while waiting for her change. No telephone boxes, and the telephones at Estex had probably been cut off.

‘How will we get hold of a taxi when we want to go back?’ she asked.

‘I’ll park here and wait,’ the driver said. ‘There’s no work in town anyway.’

Inside the factory gate was a rusty fork-lift truck and a tower of rotting wooden pallets. The pedestrian entrance beside the big retractable door was open.

Caithness and Lennox stepped into the factory building. It was cold outside, even colder under the high vaulted roof. The furnaces stood like gigantic pews inside the rectangular hall as far as the eye could see.

‘Hello?’ Caithness called, and the echo sent shivers down her spine.

‘Here!’ came the answer from up on the wall where the foreman’s office and surveillance platform were located. Like a watchtower in a prison, Caithness thought. Or a pulpit.

The young man standing up there pointed to a steel staircase.

Caithness and Lennox went up the steps.

‘Police Officer Angus,’ he said shaking hands with them. His open face displayed his nervousness, but also determination.

They followed him into the foreman’s office, which smelled of a marinade of dried sweat and tobacco. The large windows facing the factory floor had a strange yellow frosted glaze which looked as if it had been burned into the glass. On the tables there were open files that had clearly been taken from the shelves along the walls. The young man was unshaven and wearing tight faded jeans and a green military jacket.

‘Thank you for coming at such short notice,’ Angus said, indicating the peeling wooden chairs.

‘I don’t want to pressurise you, but I hope this is important,’ Lennox said, taking a seat. ‘I had to leave an important meeting.’

‘As you haven’t got much time, indeed as none of us has got much time, I’ll get straight to the point.’

‘Thank you.’

Angus crossed his arms. His jaws were working, and his eyes roamed, but there was a determination about him — he was like a man who knows he is right.

‘Twice I’ve been a believer,’ Angus said, swallowing, and Caithness knew he was memorising something he had written and rehearsed for the occasion. ‘And twice I’ve lost that belief. The first was in God. The second in Macbeth. Macbeth is no saviour, he’s a corrupt murderer. I wanted to say that first so that you know why I’m doing this. This is to rid the town of Macbeth.’

In the ensuing silence they could hear the deep sighs as drops of water hit the floor of the factory. Angus breathed in.

‘We were—’

‘Stop!’ Caithness said. ‘Thank you for your honesty, Angus, but before you say any more, Inspector Lennox and I have to decide whether we want to hear.’

‘Let Angus finish,’ Lennox said. ‘Then we can discuss it later without anyone else present.’

‘Wait,’ Caithness said. ‘There’s no way back if we receive information which—’

‘We were sent to the club house to kill everyone,’ Angus said.