by Jo Nesbo
Macbeth fixed her with his eyes. Then he nodded slowly.
‘I’ll invite Tourtell to a private game of blackjack,’ Lady said, getting up. ‘And you send a message to Hecate telling him you wish to meet him face to face.’
‘And why do you think he’ll say yes?’
‘Because you’ll hand him a suitcase full of gold as thanks for him getting us the chief commissioner’s job.’
‘And he’ll swallow the bait, do you think?’
‘Some people are blinded by power, others by money. Hecate belongs to the latter group. You’ll get the details later.’
Macbeth accompanied her to the door. ‘Darling,’ he said, laying a hand on her back, stroking the thick fur, ‘it’s good to have you back.’
‘Likewise,’ she said, letting him kiss her on the cheek. ‘Be strong. Let’s make each other strong.’
He watched her as she sailed through the anteroom, wondering if he would ever fully understand who she was. Or if he wanted to. Wasn’t it that which made her so irresistible to him?
Lennox and Seyton had parked in the road on the opposite side from Estex. It was so dark that Lennox couldn’t see the drizzle; he only heard it as a whisper on the car roof and windscreen.
‘There’s the reporter,’ Seyton said.
The light from a bike wobbled across the road. Turned in through the gate and was gone.
‘Let’s give him two minutes,’ Seyton said, checking his machine gun.
Lennox yawned. Luckily he had managed to get a shot.
‘Now,’ Seyton said.
They stepped out, ran through the darkness, through the gate and into the factory building.
Voices were coming from the foreman’s office high up on the wall.
Seyton sniffed the air. Then he motioned towards the steel staircase.
They tiptoed up, and Lennox felt a wonderful absence of thought and the steel of the railing which was so cold it burned the palms of his hands. They stood just outside the door. The high gave him that sense of sitting in a warm safe room and watching himself. The buzz of voices inside reminded him of his parents in the sitting room when he was small and had gone to bed.
‘When will it appear in print?’ Angus was speaking.
The answer came with drawled arrogance and long rolled ‘r’s: ‘Disregarding the fact that on radio we don’t refer to print, I hope—’
When Seyton opened the door it was as if someone had pressed the stop button on a cassette player. Walt Kite’s eyes behind his glasses were large. With fear. Excitement. Relief? Not surprise anyway. Lennox and Seyton had been punctual.
‘Good evening,’ Lennox said, feeling a warm smile spread across his face.
Angus stood up and knocked his chair over as he reached for something inside his jacket. But froze when he caught sight of Seyton’s machine gun.
In the silence that followed Kite buttoned up his yellow oilskin jacket. It was like being in a gentlemen’s toilet: no looks were exchanged, no words were said; he just left them quickly with his head lowered. He had done his bit. Left the others with the stench.
‘What are you waiting for, Lennox?’ Angus asked.
Lennox became aware of his outstretched arm and the gun on the end of it. ‘For the reporter to be so far away he won’t hear the shot,’ he said.
Angus’s Adam’s apple went up and down. ‘So you’re going to shoot me?’
‘Unless you have another suggestion. I’ve been given a free hand as to how this should happen.’
‘OK.’
‘OK as in I understand or as in Yes, I want to be shot ?’
‘As in—’
Lennox fired. In the enclosed space he felt the physical pressure of the explosion on his eardrums. He opened his eyes again. But Angus was still standing in front of him, open-mouthed now. There was a hole in the file on the shelf behind him.
‘Sorry,’ Lennox said, walking two steps closer. ‘I thought a sudden shot to the head would be the most humane solution here. But heads are very small. Stand still, please . . .’ An involuntary giggle escaped his lips.
‘Inspector Lennox, without—’
The second shot hit the target. And the third.
‘Without wishing to criticise,’ Seyton said, looking down at the dead body, ‘it would have been more practical if you’d ordered him down to the furnaces and done it there. Now we’ll have to carry him.’
Lennox didn’t answer. He was studying the growing pool of blood seeping out of the young man’s body towards him. There was something strangely beautiful about the shapes and colours, the sparkling red, the way it extended in all directions, like red balloons. They carried Angus down to the factory floor and then picked up the empty shell casings, washed the floor and dug the first bullet out of the wall. Downstairs they removed his watch, a chain with a gold cross and manoeuvred the body into a furnace, closed it and fired it up. Waited. Lennox stared at the gutter that went from the bottom of the furnace to a tub on the floor. A low hissing sound came from the furnace.
‘What happens to . . . ?’
‘It evaporates,’ Seyton said. ‘Everything evaporates or turns to ash when the temperature’s more than two thousand degrees. Except metal, which just melts.’
Lennox nodded. He couldn’t take his eyes off the gutter. A grey trembling drop appeared with a membrane over it, like a coating.
‘Lead,’ Seyton said. ‘Melts at three hundred and fifty.’
They waited. The hissing inside had stopped.
Then a golden drop came.
‘We’ve topped a thousand now,’ Seyton said.
‘What . . . what’s that?’
‘Gold.’
‘But we removed—’
‘Teeth. Let’s wait until it’s over sixteen hundred, in case there’s any steel in the body. After that all we have to do is hoover up the ash. Hey, are you OK?’
