Macbeth

‘No, not now,’ she interrupted and pulled her hand away. ‘We’ve got guests. But I have something else for you. A present to celebrate your appointment.’

‘Oh?’

‘Look in the bedside-table drawer.’

Macbeth took out a case. Inside it was a bright, shiny dagger. He lifted it to the light. ‘Silver?’

‘I was going to give it to you after the dinner, but I think you need it now. Silver, as is well known, is the only material that can kill ghosts.’

‘Thank you, my sweet.’

‘It’s a pleasure. So tell me Banquo is dead.’

‘Banquo’s dead. He’s dead.’

‘Yes, and we’ll mourn later. Now let’s join the others. You tell them it was an inside joke between us. Come on.’

It was ten minutes past eleven.

Caithness was still in bed, while Duff had got dressed and was standing by the kitchen worktop. He had made a cup of tea and found a lemon in the fridge, but the only clean knife was more suited to stabbing than slicing a lemon. He stuck the point in the peel and a fine spray came out. So late at night it would normally take half the usual time to get to the central station, find a parking spot and get to Bertha. He had no intention of being late. Banquo didn’t seem as if he needed an excuse not to tell him what he knew. On the other hand, Duff had seen Banquo wanted to talk. Wanted to unburden himself of... of what? The guilt? Or just what he knew? Banquo was no bellwether, he was a sheep, no more than a link. And soon Duff hoped he would know who the others were. And armed with that he would... The silence was broken by the telephone on the wall beside the cork board.

‘Phone!’ he shouted.

‘Heard it. I’ll take it here,’ Caithness answered from the bedroom. She had a phone in every room, one of the things that could make him feel old when he was with her. They were perhaps a little old-fashioned, Meredith and him, but they thought that one phone per household was enough — it didn’t hurt to have to run. He found a cloth and wiped his hand. Listened for her voice to determine what kind of conversation it was, who was ringing so late at night. Meredith? The thought came to him, and he rejected it at once. The second thought lingered for longer. A lover. Another lover, younger. No, an admirer, a potential lover. Someone standing in the wings, ready to step in if Duff hadn’t given her the answer she wanted this evening. Yes, that was the reason for the sudden hurry. And Duff hadn’t complied with her demands, while his ultimatum had been turned round to become her own. And she had chosen him. The moment he articulated the thought he half-wished it was an admirer. How strange are we humans?

‘Could you repeat that?’ he heard Caithness say from the bedroom. Her professional voice. Only more excited than usual. ‘I’m on my way. Call the others.’

Definitely work. SOCO work.

He heard her rummaging around in her room. He hoped the job wasn’t in Fife and she would suggest he drove her. His hand was sweaty. He licked it while looking down at the lemon. The juice had got into one of the cuts he had received when he fell on the tarmac at the quay. He was still for a second. Then he pulled the knife out and stabbed the lemon again. Hard and fast this time. Let go of the knife quickly and pulled his hand away, but it stung again. It was impossible. Impossible to stab and remove your hand before the spray.

Caithness rushed into the kitchen with a black doctor’s bag in her hand.

‘What is it?’ Duff asked when he saw her expression.

‘It was HQ. Macbeth’s deputy from SWAT...’

‘Banquo?’ Duff felt his throat constrict.

‘Yes,’ she said, pulling open a drawer. ‘He’s been found on Kenneth Bridge.’

‘Found? Do you mean...?’

‘Yes,’ she said, rummaging angrily in the drawer.

‘How?’ The questions that accumulated were too numerous, and Duff helplessly grabbed his forehead.

‘I don’t know yet, but the police at the scene say his car’s riddled with bullets. And his head’s been removed.’

‘Removed? As in... cut off?’

‘We’ll soon see,’ she said, taking a pair of latex gloves from the drawer and putting them in the bag. ‘Can you drive me?’

‘Caithness, I’ve got this meeting, so...’

‘You didn’t say where, but if it’s a long detour...’

He looked at the knife again.

‘I’ll go with you,’ he said. ‘Of course I will. I’m head of the Homicide Unit, and this case is top priority.’

Then he turned and threw the knife hard at the cork board. It spun one and a half times on its axis before hitting the board handle first and falling to the kitchen floor with a clatter.

‘What are you trying to do?’ she asked.

Duff stared at the knife. ‘Something you need a lot of practice at before you succeed. Come on.’

17

‘So, Seyton,’ Macbeth said, ‘What can I do for you?’

The rays of sunshine had found a break in the clouds and were now angled through the grimy windows of the chief commissioner’s office and fell on his desk, on his photo of Lady, on the calendar showing it was a Tuesday, on the drawing of the Gatling gun and, sitting in front of Macbeth’s desk, the polished, shiny pate of the lean, sinewy officer.