by Jo Nesbo
Macbeth walked up to the lectern. No, he took the lectern by force, that was how it felt. It was strange that this – speaking to an audience – was what he had feared most; now he didn’t just like it, he longed for it, he needed it. He coughed, looked down at his papers. Then he started.
‘Today the police carried out two armed operations against those behind the recent murders of our officers, among them Chief Commissioner Duncan. I’m pleased to say that the first operation, given the circumstances, was one-hundred-per-cent successful. The criminal gang known as the Norse Riders has ceased to exist.’ A single hurrah from the audience broke the silence. ‘This was a planned action based on new information that emerged after the release of some Norse Rider members. The circumstances were that the Norse Riders fired shots at SWAT, and we had no choice but to hit back hard.’
A shout from the back of the hall: ‘Is Sweno among the dead?’
‘Yes,’ said Macbeth. ‘He is indeed one of the bodies that cannot be identified because of the comprehensive nature of his injuries, but I think you all recognise this . . .’ Macbeth held up a shiny sabre. More hurrahs, and now some of the more experienced journalists joined in the spontaneous applause. ‘And with it an era is over. Fortunately.’
‘There are rumours that women and children are among the dead.’
‘Yes and no,’ Macbeth said. ‘Adult women who had chosen to associate with the club, yes. Many of them have what we might call a sullied record and none of them did anything to stop the Norse Riders firing at us. As for children, that’s just nonsense. There were no innocent victims here.’
‘You mentioned a second operation. What was that?’
‘It took place out of town, in Fife, straight after the first, in a relatively deserted area, so you may not have heard about it, but this was an attempt to arrest someone we now know had been working with the Norse Riders for some time. It is of course regrettable that such an officer could be found within our ranks, but it also proves that Chief Commissioner Duncan was not infallible when he handed the Narcotics Unit and later the Homicide Unit to this man, Inspector Duff. And we’re not infallible either. We considered his family and assumed he would do the same and give himself up. So when we arrived, Police Officer Seyton, the head of SWAT, went towards the house and asked Duff to come out alone and give himself up. Duff responded by shooting at Seyton.’
He nodded towards Seyton, who was standing under the light by the door at the front of the hall so that everyone could see him with his arm in a sling.
‘Luck would have it that the shot wasn’t fatal. Police Officer Seyton soon received medical attention and there’s every chance that he’ll escape permanent injury. However, despite the seriousness of his injury, Police Officer Seyton led the attack. Unfortunately, Duff, in his desperation and cowardice, chose to use his family as a shield, with the tragic result that they paid with their lives, while Duff managed to escape from the back of the house and make a getaway in his car. He’s a wanted man, and we have commenced a search. I promise to you here and now that we will find and punish Duff. Incidentally, let me use this opportunity to announce that we’ll soon be able to address Police Officer Seyton as Inspector Seyton.’
More joined in the applause this time. Once it had died down there was a cough, and a voice with rolled ‘r’s said, ‘This is all very well, Macbeth, but where is the evidence—’ the questioner pronounced ‘evidence ’ slowly with ultra-clear diction as though it were a difficult foreign word ‘—against the people you have mown down?’
‘As far as the Norse Riders are concerned, we have witnesses who saw them shooting at Banquo’s car, and we have fingerprints on and inside the car, also blood on Banquo’s seat identical to the types of some of those found dead in the club house this evening. Forensics can also confirm that fingerprints found on the inside of the windscreen, on the driver’s side, match those of—’ Macbeth paused ‘—Inspector Duff.’
A ripple went through the hall.
