Ю Несбё - Macbeth

‘Me?’ Lennox chuckled. ‘I’m talking about the people we investigate of course.’

‘And yet we always talk about ourselves. And I’d still maintain that desperate situations make people call their own corruption by another name. And the payment you receive to take advantage of your position is not money but charity. Life. Your family’s life, for instance. Do you understand?’

‘I don’t know...’ Lennox said.

‘Let me give you an example,’ Macbeth said. ‘A radio reporter who is known for his integrity is contacted by a young police officer who thinks he has a story to tell that could bring down a chief commissioner. What this perfidious officer, let’s call him Angus, doesn’t know is that this radio reporter has a certain... relationship with the chief commissioner. The reporter, with good reason, fears for his family if he doesn’t do as this chief commissioner wishes. So the reporter informs said chief commissioner about the officer’s seditious plans. The reporter promises to get back to the young officer, and the chief commissioner tells the reporter to meet the officer where no one can see or hear them. Where the boss or his people can... well, you know.’

Lennox didn’t answer. He wiped his hands on his trousers.

‘So the boss is safe. But he wonders, naturally enough, who the corrupt person is here: the young officer, the radio reporter or... or who, Lennox?’

Lennox cleared his throat, hesitated. ‘The chief commissioner?’

‘No, no, no.’ Macbeth shook his head. ‘The third person. The one who should have informed the chief commissioner right from the start. The third person who knew about Angus’s plans, who isn’t part of them yet still is, indirectly, for as long as he fails to go to his boss and fails to save him. Which he hasn’t done yet. Because he has to think. And think. And while he’s thinking, he’s becoming corrupt himself, or isn’t he?’

Lennox tried to meet Macbeth’s eyes. But it was like staring at the sun.

‘The meeting at Estex, Lennox. I don’t know when you were considering telling me about it.’

Lennox couldn’t stop blinking. ‘I... I’ve been thinking.’

‘Yes, it’s difficult to stop. Thoughts just come, don’t they? And no matter how free we think our will is, it’s governed by thoughts, bidden or unbidden. Tell me who came to you, Lennox.’

‘This person—’

‘Say the name.’

‘He’s—’

‘Say the name!’

Lennox took a deep breath. ‘Police Officer Angus.’

‘Carry on.’

‘You know Angus. Young. Impulsive. And with all that’s happened recently anyone can react a little irrationally. I thought that before I came to you with these serious accusations I’d try to talk some common sense into him. Let him cool down a bit.’

‘And in the meantime keep me in ignorance? Because you assumed that your judgement of the situation was better than mine? That I wouldn’t let Angus, whom I employed in SWAT, have another chance? That I would have his overheated, though otherwise innocent, head chopped off straight away?’

‘I...’ Lennox searched for words to complete his sentence.

‘But you’re wrong, Lennox. I always give my subordinates two chances. And that rule applies to both you and Angus.’

‘I’m pleased to hear that.’

‘I believe in magnanimity. So I would have forgotten the whole business if Angus had shown signs of regret and refused to meet the reporter when he rang to set up a second meeting. I wouldn’t have given it another thought. Life would have gone on. Unfortunately Angus didn’t do that. He accepted. And I don’t have a third cheek.’

Macbeth got up and walked to the window.

‘Which brings me to your second chance, Lennox. My reporter has been informed that you and Seyton are going to this meeting. It’ll take place at the Estex factory this evening, where Angus believes there will also be a photographer to take pictures of a furnace where he believes a child’s body has been burned. And there you will personally punish the traitor.’

‘Punish?’

‘I’ll leave you to mete out the punishment at your own discretion. My only demand is that death should be the outcome.’ Macbeth turned to Lennox, who was breathing through his mouth.

‘And afterwards Seyton will help you dispose of the body.’

‘But—’

‘Third chances probably exist. In heaven. How’s your family by the way?’

Lennox opened his mouth, and a sound emerged.

‘Good,’ Macbeth said. ‘Seyton will pick you up at six. Depending on the punishment you choose it should all be over within an hour and a half, so I suggest you ring your charming wife to say you’ll be a little late for tea. I’ve been told her shopping indicates she’s giving you black pudding.’

Macbeth closed the door quietly behind him as he left.

Lennox put his head in his hands. A mollusc. A creature without a bone in his body.

A fix. He had to have a shot.

Macbeth crashed his heels down on the floor as he strode along the corridor. Trying to drown the voice shouting he had to have power. Or brew. Or anything. He had managed to stay clean for more than a week now. It would get worse before it got better, but it would get better. He had done it before and would do it again. There was just the awful sweat — it stank, stank of displeasure, fear and pain. But it would pass. Everything would pass. Had to pass. He walked into the anteroom to his office.

‘Chief Commissioner—’

‘No messages, no phone calls, Priscilla.’

‘But—’

‘Not now. Later.’

‘You’ve got a visitor.’

Macbeth pulled up sharp. ‘You let someone in—’ he pointed to the office door ‘—there?’

‘She insisted.’

Macbeth looked at Priscilla’s desperate expression.

‘It’s your wife.’

‘What?’ came his astonished response. He did up the lowest button on his uniform and went into his office.

She was standing behind his desk examining the painting on the wall. ‘Darling! You really have to do something about the art in here.’

Macbeth stared at Lady in disbelief. She was wearing a plain, elegant outfit under a fur coat; she had obviously come straight from the hairdresser’s and looked relaxed and energetic. He approached her with caution. ‘How... are you, darling?’

‘Excellent,’ she said. ‘I can see this picture is propaganda, but what’s it trying to say actually?’

Macbeth couldn’t take his eyes off her. Where was the crazy woman he had seen yesterday? Gone.

‘My love?’

Macbeth gazed at the painting. Saw the workers’ coarse features. ‘It was put there by someone else. I’ll get it changed. I’m so glad you feel better. Have you... taken your medicine?’

She shook her head. ‘No medicine. I’ve stopped my medicine. All of it.’

‘Because there’s none left?’

She smiled fleetingly. ‘I saw the drawer was empty. You’ve stopped too.’ She sat in his chair. ‘This is a bit... cramped, isn’t it?’

‘Maybe.’ Macbeth sat down on one of the visitor’s chairs. Perhaps her madness had just been a labyrinth and she had found her way out.

‘Glad you agree. I had a chat with Jack this morning. About the plan you made regarding the mayoral elections.’

‘Yes. Well, what do you think?’

She pouted and waggled her head. ‘You’ve done the best you can do, but you’ve forgotten one thing.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Your thinking is that we should leak information about Tourtell’s relationship with this boy just before the elections. And then you, the Sweno-killer, will quickly fill the vacuum before people go to the ballot box.’

‘Yes?’ said Macbeth, full of enthusiasm.