Ю Несбё - Macbeth

Duff looked at the man with the beard as if to make sure this really was Malcolm. ‘You mean, don’t go after Hecate but his small competitors?’

‘I mean, be realistic, my dear Duff. No one gains anything with a chief commissioner who doesn’t know how things work in this world. We have to make a better and cleaner town than those who came before us, Duff, but for this job we damn well have to be paid.’

‘Take payment, you mean?’

‘We can’t win against Hecate, Duff. Not yet. In the meantime we can let him pay some of our wages so that we’re equipped to fight all the other crime in the town. God knows there’s enough of it.’

At first Duff felt a weariness. And a strange relief. The fight was over; he could give in, could rest now. With Meredith. He shook his head. ‘I can’t accept that. You aren’t the person I’d hoped you were, Malcolm, so that’s my last hope gone.’

‘Do you think there are better men? Are you a better man?’

‘Not me, but I’ve met men in the belly of a boat who are better than you or me, Malcolm. So now I’m going to leave. You’d better make up your mind whether you’re going to let me go or shoot me.’

‘I can’t let you go now as you know where I am. Unless you swear not to reveal my whereabouts.’

‘A promise between traitors wouldn’t be worth much, Malcolm. I still won’t swear though. Please shoot me in the head — I have a family waiting for me.’

Duff got up, but Malcolm did too, put both hands on his shoulders and forced him back down onto the chair.

‘You’ve asked me quite a few questions, Duff. And in an interview the questions are often truer and more revealing than the answers. I’ve been lying to you, and your questions were the right ones. But I wasn’t sure if your righteous indignation was genuine until now, when you were willing to take a bullet for a clean police force and town.’

Duff blinked. His body was so heavy all of a sudden, he was close to fainting.

‘There are three men in this room,’ Malcolm said. ‘Three men willing to sacrifice everything to carry on what Duncan stood for.’ He put on the glasses he had been cleaning. ‘Three men who may not be better than any others — perhaps we’ve already lost so much that it doesn’t cost us much to sacrifice the rest. But this is the seed and the logic of the revolution, so let’s not get carried away by our own moral excellence. Let’s just say we have the will to do the right thing irrespective of whether the fuel powering our will is a sense of justice—’ he shrugged ‘—a family man’s lust for revenge, a traitor’s shame, the moral exaltation of a privileged person or a God-fearing horror of burning in hell. For this is the right path and what we need now is the will. There are no simple paths to justice and purity, only the difficult one.’

‘Three men,’ Duff said.

‘You, me and...?’

‘And Fleance,’ Duff said. ‘How did you manage it, lad?’

‘My father kicked me out of the car and off the bridge,’ the voice said behind him. ‘He taught me how to do what he never succeeded in teaching Macbeth. How to swim.’

Duff looked at Malcolm, who sighed then smiled. And to his surprise Duff felt himself smiling too. And felt something surge up his throat. A sob. But he realised it was laughter, not tears, only when he saw Malcolm also burst into laughter and then Fleance. The laughter of war.

‘Wozzup?’

They turned to see old Alfie standing in the doorway with a bewildered expression on his face and the newspaper in his hand, and they laughed even louder.

Lennox was standing by the window staring out. Weighing the grenade in his hand. Angus, Angus. He still hadn’t told anyone about the meeting at Estex. Why, he didn’t know. He only knew he hadn’t done a thing all day. Or yesterday. Or the day before. Whenever he tried to read a report he lost concentration. It was as though the letters moved and made new words. Reforming became informing and portrayal became betrayal . Whenever he lifted the phone to make a call the receiver weighed a ton and he had to cradle it again. He had tried to read the newspaper and found out that old Zimmerman was standing for mayor. Zimmerman was neither controversial nor charismatic; he was respected for his competence, as far as that went, but he was not a serious challenger to Tourtell. Lennox had also started reading an article about the increase in drug trafficking, which according to the UN had turned it into the biggest industry after arms dealing, before realising he was only looking at sentences, not reading them.

Eight days had gone by since Duff had evaded capture in Capitol. When Lennox and Seyton had stood before him in the chief commissioner’s office Macbeth had been so furious that he was literally foaming at the mouth. White bubbles of saliva gathered at the corners of his mouth as he ranted on about what an idiot he had been made to look in the capital. And if Lennox and Seyton had done their jobs and caught Duff while he was still in town then this would never have happened. And yet Lennox felt this paradoxical relief that Duff was still alive and free.

There wasn’t much light left outside, but his eyes smarted. Perhaps he needed an extra shot today. Just to get through this one day; tomorrow everything would be better.

‘Is that really a hand grenade or is it supposed to be an ashtray?’

Lennox turned to the voice at the door.

Macbeth was in an odd pose, leaning forward with his arms down by his sides as though he were standing in a strong wind. His head was bowed, his pupils at the top of his eyes as he stared at Lennox.

‘It was thrown at my grandfather in the First World War.’

‘Lies.’ Macbeth grinned, coming in and closing the door behind him. ‘That’s a German Model 24 Stielhandgranate , stick grenade. It’s an ashtray.’

‘I don’t think my grandfather—’

Macbeth took the grenade out of Lennox’s hand, grasped the cord at the end of the handle and began to pull.

‘Don’t!’

Macbeth raised an eyebrow and eyed the frightened head of the Anti-Corruption Unit, who continued: ‘It will d-detonate—’

‘—your grandfather’s story?’ Macbeth put the cord back into the handle and placed the grenade on the table. ‘We can’t have that, can we. So what were you thinking about, Inspector?’

‘Corruption,’ Lennox said, putting the grenade in a drawer. ‘And anti-corruption.’

Macbeth pulled the visitor’s chair forward. ‘What is corruption actually, Lennox? Is a solemnly committed revolutionary paid to infiltrate our state machinery corrupt? Is an obedient but passive servant who does nothing but receive his regular and somewhat unreasonably high salary in a system he knows is based on corruption corrupt?’

‘There are many grey areas, Chief Commissioner. As a rule you know yourself if you’re corrupt or not.’

‘You mean it’s a matter of feelings?’ Macbeth sat down, and Lennox followed suit so as not to tower over him.

‘So if you don’t feel corrupt because the family you’re providing for is dependent on your income, you’re not corrupt? If the motive is good — for the family or town’s benefit — we can just paraphrase the word corruption — say, well, pragmatic politics , for instance.’

‘I think it’s the other way round,’ Lennox said. ‘I think when you know greed and nothing else is at the root, then you resort to paraphrases for yourself. While the morally justified crime requires no paraphrase. We can live with it going by its right name. Corruption, robbery, murder.’

‘So this is what you do? Spend your time in here thinking,’ Macbeth said, holding his chin in his fingertips. ‘Wondering whether you’re corrupt or not.’