Macbeth

But he wasn’t a vampire, was he. Some things you didn’t see until you got close. Like the white farmhouse in front of him. It wasn’t until you got close that you saw the whiteness was peppered with small black holes.

29

‘Welcome aboard,’ said the captain of MS Glamis as the pilot entered the bridge. ‘I’d like us to be on time today. We’ve got someone waiting for us.’

‘No problem,’ the pilot said, shook the captain’s hand and took up a position beside him. ‘If the engines are working.’

‘Why wouldn’t they be?’

‘One of your engineers asked to go back on my boat. He had to get hold of a part the first engineer wants.’

‘Oh?’ the captain said. ‘I hadn’t been told that.’

‘Probably a minor detail.’

‘Who was the engineer?’

‘Hutch-something-or-other. There they are.’ The pilot pointed to the boat rapidly moving away from them.

The captain took his binoculars. On the aft deck he saw a striped cap over the back of an Esso T-shirt.

‘Anything wrong?’ the pilot asked.

‘No one leaves the ship without my permission,’ the captain said. ‘At least not today.’ He pressed the intercom button for the galley. ‘Steward!’

‘Captain,’ came the response from the other end.

‘Send Johnson up with two cups of coffee.’

‘I’m coming, Captain.’

‘Johnson, I said.’

‘He’s got stomach cramps, Captain, so I let him rest until we dock.’

‘Check he’s in his cabin.’

‘Righty-ho.’

The captain took his finger off the button.

‘Three degrees port,’ the pilot said.

‘Aye aye,’ said the first mate.

Inspector Seyton had said the safest option was for the captain and the telegrapher to remain the only ones in the know so that Duff didn’t realise his cover had been blown. Seyton and two of his best men would be ready on the quay when they docked, board the boat and overpower Duff. And Seyton had stressed that when it happened he wanted the crew well clear so that no one would be hurt if shots were fired. Although to the captain it sounded like when shots were fired.

‘Captain!’ It was the steward. ‘Johnson’s sleeping like a baby in his bunk. Shall I wake—’

‘No! let him sleep. Is he alone in his cabin?’

‘Yes, Captain.’

‘Good, good.’ The captain looked at his watch. In an hour everything would be over and he could go home to his wife. Soon have a couple of days off. Just that summons to the shipping line tomorrow concerning the insurance company report about a suspiciously high number of cases of the same type of illness in the crew who had worked in the hold over the last ten years. Something to do with blood.

‘Course is fine,’ the pilot said.

‘Let’s hope so,’ the captain mumbled. ‘Let’s hope so.’

Ten minutes past one. Ten minutes ago a large elk head had come out of an elk clock and mooed. Angus looked around. He regretted the choice of place. Even if it was only unemployed layabouts and drunks at the Bricklayers Arms during the day now, it was the SWAT local, and if someone from police HQ saw him and the reporter talking it would soon get to Macbeth’s ears. On the other hand, it was less suspicious than sitting in some bar hidden in the back streets.

But Angus didn’t like it. Didn’t like the elk. Didn’t like it that the journalist still hadn’t arrived. Angus would have gone long ago if this hadn’t been his last chance.

‘Sorry for being late.’

The rolled ‘r’s. Angus looked up. It was only the voice that reassured him the man standing there in yellow oilskins was Walter Kite. Angus had read that this radio reporter consistently said no to TV and being pictured in newspapers and celeb magazines, as he considered a person’s appearance a distraction from the story. The word was everything.

‘Rain and traffic,’ Walt Kite said, undoing his jacket. Water ran from his thin hair.

‘It’s always rain and traffic,’ Angus said.

‘That’s the excuse we use anyway,’ the radio reporter said and sat down opposite him in the booth. ‘The truth is the chain came off my bike.’

‘I thought Walter Kite didn’t lie,’ Angus said.

‘Kite, the radio reporter, never lies,’ Kite said with a wry smile. ‘Walter, the private person, is a long way behind.’

‘Are you alone?’

‘Always. Tell me what you didn’t say on the phone.’

Angus drew a deep breath and began to speak. He experienced nothing of the nerves he had felt when he had presented his information to Lennox and Caithness. Perhaps because the die was already cast; there was no way back. He used more or less the same words he had at Estex the day before, but also told Kite about the meeting with Lennox and Caithness. He gave Kite everything. The names. The details about the club house and Fife. The order to burn the baby’s body. While they were speaking Kite took a serviette from the box on the table and tried to wipe the black oil off his hands.

‘Why me?’ Kite asked, taking a second serviette.

‘Because you’re considered to be a brave reporter with integrity,’ Angus said.

‘Nice to hear people think so,’ Kite said, studying Angus. ‘Your language is more elevated than other young police officers’.’

‘I studied theology.’