Macbeth

by Jo Nesbo

  The man in the chequered galley outfit had lost his balance as the ship pitched into a wave and had spilled coffee on the pilot’s black uniform. The guy mumbled an apology into his beard, put down the cups and hurried out.

  ‘Sorry, Fred. Even here, where half the town is unemployed, it’s hard to find crew with sea legs. This bloke came to us this morning claiming he’d worked in a galley before but had lost his papers.’

  Fred slurped from the cup. ‘He’s not been on board a boat before and he can’t make coffee either.’

  ‘Oh well,’ the captain sighed. ‘We’ll manage as we’re only going to Capitol. That’s the Isle of Hanstholm behind us and now we’re over the worst. I’ll call up your boat and tell them to throw out the ladder.’

  ‘OK,’ Fred said, swallowing. ‘Then we’re over the worst.’

  Macbeth was sitting on a chair in the corridor wringing his hands and staring at the door to the suite. ‘What’s he actually doing in there?’

  ‘I don’t know much about psychiatry,’ Jack said. ‘Shall I get some more coffee, sir?’

  ‘No, stay where you are. But he’s good, you say?’

  ‘Yes, Dr Alsaker’s supposed to be the best in town.’

  ‘That’s good, Jack. That’s good. Terrible, terrible.’ Macbeth leaned forward on the chair and hid his face in his hands. There was still an hour to go to the radio interview. He had woken before dawn to screams from Lady’s room. And when he dashed in she had been standing beside the bed pointing at the dead baby.

  ‘Look!’ she shrieked. ‘Look what I’ve done!’

  ‘But it wasn’t you, my love.’ He tried to hold her, but she tore herself away and fell to her knees sobbing.

  ‘Don’t call me my love ! I can’t be loved, a child killer shouldn’t be loved!’ Then she turned to Macbeth and looked at him through those crazed black eyes of hers. ‘Not even a child killer should love a child killer. Get out!’

  ‘Come and lie down with me, darling.’

  ‘Get out of my bedroom! And don’t touch the child!’

  ‘This is insanity. It’s going to be burned today.’

  ‘Touch the child and I’ll kill you, Macbeth, I swear I will.’ She took the body in her arms and rocked it.

  He swallowed. He needed his morning shot. ‘I’ll take some clothes and leave you in peace,’ he said, going to the wardrobe. Pulled out a drawer. Stared.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘You’ll have to go and get some more. We need it, both of us.’

  He left and instead of going for some more power he had got Jack to call for psychiatric assistance.

  Now Macbeth looked at his watch again. How long could it take to fix the little short circuit she’d obviously had?

  In response the door opened and Macbeth jumped up from his chair. A little man with a wispy grey beard and eyelids that appeared to be one size too large came out.

  ‘Well?’ Macbeth asked. ‘Doctor . . . er . . .’

  ‘Dr Alsaker,’ Jack said.

  ‘I’ve given her something to calm her down,’ the psychiatrist said.

  ‘What’s wrong with her?’

  ‘Hard to say.’

  ‘Hard? You’re supposed to be the best.’

  ‘That’s nice to hear, but not even the very best know all the labyrinths of the mind, Mr Macbeth.’

  ‘You have to cure her.’

  ‘As I said, with the little we really know about the human mind that’s a lot to ask . . .’

  ‘I’m not asking, Doctor. I’m giving you an ultimatum.’

  ‘An ultimatum, Mr Macbeth?’

  ‘If you don’t make her normal again, I’ll have to arrest you as a charlatan.’

  Alsaker looked at him from under his oversized eyelids. ‘I can see that you have slept badly and you’re beside yourself with worry, Chief Commissioner. I recommend you take a day off work. Now as for your wife—’

  ‘You’re mistaken,’ Macbeth said, taking a dagger from his shoulder holster. ‘And the punishment for not doing your job is draconian during the present state of emergency.’

  ‘Sir . . .’ Jack started to say.