Lennox nodded. ‘Bit dizzy. I’ve never . . . erm . . . shot anyone before. You have, so I’m sure you remember what it felt like the first time.’
‘Yes,’ Seyton said quietly.
Lennox was going to ask what it had felt like, but the glint in Seyton’s eyes made him change his mind.
32
MACBETH STOOD ON THE ROOF of Inverness Casino looking to the east through a pair of binoculars. It wasn’t easy to distinguish in the darkness, but wasn’t that smoke coming from the top of the brick chimney at Estex? If so, the matter had been dealt with. And they would have two more men in their spider’s web, two men with blood on their hands. Kite and Lennox. Kite could be useful to have around in the mayoral elections. If there were any other candidates standing. And Lennox would soon need someone else to get him dope. Before much longer Hecate would be no more than a saga as well.
Macbeth had waited by the stairs to the toilet in the central station for fifteen minutes before Strega turned up. At first he had rejected the bags of power and said he only wanted to pass on a message to Hecate. He wanted to meet him as soon as possible, inform him about his future plans and also give him a present as a token of Macbeth and Lady’s gratitude for what Hecate had done for them. A present he was sure that Hecate – if the rumours about him liking gold were true – would appreciate.
Strega had said he would hear from her. Perhaps.
Yes, there was smoke coming from the chimney.
‘Darling, Tourtell’s here.’
Macbeth turned. Lady was standing in the doorway. She had put on her red dress.
‘I’m coming. You look pretty, did I say?’
‘You did. And that’s all you’ll say for a while, my love. Let me do the talking so we follow the plan.’
Macbeth laughed. Yes, she was back all right.
The gaming room and the restaurant were so full of customers that they literally had to force their way through to the ga
ming table they’d had set up in the separate small room at the end of the restaurant where Tourtell was waiting.
‘Alone this evening?’ Macbeth said, pressing the mayor’s hand.
‘Young ones have to study for exams.’ Tourtell smiled. ‘I saw there was a queue outside.’
‘Since six o’clock,’ Lady said, sitting down beside him. ‘We’re so full I had to persuade Jack here to be our croupier.’
‘Which tells me there ought to be room for two casinos in this town,’ Tourtell said, fidgeting with his black bow tie. ‘You know how unhappy voters get when they aren’t allowed to go out and waste their money.’
‘Agreed,’ Lady said, beckoning a waiter. ‘Has the mayor had a lucky evening, Jack?’
‘Bit early to say,’ Jack said, smiling from where he stood in his red croupier’s jacket. ‘Another card, Mr Mayor?’
Tourtell looked at the two cards he had been given. ‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Isn’t that right, Lady?’
‘You are so right. And that’s why I’ve decided to tell you about a consortium which is keen to invest its capital by not only taking over the Obelisk but also renovating and reopening it as the most attractive casino in the country. It is of course a financial risk given that the Obelisk’s reputation is being dragged through the mud right now, but we’re willing to put our faith in a new owner and a new profile changing that.’
‘We, Lady?’
‘I’m in the consortium, yes. Together with Janovic, a property investor from Capitol. It’s important, as you said, for the town to have the Obelisk up and running again. Just think of all the taxable income it will bring in from the neighbouring counties. And when we open the newly renovated, spectacular Obelisk in a few months’ time it will be a tourist attraction. People will travel from Capitol to gamble in our town, Tourtell.’
Tourtell looked at the card Jack had given him and sighed. ‘Doesn’t look like this is going to be my night.’
‘It still could be,’ Lady said. ‘The shares in the consortium haven’t all been taken up, and we’ve considered you as a potential investor. You also need something to fall back on after your mayoralty is over.’
‘Investor?’ He laughed. ‘As mayor I’m afraid I don’t have the legal ability or the money to buy shares in companies, so the undoubted share-fest will have to take place without me.’
‘Shares can be paid for in a variety of ways,’ Lady said. ‘For example, with services rendered.’
‘What are you suggesting, my beautiful duchess?’
‘That you publicly support Macbeth’s candidature for mayor.’
Tourtell looked at his cards again. ‘I’ve already promised I would and I’m famous for keeping my promises.’
‘We mean in this election.’
Tourtell glanced up from his cards, at Macbeth. ‘This election?’
Lady placed a hand on the mayor’s arm and leaned against him. ‘Yes, because you won’t be standing.’
He blinked twice. ‘I won’t be?’
‘It’s true you intimated you would, but then you changed your mind.’
‘And why was that?’
‘Your health isn’t the best, and the job of mayor requires an energetic man. A man of the future. And as soon as you’re not the mayor you’ll be free to join a consortium which in practice will have a monopoly over the casinos in this town and, unlike the cards you have in your hand, will make you a very rich man.’
‘But I don’t want to—’
‘You recommend the voters elect Macbeth as your successor because he’s a man of the people, who works for the people and leads with the people. And because he, in his role as chief commissioner, has brought down both Sweno and Hecate and shown that he gets things done.’
‘Hecate?’
