Macbeth

‘Do you imagine you’re unique? I hope the chief commissioner title hasn’t gone to your head and that you realise it’s only a front. Without me you’re nothing. Duncan thought he could manage without me, indeed, that he could fight me. Do you believe that too, Macbeth?’

Macbeth gritted his teeth and swallowed his anger. He only wanted the bags and to get away. He took a deep breath. ‘As far as I can see, we have a form of collaboration we both profit from, Hecate. You may have triggered events that led to me becoming chief commissioner, and I will get rid of Sweno and ensure that the police don’t bother you and your monopoly too much.’

‘Hm. So you have no moral scruples?’

‘Of course I do, but I’m a pragmatist. In any town of this size there will be a market for dream sellers like you. If it isn’t you or Sweno, it’ll be someone else. Our cooperation will at least keep other and perhaps worse drug dealers away. I accept you as the means to the end of building a good future for this town.’

The old man chuckled. ‘Sounds like words taken straight from Lady’s mouth. Light and sweet to the taste but insubstantial. I’m at a crossroads here, Macbeth. And to decide my way I will have to make an assessment of your suitability. I see the newspapers are using metaphors about the third officer taking over the helm from the captain. Well, your ship is in a hurricane right now. Duncan, Banquo and a police cadet have been executed. Cawdor, Malcolm and two bodyguards are dead and assumed corrupt. Your ship is already a physical and moral wreck, Macbeth, so if I’m going to help you I have to know specifically how you’re going to steer it into calmer waters.’

‘The guilty parties will of course be apprehended and punished.’

‘I’m glad to hear that. And who are the guilty parties?’

‘That’s obvious. The Norse Riders. They forced Malcolm and his guards to cooperate.’

‘Good. In which case we shall be acquitted, you and I. But what if Sweno can prove his innocence with respect to Duncan’s murder?’

‘I have a feeling he won’t be able to.’

‘Hm. I hope you’ve got the energy to follow up what you’ve said, Macbeth.’

‘I have, Hecate. And I hope I can demand the same of you.’

‘What do you mean? I’ve carved out a path for you as chief commissioner, isn’t that enough?’

‘Not if I’m not protected. What I can see now is that everyone’s out to get me: judges, journalists, criminals and probably colleagues too. With guns or words as weapons. The phone never stops. And look. I can be kidnapped or abducted like a blind man in the middle of the day.’

‘Haven’t you got SWAT to keep an eye on you?’

‘Who knows if I can rely on everyone there. I need more protection.’

‘I understand. And here’s my answer. You already have my protection. You’ve already had it for some time. You just haven’t seen it.’

‘Where is it?’

‘Don’t even think about it. You should know Hecate protects his investments. The person I am, what I stand for, is the guarantee that no one, absolutely no one in this town, can hurt you as long as you’re mine, Macbeth.’

‘No one?’

‘I promise you, the person isn’t born that can harm a hair on your beautiful head. And old Bertha will roll again before anyone can push you out of office. Isn’t that good enough for you, Macbeth?’

‘Yes, I’m happy with both of those promises.’

‘Good. Because there’s one last thing I have to say. And that is, watch out for Inspector Duff.’

‘Oh?’

‘He knows it was you who killed Duncan.’

Macbeth knew he should feel alarm. Fear. Panic. But all he had space for was the familiar, hated craving.

‘Fortunately for you there is at the moment only one man who knows what Duff knows.’

‘Who’s that?’ Macbeth asked.

‘The same man who launched and supported your candidature for head of Organised Crime, at my instruction. So discreetly that Duncan thought afterwards it had been his idea.’

‘And who was that?’

‘See for yourself.’

A chair leg scraped as Macbeth was turned round. Then his goggles were removed. Macbeth’s first thought was that he was looking into a soundproofed interview room. It had the same one-way window that meant the interrogee neither saw nor heard those outside. The difference was that this resembled a large laboratory with glass flasks, tubes and pipes leading to an enormous tank. The tank made an almost comical contrast with all the modern equipment and reminded Macbeth of cartoons showing cannibals boiling people alive. On the wall behind the tank hung a sign with the words NO SMOKING. In front of the tank in the harshly illuminated room, close to the glass, sat a pale red-haired man upright in a recliner. One shirtsleeve was rolled up, his face turned to the ceiling, his mouth half-open, his eyes half-shut. He sat so close to them that Macbeth could see the blue half-irises under the man’s eyelids trembling. He recognised one of the Chinese sisters, who was holding a syringe with the needle sticking into Inspector Lennox’s forearm.