  ‘Surgery,’ Macbeth said. ‘That’s what’s needed, that’s what a real doctor does: he cuts away what is pernicious. He excludes any thought of the patient’s pain because that only makes him vacillate. You remove and destroy the offending item, a tumour or a rotting foot, to save the whole. It’s not that the tumour or the foot are evil in themselves, they simply have to be sacrificed. Isn’t that so, Doctor?’

  The psychiatrist tilted his head. ‘Are you sure it’s your wife who needs to be examined and not yourself, Mr Macbeth?’

  ‘You have your ultimatum.’

  ‘And I’m leaving now. So you’d better stab me in the back with that thing if you need to.’

  Macbeth watched Alsaker turn his back and set off towards the stairs. He stared at the dagger in his hand. What on earth was he doing?

  ‘Alsaker!’ Macbeth ran after the psychiatrist. Caught up with him and knelt down before him. ‘Please, you have to, you have to help her. She’s all I have. I must have her back. You must get her back. I’ll pay whatever it costs.’

  Alsaker held his beard between his thumb and forefinger. ‘Is it brew?’ he asked.

  ‘Power,’ Macbeth said.

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘You know it?’

  ‘Under a variety of sobriquets, but the chemicals are the same. People think it’s an anti-depressant because it acts as an upper the first few times until the episodes become psychotic.’

  ‘Yes, yes, that’s what she takes.’

  ‘I asked what you take, Mr Macbeth. And now I can see. How long have you been taking power?’

  ‘I . . .’

  ‘Not long evidently. The first thing to go is your teeth. Then your mind. And it’s not easy to escape from the prison of psychosis. Do you know what they call you when you’re completely hooked on power? A POW.’

  ‘Now listen here—’

  ‘A prisoner of war. Neat, isn’t it?’

  ‘I’m not your patient now, Alsaker. I beg you not to leave until you’ve done all you can.’

  ‘I promise to return, but I have other patients to attend to now.’

  ‘Jack,’ Macbeth said without moving or taking his eyes off the psychiatrist.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Show him.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘He’s bound by the Hippocratic oath.’

  Jack unwound the cloth from the bundle and held it out for the doctor. He took a step back covering his nose and mouth with his hand.

  ‘She thinks it’s hers,’ Macbeth said. ‘If not for my sake and hers, then for the town’s, Doctor.’

  Macbeth felt a strange pressure in his ears as the door closed behind him. Finally, he thought, I’m in the nuthouse. The walls of the little square room, where three people sat observing him, were padded, although there was a window.

  ‘Don’t be afraid,’ said the man at the table in front of him. ‘I’m just going to ask a few questions. It’ll all be over soon.’

  ‘It’s not the questions I’m frightened of,’ Macbeth said, sitting down, ‘it’s the answers.’

  The man smiled, the music from the speaker above the window died, and he put a finger to his mouth as a red light on the wall came on.

  ‘This is Rolling News with Walt Kite,’ the man trilled, turning to the mike in front of him. ‘We have a visit from the town’s new favourite, Chief Commissioner Macbeth, who after wiping out one of the town’s most notorious drugs gangs, the Norse Riders, is now tirelessly chasing their corrupt collaborators inside the police’s own ranks. He has won the hearts of the people and lifted their hopes with inspiring speeches in which he says we’re entering new times. Chief Commissioner Macbeth, isn’t this jus
t rhetoric?’

  Macbeth cleared his throat. He was up for this. He was a new man. Once again he was perfectly medicated. ‘I’m a simple man and I don’t know much about rhetoric, Walt. I’ve only said what was on my mind. And that is that if this town has the will it has the muscle power to raise itself. But neither the chief commissioner nor politicians can lift a town; its citizens have to do that themselves.’

  ‘But they can be inspired and led?’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘You’re already being touted as mayor material. Is this something that might tempt you, Chief Commissioner Macbeth?’

  ‘I’m a police officer and I wish only to serve the town in the job I have been appointed to.’

