Macbeth

It was unusual to see Macbeth enter a room with such a serious expression; he used to greet every day and every person with a smile, come rain or come shine, whether he knew them or not. Like the first time they met at the orphanage. He must have looked at Duff, at his clothes and hair, how different the two of them were, but he had smiled as if they shared something that went deeper than such external matters, something that bound them together, that made them secret brothers. Perhaps he made everyone feel like that with this unconditional, white smile. It had conveyed a naive belief that the people around him wished one another the best and made Duff feel like a cold cynic even then. And what wouldn’t Duff have given for a smile that could rub off on those around him.

‘Duff?’ Someone had whispered his name. He turned and looked into Caithness’s clear green eyes. She nodded to the end of the meeting table, where Macbeth was looking at him.

‘I asked if we could have an update on where we are in the investigation, Duff.’

Duff sat up on his chair, coughed, blushed and knew it. Then he began. He talked about the witnesses who had seen members of the Norse Riders and — judging by the logos on their leather jackets — another bikers’ club shoot at the Volvo outside the jewellers’ shop, Jacobs & Sons. About the jacket and Fleance’s wallet, which were found by the bank below Kenneth Bridge, but no body as yet. Caithness had given a comprehensive account of the forensic evidence, which only confirmed what they already knew — that Sweno’s gang had murdered Banquo and possibly Fleance.

‘There’s some evidence to suggest Sweno was personally present at the execution,’ Duff said. ‘The end of a cigarillo on the tarmac beside the car.’

‘Lots of people smoke cigarillos, Lennox remarked.

‘Not Davidoff Long Panatellas,’ Duff answered.

‘You know what Sweno smokes?’ Lennox said with an arched eyebrow.

Duff didn’t respond.

‘We cannot allow this,’ Macbeth said. ‘The town cannot allow us to allow it. Killing a police officer is an attack on the town itself. For the heads of units sitting in this room to have the town’s confidence tomorrow, something has to happen today. For that reason we cannot afford to hesitate, we have to strike with all the strength we have, even at the risk of losing police lives. This is a war and so we have to use the rhetoric of war. And, as you know, it doesn’t consist of words but bullets. Accordingly I have appointed a new head of SWAT and given them extended powers regarding the use of weapons and also in their instructions for fighting organised crime.’

‘Excuse me,’ Lennox said. ‘And what are the instructions?’

‘You’ll see soon. They’re being worked on as we speak.’

‘And who’s writing them?’ Caithness asked.

‘Police Officer Seyton,’ Macbeth said, ‘SWAT’s new head.’

‘He’s writing his own instructions?’ Caithness asked. ‘Without us—’

‘It’s time to act,’ Macbeth interrupted. ‘Not to polish formulations of instructions. You’ll soon see the result, and I’m sure you’ll be as happy as me. And the rest of the town.’

‘But—’

‘Naturally, you’ll be able to comment on the instructions when they’re available. This meeting is terminated. Let’s get down to work, folks!’ And there it was. The smile. ‘Duff, can I have a few words with you?’

Chairs scraped back tentatively.

‘You can go too, Priscilla,’ Macbeth said. ‘And please close the door after you. Thank you.’

The room emptied. Duff braced himself.

‘Come here. Sit closer,’ Macbeth said.

Duff stood up and moved to the chair beside him. Tried to be relaxed, breathed calmly and avoided involuntarily tensing his face muscles. Conscious that he was sitting within spitting distance of the man who killed Duncan.

‘I’ve been thinking of asking you about something,’ Macbeth said. ‘And I want you to be absolutely honest.’

Duff could feel his throat constrict and his heart race.

‘I wanted to offer someone else the post of head of Organised Crime. I know your first reaction is disappointment—’

Duff nodded, his mouth was so dry he wasn’t sure his voice would obey.

‘—but only because I want you to be my deputy. How do you feel about that?’

Duff cleared his throat. ‘Thank you,’ he said hoarsely.

‘Aren’t you well, Duff?’ Macbeth wore an expression of concern and placed a hand on Duff’s shoulder. ‘Or just a wee bit disappointed? I know how much you wanted Organised Crime, and I can understand you’d prefer an operational post to helping an awkward bugger like me find his words and feet.’ He smiled the white smile as Duff did his best to answer.

‘You’re my friend, Duff, and I want you close by. How does that proverb go?’

Duff coughed. ‘Which proverb?’

‘Proverbs are your domain, Duff, but never mind. If you insist on Organised Crime I’ll give it some thought. I haven’t said anything to Lennox yet. You look really dreadful. Shall I get you a glass of water?’

‘No, thanks, I’m fine. I’m just a bit exhausted. I barely slept before the raid and I haven’t had a wink of sleep since Duncan’s murder.’