Macbeth

Lennox was standing by the window staring out. Weighing the grenade in his hand. Angus, Angus. He still hadn’t told anyone about the meeting at Estex. Why, he didn’t know. He only knew he hadn’t done a thing all day. Or yesterday. Or the day before. Whenever he tried to read a report he lost concentration. It was as though the letters moved and made new words. Reforming became informing and portrayal became betrayal. Whenever he lifted the phone to make a call the receiver weighed a ton and he had to cradle it again. He had tried to read the newspaper and found out that old Zimmerman was standing for mayor. Zimmerman was neither controversial nor charismatic; he was respected for his competence, as far as that went, but he was not a serious challenger to Tourtell. Lennox had also started reading an article about the increase in drug trafficking, which according to the UN had turned it into the biggest industry after arms dealing, before realising he was only looking at sentences, not reading them.

Eight days had gone by since Duff had evaded capture in Capitol. When Lennox and Seyton had stood before him in the chief commissioner’s office Macbeth had been so furious that he was literally foaming at the mouth. White bubbles of saliva gathered at the corners of his mouth as he ranted on about what an idiot he had been made to look in the capital. And if Lennox and Seyton had done their jobs and caught Duff while he was still in town then this would never have happened. And yet Lennox felt this paradoxical relief that Duff was still alive and free.

There wasn’t much light left outside, but his eyes smarted. Perhaps he needed an extra shot today. Just to get through this one day; tomorrow everything would be better.

‘Is that really a hand grenade or is it supposed to be an ashtray?’

Lennox turned to the voice at the door.

Macbeth was in an odd pose, leaning forward with his arms down by his sides as though he were standing in a strong wind. His head was bowed, his pupils at the top of his eyes as he stared at Lennox.

‘It was thrown at my grandfather in the First World War.’

‘Lies.’ Macbeth grinned, coming in and closing the door behind him. ‘That’s a German Model 24 Stielhandgranate, stick grenade. It’s an ashtray.’

‘I don’t think my grandfather—’

Macbeth took the grenade out of Lennox’s hand, grasped the cord at the end of the handle and began to pull.

‘Don’t!’

Macbeth raised an eyebrow and eyed the frightened head of the Anti-Corruption Unit, who continued: ‘It will d-detonate—’

‘—your grandfather’s story?’ Macbeth put the cord back into the handle and placed the grenade on the table. ‘We can’t have that, can we. So what were you thinking about, Inspector?’

‘Corruption,’ Lennox said, putting the grenade in a drawer. ‘And anti-corruption.’

Macbeth pulled the visitor’s chair forward. ‘What is corruption actually, Lennox? Is a solemnly committed revolutionary paid to infiltrate our state machinery corrupt? Is an obedient but passive servant who does nothing but receive his regular and somewhat unreasonably high salary in a system he knows is based on corruption corrupt?’

‘There are many grey areas, Chief Commissioner. As a rule you know yourself if you’re corrupt or not.’

‘You mean it’s a matter of feelings?’ Macbeth sat down, and Lennox followed suit so as not to tower over him.

‘So if you don’t feel corrupt because the family you’re providing for is dependent on your income, you’re not corrupt? If the motive is good — for the family or town’s benefit — we can just paraphrase the word corruption — say, well, pragmatic politics, for instance.’

‘I think it’s the other way round,’ Lennox said. ‘I think when you know greed and nothing else is at the root, then you resort to paraphrases for yourself. While the morally justified crime requires no paraphrase. We can live with it going by its right name. Corruption, robbery, murder.’

‘So this is what you do? Spend your time in here thinking,’ Macbeth said, holding his chin in his fingertips. ‘Wondering whether you’re corrupt or not.’

‘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.