Ю Несбё - Macbeth

Macbeth looked at her. He saw nothing in her face. Yet. She had thought Seyton would be coming. Strong perfume. Which camouflaged any other smell she might be secreting.

‘OK,’ he said and set off down the alley.

He hadn’t walked more than ten metres before all the sounds from the main street disappeared and all that could be heard was the whirr of fans, coughing from an open window and the drone of a radio: Todd Rundgren, ‘Hello, It’s Me’. He sneaked between the dustbins, creeping forward without quite knowing why. Habit, he supposed.

The body lay in the middle of the alley, half inside the cone of light from a wall lamp. He could make out 15th Street at the other end, but it was too far away for him to see if the alley was taped off there as well.

A pair of feet stuck out from under the white sheet. He immediately recognised the winkle-pickers.

He went over to the sheet. Took a deep breath. The air contained the sweet smell of dry-cleaning chemicals coming from a noisy extractor fan above the door right behind him. He grasped the sheet in the middle and pulled it away.

‘Hi, Macbeth.’

Macbeth stared into the muzzle of the shotgun raised towards him by the man lying on his back in the darkness. The scar shone on his face. Macbeth released the air from his lungs.

‘Hi, Duff.’

Duff studied Macbeth’s hands as he spoke. ‘Macbeth, you are hereby arrested. If you move a finger I’ll shoot you now. Your choice.’

Macbeth looked towards 15th Street. ‘I’m the chief commissioner in this town, Duff. You can’t arrest me.’

‘There are other authorities.’

‘The mayor?’ Macbeth laughed. ‘I don’t think you can rely on him living that long.’

‘I’m not talking about anyone in this town.’ Duff got to his feet without the shotgun veering a centimetre from Macbeth.

‘You’ve been arrested for involvement in the murders committed in Fife, and you will be transported there to stand trial. We’ve spoken with them. You will be charged with the murder of Banquo, which took place in Fife. Hold your hands above your head and face the wall.’

Macbeth did as instructed. ‘You’ve got nothing on me and you know it.’

‘With Inspector Caithness’s statement about what Angus told her, we have enough to keep you in custody in Fife for a week. And a week without you at the helm will give us enough time to indict you here too. For the murder of Duncan. We have forensic evidence.’ Duff took out his handcuffs. ‘Turn round, put your hands behind— You know the drill.’

‘Are you really not going to shoot me, Duff? Come on, you’re a man who lives for revenge.’

Duff waited until Macbeth had turned his back and linked his hands behind his head, then approached.

‘I know it affected you finding out the man you killed wasn’t Sweno, Duff. But now you’re sure you have the right man in front of you, aren’t you going to avenge Meredith and the children? Or did your mother mean more to you than them?’

‘Stand still and shut your mouth.’

‘I’ve kept my mouth shut for years, Duff. I know the female officer Sweno killed in Stoke was your mother. What year was the business in Stoke? You can’t have been very old.’

‘I was young.’ Duff closed the handcuffs around Macbeth’s wrists.

‘And why did you take your maternal grandfather’s surname of instead of your parents’ name?’

Duff turned Macbeth so that they stood face to face.

‘You don’t need to answer,’ Macbeth said. ‘You did it so that no one in the police or the Norse Riders could link your name to the Stoke massacre. No one would know that you didn’t become an officer to serve the town and all that shit we swear to. It was all about catching Sweno, about you getting your revenge. Hatred drove you, Duff. At the orphanage when you killed Lorreal, it was easy, wasn’t it? You saw Sweno in front of you. Lorreal was another man who had destroyed a childhood.’

‘Maybe.’ Duff was so close he could see his reflection in Macbeth’s brown eyes.

‘So what’s happened, Duff? Why don’t you want to kill now? I’m the man who took your family, and now this is your chance.’

‘You’ll have to take responsibility for what you’ve done.’

‘And what have I done?’

Duff cast a quick glance in the direction of 15th Street, where the car with Malcolm and Fleance was waiting. Caithness was on her way there. ‘You’ve killed innocent people.’

‘It’s our damned duty to kill innocent people, Duff. As long as it serves a greater purpose we have to overcome our sentimental, compliant natures. The man whose throat I cut out on the country road, that wasn’t for you, it wasn’t repayment for you killing Lorreal for me. I made myself a murderer so that no one would drag the police force through the mud. It was for the town, against anarchy.’

‘Come on. Let’s go.’

Duff grabbed Macbeth’s arm, but Macbeth twisted away. ‘Has your lust for power become greater than your lust for revenge, Duff? Do you think you’re going to get Organised Crime by arresting the chief commissioner himself?’

Duff pressed the muzzle of the shotgun under Macbeth’s chin. ‘I could of course tell them you resisted arrest.’

‘Difficult decision?’ Macbeth whispered.

‘No,’ Duff said, lowering the gun. ‘This town doesn’t need more bodies.’

‘So you didn’t love them, eh? Meredith, the children? Oh no, I forgot, you can’t love—’

Duff hit out. The shotgun barrel struck Macbeth in the mouth. ‘Remember I’ve never had your problem about killing a defenceless man face to face, Macbeth.’

Macbeth laughed and spat blood. What must have been a tooth bounced into the darkness. ‘Then prove it. Shoot the only friend you’ve ever had. Come on. Do it for Meredith!’

‘Don’t even say her name.’

‘Meredith! Meredith!’

Duff heard the blood throbbing in his ears, felt his heart pounding, heavy and painful. He mustn’t — Macbeth’s forehead hit Duff’s nose with a crunch. But they were standing too close for Macbeth to have the momentum and power to knock him down. Duff stepped back two paces and raised the shotgun to his shoulder.

At that moment the door behind Macbeth flew open.

A silhouette in the doorway. The arm of a grey coat shot out, grabbed the handcuffs behind Macbeth’s back and pulled. The force was so great that Macbeth’s feet left the ground as he disappeared through the door into the darkness behind.

Duff fired.

The explosion met his eardrums and quivered between the walls of the alley.

Half-deafened, Duff stepped over the threshold into the darkness.

Something whirled in the air which he breathed in and spat out. People seemed to be lined up in front of him. The smell of perchlorethylene was overwhelming. His free hand found a light switch on the wall by the door. The people lined up were stands holding jackets and coats, each under a plastic cover with a note stating a name and date. In front of him a hole had been blasted in a plastic cover and a brown fur coat, and Duff realised he had been spitting out animal hair. He stood listening but heard only the drone of the green Garrett dry-cleaning machine by the wall. Then a ringing, like a bell above a shop door. He threw himself against the wall of clothes, ploughed past stand after stand through a door to the rear of a counter where a Chinese couple stared at him, scared out of their wits. He ran past them and onto the street. Looked up and down. The Saturday evening rush had started. A man bumped into him and for a moment Duff lost his balance. He cursed as the man apologised and continued down the pavement.

He heard laughter behind him. Turned and saw a guy in rags, filthy, a few stumps of teeth in an open mouth.