  ‘As a humble servant of the people, in other words. Your predecessor, Duncan, also saw himself as a servant of the people, though he wasn’t so humble. He promised to catch the town’s most powerful criminal, Hecate, also known as the Invisible Hand, within a year. Now, you’ve dealt with the Norse Riders. What deadline have you set yourself for Hecate?’

  ‘First, let me say there is a reason for the name the Invisible Hand. We know very little about Hecate, only that he’s probably behind the manufacturing of the drug called brew. But given its widespread production and distribution it’s equally probable that we’re talking about a network or a shared supply chain.’

  ‘Do I hear you saying you’re not going to prioritise the arrest of Hecate as highly as Duncan did?’

  ‘What you hear is a chief commissioner refusing to use all his resources on arrests that might make headlines, bring honour to the police and lead to clinking champagne glasses in the town hall, but in reality do little for people’s everyday lives. If we arrest a man by the name of Hecate others will take over his market unless we tackle the town’s real problem.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Jobs, Walt. Giving people work. That’s the best and the cheapest initiative against crime. We can fill our prisons, but as long as we have people walking the streets without food . . .’

  ‘Now you really sound as if you’re considering standing for election.’

  ‘I don’t care what it sounds like. I only want this town back on an even keel.’

  ‘And how will you do that?’

  ‘We can do that by ensuring this becomes a town where we take account of both investors and workers. Investors mustn’t get away with not paying taxes into the common pot or bribing their way to privileges. But the town can give them the sure knowledge that rules are being followed. And workers should know that their workplace isn’t poisoning them. Our recently deceased hero Banquo lost his wife Vera several years ago. She had breathed in poisonous fumes at the factory where she worked for many years. Vera was a lovely hard-working wife and mother. I knew her personally and loved her. As chief commissioner I promise the town that none of its future workplaces will take the lives of any more Veras. There are other ways of finding employment for people. Better ways. Which will give them a better life.’

  Macbeth could see from Walt Kite’s grin that he was impressed. Macbeth was impressed himself. He had never been so clear-thinking. It had to be the new powder, delivering the words, so concise and logical, from the brain to the tongue.

  ‘Your popularity has grown quickly – exponentially – Chief Commissioner. Is that why you dare to make statements that, if I were Mayor Tourtell, I would regard as a challenge? Formally speaking, he is your boss and has to endorse your appointment to the post of chief commissioner. Otherwise you don’t have a job.’

  ‘I have more bosses than the mayor, Walt, among them my own conscience and the citizens of this town. And for me my conscience and this town are above a comfy chair in the chief commissioner’s office.’

  ‘In four months there are elections for a new mayor, and the closing date for nominations is in three weeks.’

  ‘If you say so, Walt.’

  Walt Kite laughed and raised an arm above his head. ‘And with that we say thank you to Chief Commissioner Macbeth. I’m not so sure he’s telling us the truth when he says he knows nothing about rhetoric. And now here’s Miles Davis . . .’ He dropped his arm and pointed to the window. The red light went out, and the sound of a soft, dry trumpet filled the speakers.

  ‘Thank you.’ Kite smiled. ‘No one will take the lives of any more Veras? You are aware that you could be elected as mayor on that sound bite alone, aren’t you?’

  ‘Thanks for the interview,’ Macbeth said without moving.

  Kite glanced at him questioningly.

  ‘Did I hear you aright?’ Macbeth said slowly in a low voice. ‘Did you accuse me of lying at the end there?’

  Kite blinked, taken aback. ‘Lying?’

  ‘I’m not so sure he’s telling us the truth when he . . .’

  ‘Oh, but that—’ the reporter’s Adam’s apple jumped ‘—was just a joke of course, a . . . erm, way of speaking, a . . .’

  ‘I was just teasing.’ Macbeth smiled and got up. ‘See you.’

  As Macbeth left the radio building in the rain he felt that Walt Kite wouldn’t be a problem any more. And as he sat in the back of the limousine he felt that the Obelisk, Duff and Lady’s illness weren’t going to be problems any more either. Because he was thinking more clearly than ever.

  ‘Drive a bit more slowly,’ he said.

