Macbeth

‘Dr Alsaker may also soon be in need of a new dinner jacket.’

Hecate laughed. ‘Just send me the bill. Can he cure her?’

‘Not without hospitalisation,’ he says. ‘But we don’t want that, do we?’

‘Let’s wait and see. I believe it’s well known that Lady is one of the chief commissioner’s most important advisers, and during these critical days there would be unfortunate consequences if it became public knowledge that she’d gone mad.’

‘So psychosis is...?’

‘Yes?’

Bonus swallowed. ‘Nothing.’ What was it about Hecate that always made him feel like a dithering teenager? It was more than the display of real power; there was something else, something that terrified Bonus but he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It wasn’t what he could see in Hecate’s eyes, it was more what he couldn’t see. It was the blood-curdling certainty of a nothingness. Wasteland and numbingly cold nights.

‘Anyway,’ Hecate said, ‘what I wanted to discuss was Macbeth. I’m concerned about him. He’s changed.’

‘Really?’

‘I fear he’s hooked. Not so strange, maybe, after all it is the world’s most addictive dope.’

‘Power?’

‘Yes, but not the type that comes in powder form. Real power. I didn’t think that he would be hooked quite so quickly. He’s already managed to divest himself of any emotions that tie him to morality and humanity; now power is his new and only lover. You heard the radio interview the other day. The brat wants to be mayor.’

‘But in practice the chief commissioner has more power.’

‘As chief commissioner he will of course make sure that real power is returned to the town hall before he occupies the mayoral office. Truly, Macbeth is dreaming of taking over this town. He thinks he is invincible now. And that he can challenge me too.’

Bonus looked at Hecate in surprise. He had folded his hands over the golden top of his stick and was studying his reflection.

‘Yes, Bonus, it should be the other way round: it should be you telling me that Macbeth is after me. That’s what I pay you for. And now your little flounder brain is wondering how I can know this. Well, just ask me.’

‘I... er... How do you know?’

‘Because he said so on the radio programme you also listened to.’

‘I thought he said the opposite, that pursuing Hecate wouldn’t have the same priority as under Duncan.’

‘And when did you last hear anyone with political ambitions say on radio what they weren’t going to do for the electorate? He could have said he was going to arrest Hecate and create jobs. Sober politicians always promise everything under the sun. But what he said wasn’t meant for voters, it was meant for me, Bonus. He didn’t need to, yet he committed himself publicly and pandered to me. And when people pander you have to watch out.’

‘You think he wants to gain your confidence—’ Bonus looked at Hecate to see if he was on the right track ‘—because he hopes that way you will let him in close and he can then dispose of you?’

Hecate pulled a black hair from a wart on his cheek and studied it. ‘I could crush Macbeth under my heel this minute. But I’ve invested a lot in getting him where he is now, and if there’s one thing I hate it’s a bad investment, Bonus. Therefore I want you to keep your eyes and ears open to find out what he’s planning.’ Hecate threw up his arms. ‘Ah! Look, here’s Al with more jackets. Let’s find one to fit your long tentacle arms.’

Bonus gulped. ‘What if I don’t find out anything?’

‘Then I have no more use for you, dear Bonus.’

It was said in such a casual way and made even more innocuous with a little smile. Bonus’s eyes searched behind the smile. But he found nothing there except night and chill.

‘Look at the watch,’ Dr Alsaker ordered and let his pocket watch swing in front of the patient’s face. ‘You’re relaxing, your arms and legs are feeling heavy, you’re tired and you’re falling asleep. And you won’t wake until I say chestnut.’

She was easy to hypnotise. So easy that Alsaker had to check a couple of times that she wasn’t pretending. Whenever he came to the Inverness he was followed up to the suite by the receptionist, Jack. There she sat ready in her dressing gown — she refused to wear anything else. Her hands were red from compulsive daily scrubbing, and even if she insisted she wasn’t taking anything, he could see from her pupils that she was under the influence of some drug or other. It was one of several disadvantages of being refused permission to admit her to a psychiatric ward, where he could have kept an eye on her medication, sleep and meals and observed her behaviour.