Macbeth

‘Do you want us to continue in this downward spiral into chaos and anarchy, Banquo? Our forefathers built railways and schools. We build brothels and casinos.’

Banquo got into the car and hooted the horn twice. The house door opened, and a suited Fleance emerged onto the steps struggling to open an umbrella.

Banquo cracked open the window, presumably because the car was misting up inside, and Duff put his hands on the window and tried to press it down further while talking through the narrow opening. ‘Listen, Banquo. If you do this, if you confess, there’s not a lot I can do for you, you know that. But I promise you no one will be allowed to hurt Fleance. His prospects won’t be those of a traitor’s son but those of the son of a man who sacrificed himself for the town. You have my word.’

‘Hi. Inspector Duff, isn’t it?’

Duff straightened up. ‘Hi, Fleance. That’s right. Have a nice dinner.’

‘Thanks.’

Duff waited until Fleance had got into the passenger’s seat and Banquo had started the engine. Then he set off for his car.

‘Duff!’

He turned.

Banquo had opened his door. ‘It’s not as you think,’ he shouted.

‘Isn’t it?’

‘No. Meet me by Bertha at midnight.’

Duff nodded.

The Volvo was put into gear, and father and son went through the gate into the mist.

15

Lady went up the last metal rungs of the ladder to the door leading to the flat roof of Inverness Casino. She opened it and stared into the darkness. All that could be heard was the mumbled whisper of the rain. It seemed that everything and everyone had secrets. She was about to turn and go back in when a crackle of lightning lit up the roof, and she saw him. He was standing by the edge of the roof and looking down into Thrift Street, at the back of the casino. Before she had persuaded the town council to clean it up, the prostitutes had stood there in the barely lit street and not only offered themselves but often performed their services right there, in the archways, in cars, on cars or up against walls. When the National Railway Network had been here it was said that the boss had had all the windows facing Thrift Street bricked up so that his subordinates could concentrate on work and not the filth outside.

She opened her umbrella and went over to Macbeth.

‘Out here getting wet, darling? I’ve been looking for you. The guests for dinner will be here soon.’ She looked down the smooth black windowless walls like a fortress that led down to Thrift Street. She knew every yard of the street. And that was reason enough to keep the windows bricked up.

‘What can you see down there?’

‘An abyss,’ he said. ‘Fear.’

‘My dearest, don’t be so gloomy.’

‘No?’

‘What would the point of all our victories be if they didn’t bring a smile to our lips?’

‘We’ve won only a couple of battles. The war has barely begun. And already I’m being consumed by this fear. God knows where it comes from. Give me an armed biker gang coming towards me rather than this serpent we’ve slashed at but haven’t killed.’

‘Stop it, my love. No one can catch us now.’

‘Duncan. I can see him down there. And I envy him. He’s dead — I’ve granted him peace — while all he gives me is anxiety and these nightmares.’

‘It’s brew, right? It’s brew that gives you nightmares.’

‘Darling...’

‘Do you remember what you said about Collum? You said brew drove people crazy. You have to stop taking it or you’ll lose everything we’ve won! Do you hear me? Not another grain of brew!’

‘But the nightmares aren’t a product of my imagination. The sergeant called me. The deal is done. Or have you forgotten the grave deed we have planned for this evening? Have you repressed the thought that my only father and best friend are going to be slaughtered?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about and nor do you. When what’s done is done, there’ll be nothing to brood over. And brew won’t give you consolation or courage. Now your soul will receive its reward. So no more brew! Put a tie on now, my love. And a smile.’ She took his hand. ‘Come on, let’s charm them to pieces.’

Caithness sat in an armchair with a glass of red wine in her hand listening to the rain on the attic window and Kite on the radio. He was talking about the problem of an acting chief commissioner in practice having more power than a democratically elected mayor, all because of Kenneth’s tampering with the town’s laws and statutes. She liked the way he rolled his ‘r’s and his calm voice. Liked the way he wasn’t afraid to shine with his knowledge and intelligence. But most of all she liked the way he was always against something. Against Kenneth, against Tourtell, yes, even against Duncan, who himself had been against so much. It had to be a lonely furrow. And who would want to be lonely if they had a choice?