‘At this juncture I’d like to praise the SOC officers. Duff went to the crime scene just after the murder. This was odd as no one at Homicide had been able to get hold of Duff to inform him of the murder. Obviously he turned up with the intention of erasing his fingerprints and other clues he must have known he’d left behind. But the Forensics Unit didn’t let anyone, no one at all, go near the body and contaminate the evidence. Personally, I can add that my suspicion that Duff was working with the Norse Riders grew during the raid on the container harbour. Both the Narcotics Unit and we at SWAT had received such a clear tip-off that Duff couldn’t have ignored it without arousing suspicion that he was protecting them. Duff cleverly set up a raid that was doomed to fail, with inexperienced officers from his own unit in insufficient numbers, without seeking the assistance of SWAT, which is the normal procedure in such cases. Luckily the raid came to our attention, so SWAT reacted independently, and I think I can say without blowing our own trumpet that this was the start of the Norse Riders’ and Duff’s downfall. The Norse Riders and Inspector Duff dug their own graves when they avenged the loss of the drugs consignment and five of their members by killing first Duncan and then Banquo and his son. And this is, incidentally, the last time I will mention Duff by rank, which in our police force is considered an honour regardless of whether it is the highest or the lowest.’ Macbeth noticed to his dismay that the slightly tremulous indignation in his voice was genuine, completely genuine.
‘Do you really mean to say, Macbeth—’
‘Hand up before you . . .’ Lennox started to say, but Macbeth raised his palms and nodded for Kite to continue. He was ready to take on this insubordinate querulous bastard now.
‘Do you really mean to say, Macbeth, that you, the police, cannot be criticised for anything during these operations? In the course of one afternoon you killed seven people you’d released from prison an hour earlier, nine other gang members, most of whom had no record, plus six women who, as far as we know, had nothing to do with any crimes committed by the Norse Riders. Then you tell us there’s also a family in Fife who are by definition innocent victims. And you consider that you didn’t make a single error?’
Macbeth observed Kite. The radio reporter had dark hair surrounding a bald head and a moustache that formed a sad mouth around his own. Always bad news. Macbeth wondered what fate awaited such a man. He shuffled his papers. Found the page he had drafted and to which Lady, later Lennox, had added detail. Breathed in. Knew he was in perfect equilibrium. Knew his medication was perfect. Knew he had received the perfect serve.
‘He’s right,’ Macbeth said, looking across the assembled journalists. ‘We’ve made mistakes.’ Waited, waited until it was even quieter than quiet, until the silence was unbearable, you couldn’t breathe, until the silence demanded sound. He looked down at his speech. He had to bring it alive, make it seem as if he wasn’t just quoting the text he had in front of him.
‘In a democracy,’ he began, ‘there are rules which determine when suspects must be released from custody. We obeyed them.’ He nodded as an amen to his declaration. ‘In a democracy there are rules which state that the police can and must arrest suspects when there is new evidence in a case. We obeyed them.’ More nodding. ‘In a democracy there are rules which set out how the police should react if suspects resist arrest and, as in this case, shoot at the police. And we obeyed them.’ He could of course have continued like this, but three instances of ‘We obeyed them’ were enough. He raised a forefinger. ‘And that’s all we’ve done. Some have already called what we did heroic. Some have already called it the most effective and eagerly awaited police operation in the history of this town’s suffering. And some have called it a turning point in the fight against crime on our streets.’ He saw how his nodding had rubbed off on the listeners, he even heard a couple of mumbled yeses. ‘But the way I see it as chief commissioner is that we were only doing the job we’d been given. Nothing more than you
can ask of us as police officers.’
In the empty gallery he saw Lennox standing ready by the projector while following the speech in his copy of the manuscript.
‘But I have to admit it makes me feel good this evening,’ Macbeth said, ‘to be able to say police officers and do so with pride. And now, goodness me, folks, let’s put the formalities to one side for a moment. The fact is we had a big clean-up today. We paid Sweno and his murderers back in their own coin. We showed them what they can expect if they take our best men from us . . .’
The light shone brighter around him, and he knew the slide of Duncan had come up on the screen behind him; soon it would shift to Banquo and Fleance in uniform under the apple tree in the garden behind their house.
