Macbeth

‘Oh yes, the darkroom is always locked,’ the caretaker said. ‘Photos are considered evidence. Duff hasn’t got a key for this room. At least, he didn’t get it from me.’

‘Let’s go then,’ Lennox said.

Seyton and Olafson came towards them with the short barrels of their machine guns lowered as the caretaker held the door open.

At last.

Seyton held out his hand. ‘The key.’

‘What?’

‘To the darkroom.’

The caretaker hesitated, glanced at Lennox, who sighed and nodded. The caretaker removed a key from his bunch and gave it to Seyton.

‘What’s he doing?’ asked the caretaker as they watched Seyton and Olafson walk past the Volvo to the darkroom door.

‘His job,’ growled Lennox.

‘I mean with his nose. Looks like he’s sniffing, like an animal.’

Lennox nodded. Thinking he wasn’t alone in noticing that Seyton could assume the shape of a... he didn’t know what. Something that wasn’t human anyway.

Seyton could smell him now. That smell. The same as the one in the house in Fife and Caithness’s flat. Either he was here or he had been here recently. Seyton unlocked the door and opened it. Olafson went in and sank to his knees. When the caretaker turned on the switch at the front door all the lights in the garage and the side rooms had come on as well, but in here it was still dark. Of course. A darkroom.

Seyton went in. The stench of chemicals drowned the smell of the prey, of Duff. He found the light switch on the inside of the door, twisted it on, but still no light came. Maybe the fuse had gone during the power cut. Or someone had removed the bulb. Seyton switched on his torch. The wall above the table was covered with big photos hanging from a line. Seyton shone his torch across them. They showed a dagger with a bloodstained blade and handle. Duff had been here. Seyton was absolutely sure.

‘Hey! What’s going on?’ It was Lennox. The little albino wimp wanted to go home. He was sweating and yawning. The bloody old woman.

‘Coming,’ Seyton shouted, switching off the torch. ‘Come on, Olafson.’

Seyton let Olafson pass. Shut the door hard after him and stood inside the door. Listened in the darkness. Until Duff thought the coast was clear and relaxed. Seyton lifted his gun to the photos. Pressed the trigger. The weapon shook in his hands, the sound reverberated against his eardrums. He drew a cross with the burst. Then he switched on his torch again, walked over to the perforated photos and pulled them aside.

Stared at the bullet holes in the wall behind.

No Duff.

The explosions were still ringing in his ears. He noted that one of the holes was extra-deep — must have been two bullets hitting the same spot. Chance.

Of course.

Seyton marched out towards the others.

‘What was that?’ Lennox asked.

‘I didn’t like the photos,’ Seyton said. ‘There’s one place we’ve forgotten.’

‘Yes,’ Lennox groaned. ‘Our beds.’

‘Duff thinks like they did during the bomb attacks in the war. He hides in a bomb crater because he believes two bombs can’t hit exactly the same place.’

‘What the hell...?’

‘He’s back in his house in Fife. Come on!’

The rat darted out of its hiding place after the light in the garage had gone off, it had heard the door slam and the steps fade away. It padded over the damp brick floor to the car in the middle. There was blood on the driver’s seat, which attracted it. Sweet, nutritious and days old. It just had to get through the tarpaulin spread over the car. The rat had almost got through before when it was disturbed. But now it gnawed through the last part and was inside. It ran across the floor on the passenger side, past the gear stick and down onto the rubber mat on the driver’s side. Over a pair of leather shoes. Recoiled when one leather shoe creaked and rose. It reared up onto its legs and hissed. The lovely bloodstained driver’s seat was occupied.

Duff heard the rustle of the fleeing rat. Then he loosened his tensed grip on the wheel. He could feel his heart wasn’t pounding any more, only beating. It had been hammering so hard while Seyton and his men were in the garage he was sure they must have heard. He looked at his watch. Still five hours to daybreak. He tried to shift position, but his trousers were stuck to the blood on the seat. Banquo’s blood. It glued him to this place. But he had to get away. Move on.

But where? And how?