  He wanted to enjoy the trip through the town. His town.

  True enough, it wasn’t his yet, but it soon would be. Because he was invincible. And perfectly medicated.

  While they were waiting at some red lights his gaze fell on a man waiting by the crossing, although the pedestrian light was green. His upper body and face were hidden by a large black umbrella, so all Macbeth could see was his light-coloured coat, brown shoes and the big black dog he was holding on a lead. And a thought struck Macbeth. Did the dog wonder why he was owned, why he was on a lead? He gets a little food, his allotted portion, just enough for him to prefer security to insecurity, to be kept in check. That is all that stops the dog from trotting over to the owner while he is asleep, tearing out his throat and taking over the house. For that is all he has to do. Once you realise how to open the pantry door it is actually the natural response.

  PART THREE

  25

  ‘OUR FINEST-QUALITY WOOL,’ THE ASSISTANT said, respectfully stroking the material of the black suit on the clothes hanger.

  Outside the windows of the outfitters it was drizzling and on the river the waves had started to settle after the gales of the previous days.

  ‘What do you think, Bonus?’ Hecate said. ‘Would it fit Macbeth?’

  ‘I thought you were going for a dinner jacket, not a dark suit.’

  ‘You never wear, as of course you know, a dinner jacket in church, and Macbeth has many funerals to attend this week.’

  ‘So no dinner jacket today?’ the assistant asked.

  ‘We need both, Al.’

  ‘I’d just like to point out that if this is for the gala banquet, full evening dress is de rigueur, sir.’

  ‘Thank you, Al, but this isn’t the royal palace, just the local town hall. What do you say, Bonus, aren’t tails a bit—’ Hecate clicked his tongue ‘—pretentious?’

  ‘Agreed,’ Bonus said. ‘It’s when the new rich dress themselves in old-money attire that they really look like clowns.’

  ‘Good, a dark suit and a dinner jacket. Will you send a tailor to Inverness Casino, Al? And put everything on my account.’

  ‘It will be done, sir.’

  ‘And then we need a dinner jacket for this gentleman.’

  ‘For me?’ Bonus said in astonishment. ‘But I’ve already got a wond—’

  ‘Thank you. I’ve seen it and, believe me, you need a new one.’

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘Your position requires an impeccable appearance, Bonus, and you’re working for
me, what’s more.’

  Bonus didn’t answer.

  ‘Will you run and get me some more dinner jackets, Al?’

  ‘Right away,’ said the assistant, and dutifully ran a few bow-legged steps to the stairs down to the shop.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Hecate said. ‘And I admit that dressing you up is a way of displaying my power, the way kings dress up their soldiers and servants. But what can I say? I like it.’

  Bonus had never been one-hundred-per-cent sure if the abnormally white, even teeth in the old man’s smile were his own. If they were dentures, they were quite eccentric because they came equipped with three big gold crowns.

  ‘Speaking of displayed power,’ Hecate said, ‘that attractive young boy who was at the dinner at the Inverness, is his name Kasi?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How old is he?’

  ‘Fifteen and a half,’ Bonus said.

  ‘Hm. That’s young.’

  ‘Age is—’

  ‘I have no moral scruples, but neither do I have your taste for young boys, Bonus. I’m just pointing out that that’s illegally young. And that it could potentially cause great harm. But I see this makes you uncomfortable, so let’s change the topic of conversation. Lady is sick, I understand?’

  ‘That’s what the psychiatrist says. Serious psychosis. It can take time. He’s afraid she might be suicidal.’

  ‘Don’t doctors take an oath?’

  ‘Dr Alsaker may also soon be in need of a new dinner jacket.’

  Hecate laughed. ‘Just send me the bill. Can he cure her?’

  ‘Not without hospitalisation,’ he says. ‘But we don’t want that, do we?’

  ‘Let’s wait and see. I believe it’s well known that Lady is one of the chief commissioner’s most important advisers, and during these critical days there would be unfortunate consequences if it became public knowledge that she’d gone mad.’

  ‘So psychosis is . . . ?’