‘But, yes, we made errors. We made an error by not starting this clean-up before ! Before it was too late for Chief Commissioner Duncan. Before it was too late for Inspector Banquo, who served this town all his life. And his son, Police Cadet Fleance, who was looking forward to doing the same.’ Macbeth had to take deep breaths to control the tremor in his voice. ‘But this afternoon we showed that this is a new day. A new day when criminals are no longer in charge. A new day when the citizens of this town have stood up and said no. No, we won’t allow this. And now this is the evening of the first of these new days. And in the days to come we will continue to clean up the streets of this town because this big clean-up isn’t over.’
When Macbeth had finished and said, ‘Thank you,’ he stayed on his feet. Stood there in the storm of applause that broke out as chairs scraped and people rose and the ovation continued with undiminished vigour. And he could feel his eyes going misty at the cynical journalists’ genuine response to his falsehoods. And when Kite also stood up and clapped, albeit in a rather more sedate tempo, he wondered if that was because the guy knew what was good for him. Because he saw that Macbeth had won their love now. Won power. And he could see and hear that the new chief commissioner was a man who was unafraid to use it.
Macbeth strode down the corridor behind Scone Hall.
Power. He could feel it in his veins; the harmony was still there. Not as perfect as a while ago – the unease and restlessness were already on the verge of returning – but he had more than enough medicine for the moment. And he would just enjoy tonight. Enjoy the food and drink, enjoy Lady, enjoy the view of the town, enjoy everything that was his.
‘Good speech, sir,’ Seyton said, who seemed to have no problem keeping up with Macbeth’s pace.
Lennox ran up alongside him.
‘Fantastic, Macbeth!’ he exclaimed, out of breath. ‘There are some journalists here from Capitol to see you. They’d like to interview you and—’
‘Thank you but no,’ Macbeth said without slowing down. ‘No victory interviews, no laurels until we’ve achieved our goal. Any news of Duff?’
‘His car’s been found in the town, parked beside the Obelisk. The roads out of town, the airport, passenger boats – everything has been under surveillance since half an hour after we saw him driving towards the town from Fife, so we know he’s still here somewhere. We’ve checked Banquo’s house, his parents-in-law, and he’s not there. But in this weather a man has to have a roof over his head at night, so we’ll go through every hotel, every boarding house, pub and brothel with a toothcomb. Everyone, absolutely everyone is chasing Duff tonight.’
‘Chasing’s good, catching’s better.’
‘Oh, we’ll catch him. It’s just a question of time.’
‘Good. Could you leave us alone for a minute?’
‘OK.’ Lennox stopped and was soon far behind them.
‘Something bothering you, Seyton? The wound?’
‘No, sir.’ Seyton took his arm out of the sling.
‘No? The sergeant shot you in the arm, didn’t he?’
‘I have unusually good healing tissue,’ Seyton said. ‘It’s in the family.’
‘Indeed?’
‘Good healing tissue?’
‘Family. There’s something else eating you then?’
‘Two things.’
‘Out with it.’
‘The baby we found and removed from the club house after the shooting.’
‘Yes?’
‘I don’t really know what to do with it. I’ve got it locked in my office.’
‘I’ll take care of it,’ Macbeth said. ‘And the other thing?’
‘Angus, sir.’
‘What about him?’
‘He didn’t obey orders in Fife. He refused to fire and in the end left before the op was finished. He called it slaughter. He hadn’t joined SWAT to take part in this kind of thing. I think there’s a risk he might blab. We have to do something.’
They stopped in front of the lift.
Macbeth rubbed his chin. ‘So you think Angus has lost the belief? If so, it won’t be the first time. Has he told you he studied theology?’
‘No, but I can smell it. And he walks about with this bloody ugly cross around his neck.’
‘You’re in charge of SWAT now, Seyton. What do you think should be done?’
‘We have to get rid of him, boss.’
‘Death?’
‘You said yourself we’re at war, sir. In war traitors and cowards are punished with death. We’ll do what we did with Duff: we’ll leak that he’s corrupt and make it look like he resisted arrest.’