‘Macbeth and I are anticipating events here a little, but Hecate’s a dead man. We’re going to propose a meeting with Hecate, which he won’t leave alive. This is a promise, and I’m famous for keeping promises too, my dear Mr Mayor.’
‘And if I don’t go along with this—’ he spat the words out like a rotten grape ‘—share deal ?’
‘That would be a shame.’
Tourtell pushed his chair back, took one of his chins between his forefinger and middle finger. ‘What else have you got, woman?’
‘Sure we shouldn’t stop there?’ Lady asked.
Jack coughed, tapped his forefinger on the pack. ‘Enough cards, Mr Mayor?’
‘No!’ Tourtell snarled without taking his eyes off Lady.
‘As you wish,’ she sighed. ‘You’ll be arrested and accused of unseemly behaviour with an underage boy.’ She nodded to the card Jack had placed in front of him. ‘See, you went too far. Bust.’
Tourtell stared at her with his heavy cod-eyes. His protruding wet lip twitched. ‘You won’t get me,’ he hissed. ‘Do you hear me? You won’t get me!’
‘If we can get Hecate, we can certainly get you.’
Tourtell stood up. Looked down at them. His chins, his scarlet face, indeed his whole body was shaking with fury. Then he spun on his heel and marched out, the inside thighs of his trousers rubbing against each other.
‘What do you think?’ Macbeth said after he had gone.
‘Oh, he’ll do what we want,’ Lady said. ‘Tourtell’s no young fool. He just needs a bit of time to work out the odds before he makes his play.’
Caithness dreamed about Angus. He had rung her, but she didn’t dare lift the receiver because she knew someone had been tampering with her phone and it would explode. She woke up and turned to the alarm clock on the bedside table beside the ringing telephone. It was past midnight. It had to be a murder. She hoped it was a murder, an everyday murder and not . . . She lifted the receiver.
‘Hello?’ She heard the click which had been there ever since the meeting at Estex.
‘Sorry for ringing so late.’ It was an unfamiliar, young man’s voice. ‘I just wanted to confirm that you’re coming to 323 at the usual time tomorrow, Friday?’
‘I’m doing what?’
‘Sorry, perhaps I have the wrong number. Is that Mrs Mittbaum?’
Caithness sat up in bed, wide awake. She moistened her lips. Imagined the reels of the tape recorder in a room somewhere, perhaps the Surveillance Unit on the first floor of HQ.
‘I’m not her,’ she said. ‘But I wouldn’t worry. People with German surnames are generally punctual.’
‘My apologies. Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight.’
Caithness lay in bed, her heart pounding.
323. The room in the Grand Hotel where she and Duff used to have their lunchtime trysts, booked in the name of Mittbaum.
33
HECATE SWUNG THE TELESCOPE ON its stand. The morning light leaked between the clouds and descended like pillars into the town. ‘So Macbeth said he was planning to kill me during the meeting?’
‘Yes,’ Bonus said.
Hecate looked through the telescope. ‘Look at that. Already a queue outside the Inverness.’
Bonus looked around. ‘Are the waiters here today?’
‘The boys, you mean? I book them only when I need them, same as with this penthouse suite. Owning things is tying yourself to them. And people, Bonus. But when you notice your car is so full of junk that it’s slowing you down, you get rid of the junk, not the car. That’s what Macbeth hasn’t realised. That I’m the car, not the junk. Did you ring Macbeth, Strega?’
The tall man-woman, who had just entered the room, stepped out of the shadows.
‘Yes.’
‘And what did you arrange?’
‘He’ll come here alone tomorrow at six to meet you.’
‘Thank you.’
She merged back into the shadows.
‘I wonder how he dares,’ Bonus said.
‘Dares?’
Hecate said. ‘He can’t stop himself. Macbeth has become like a moth drawn helplessly to the light, to power.’
‘And like a moth he’ll burn.’
‘Maybe. What Macbeth has most to fear is – like the moth – himself.’
Caithness looked at her watch. Twelves minutes to twelve. Then she directed her gaze at the hotel door in front of her. She would never forget the brass numbers, however long she lived and however many men she met, loved and shared days and nights with.
323.
She could still turn back. But she had come here. Why? Because she thought she would meet Duff again and something had changed? The only thing that had changed was that now she knew she would be able to manage perfectly well without him. Or was it because she suspected that behind the door there could be another chance, a chance to do the right thing? Which she had failed to do when she walked away from Angus at Estex. She had got hold of his private phone number but there had been no answer.
She raised her hand.
The door would explode if she knocked.
She knocked.
Waited. Was about to knock again when the door opened. A young man stood there.
‘Who are you?’ she asked.
‘Fleance, son of Banquo.’ The voice was the same as on the phone. He stepped aside. ‘Please come in, Mrs Mittbaum.’
The hotel room was as before.
Malcolm was as before.
But not Duff. He had aged. Not only in the months and years since she had last seen him sitting on the plush-covered hotel bed waiting for her like now, but in the days that had passed since he had left her flat for the last time.
‘You came,’ Duff said.
She nodded.
Malcolm coughed and cleaned his glasses. ‘You don’t seem particularly surprised to see us here, Caithness.’
‘I’m most surprised that I’m here,’ she said. ‘What’s going on?’