‘Let me chew on it. Right now we’re in the spotlight and we need to show loyalty and unity. Cawdor, Malcolm, Duff and now Angus. It’s too many. The town likes dead criminals better than duplicitous policemen. Where is he?’
‘He’s sitting alone moping in the basement. He won’t talk to anyone.’
‘OK. Let me have a chat with him before we make a move.’
Macbeth found Angus in the SWAT common room. He was sitting with his head in his hands and barely reacted when Macbeth put a large shoebox before him on the table and sat down in the chair directly opposite.
‘I heard what happened. How are you?’
No answer.
‘You’re a principled lad, Angus. That’s part of what I like about you. Principles are important to you, aren’t they?’
Angus raised his head and looked at Macbeth with bloodshot eyes.
‘I can see them burning in your eyes right now,’ Macbeth said. ‘Righteous indignation, it warms your heart, doesn’t it? Makes you feel like the person you want to be. But when the brotherhood demands a real sacrifice it’s sometimes exactly that that we want, Angus. Your principles. For you to renounce the cosy warmth of a good conscience, for you to be wakened by the same nightmares as us, for you to give up what is most valuable to you, the way your former god demanded that Abraham give up his son.’
Angus cleared his throat, but his voice was still hoarse. ‘I can give. But for what?’
‘For the long-term goal. For the community’s good. For the town, Angus.’
Angus snorted. ‘Can you explain to me how killing innocent people is for the community’s good?’
‘Twenty-five years ago an American president dropped the atom bomb on two Japanese towns populated by children, civilians and innocents. It stopped a war. That’s the kind of paradox God torments us with.’
‘That’s easy to say. You weren’t there.’
‘I know what it costs, Angus. Recently I cut the throat of an innocent person for the good of the community. I don’t sleep well at night. The doubt, the shame, the sense of guilt, they’re part of the price we have to pay if we really want to do something good and not just bathe in the cosy, safe warmth of self-righteousness.’
‘God doesn’t exist and I’m no president.’
‘That’s correct,’ Macbeth said, taking the lid off the shoebox. ‘But as I’m both in this building I’ll give you a chance to make up for the mistake you made in Fife.’
Angus pe
eped into the box. And recoiled in his chair in shock.
‘Take this and burn it in the furnace at Estex tonight.’
Angus swallowed, as pale as death. ‘That’s the b-b-baby from the club house . . .’
‘Front-line soldiers, like you and me, know that innocent lives have to be lost in war, but they don’t know that at home – the people we fight for. That’s why we keep such things hidden from them, so they don’t get hysterical. Do you get hysterical, Angus?’
‘I-I . . .’
‘Listen. I’m showing my confidence in you by giving you this assignment. You can go to Estex or you can use this to report your brothers here in SWAT. I’m giving you the choice. Because I need to know that I can trust you.’
Angus shook his head, a sob escaped him. ‘You need to make me an accessory to know you can trust me!’
Macbeth shook his head. ‘You’re already an accessory. I only need to know that you’re strong enough to take and carry the guilt without those at home finding out the price we pay to defend them. Only then will I know if you’re a real man, Angus.’
‘You make it sound as if we, and not the child, are the victims. I can’t do it! I’d rather be shot.’
Macbeth looked at Angus. He didn’t feel any anger. Perhaps because he liked Angus. Perhaps because he knew Angus couldn’t hurt them. But mostly because he was sorry for him. Macbeth put the lid back on the shoebox and stood up.
‘Wait,’ Angus said. ‘H-how are you going to punish me?’
‘Oh, you’ll punish yourself,’ Macbeth said. ‘Read what it says on our flag. It’s not the child’s screaming you’ll hear when you wake up sweaty after a nightmare, but the words: Loyalty, fraternity, baptised in fire, united in blood.’
He took the shoebox and left.
There was still more than an hour to midnight when Macbeth let himself into the suite.