Macbeth

‘—more or less on my way home,’ Duncan said. ‘And it’s Mrs Duff and your two wonderful children who should thank me.’

‘Excuse me,’ Duff said, pushing his chair back and standing up.

‘A stupendous police officer,’ Lennox said as he watched Duff stagger towards the toilet door at the back of the room.

‘Duff?’ Duncan queried.

‘Him too, but I was thinking about Macbeth. His results are impressive, his men love him, and even though he worked under Kenneth, we in the Anti-Corruption Unit know he’s rock solid. It’s a pity he doesn’t have the formal qualifications necessary for a higher management post.’

‘There’s no requirement to have anything higher than police college. Look at Kenneth.’

‘Yes, but Macbeth still isn’t one of us.’

‘Us?’

‘Well,’ Lennox lifted his champagne glass with a wry smile, ‘you’ve chosen heads who — whether we like it or not — are seen as belonging to the elite. We all come from the western side of town or Capitol, have an education or a respectable family name. Macbeth is seen more as someone from the broader ranks of the populace, if you know what I mean.’

‘I do. Listen, I’m a bit worried about Duff’s unsteadiness on his feet. Could you...?’

Fortunately the toilet was empty.

Duff did up his flies, stood by one of the sinks, turned on a tap and splashed water over his face. He heard the door go behind him.

‘Duncan asked me to check how you were,’ Lennox said.

‘Mm. What do you think he thought?’

‘Thought about what?’

Duff grabbed a paper and dried his face. ‘About... how things went.’

‘He probably thinks what we all think: you did a good job.’

Duff nodded.

Lennox chuckled. ‘You really do want the Organised Crime job, don’t you.’

Duff turned off the tap and soaped his hands while looking at the head of Anti-Corruption in the mirror.

‘You mean I’m a climber?’

‘Nothing wrong with climbing the ladder.’ Lennox smirked. ‘It’s just amusing to see how you position yourself.’

‘I’m qualified, Lennox. So isn’t it simply my duty to this town and my and your children’s future to do what I can for Organised Crime? Or should I leave the biggest unit to Cawdor? A person we both know must have both dirty and bloody hands to have survived under Kenneth for as long as he did.’

‘Aha,’ Lennox said. ‘It’s duty that drives you? Not personal ambition at all. Well, St Duff, let me hold the door open for you.’ Lennox performed a deep bow. ‘I presume you will refuse the salary increase and other concomitant privileges.’

‘The salary, honour and fame are irrelevant to me,’ Duff said. ‘But society rewards those who contribute. Showing contempt for the salary would be like showing contempt for society.’ He studied his face in the mirror. How can you see when a person is lying? Is it possible when the person in question has succeeded in convincing himself that what he says is the truth? How long would it take him to convince himself that it was the truth, the version he and Macbeth had arranged to give of how they had killed the two men on the road?

‘Have you finished washing your hands now, Duff? I think Duncan wants to go home.’

The SWAT men took their leave of each other outside the Bricklayers Arms. ‘Loyalty, fraternity,’ Macbeth said in a loud voice.

The others answered him in slurred, to varying degrees, unison: ‘Baptised in fire, united in blood.’

Then they walked away in every direction of the compass. Macbeth and Banquo to the west, past a street musician who was howling rather than singing ‘Meet Me On The Corner’ and through the deserted run-down concourses and corridors of the central station. A strangely warm wind picked up through the passages and swept litter between the once beautiful Doric pillars crumbling after years of pollution and lack of maintenance.

‘Now,’ Banquo said. ‘Are you going to tell me what really happened?’

‘You tell me about the lorry and Kenneth,’ Macbeth said. ‘Ninety-metre free fall!’ His laughter resounded beneath the brick ceiling.

Banquo smiled. ‘Come on, Macbeth. What happened out there on the country road?’

‘Did they say anything about how long they would have to close the bridge for repairs?’

‘You might be able to lie to them, but not to me.’

‘We got them, Banquo. Do you need to know any more?’

‘Do I?’ Banquo waved away the stench from the stairs down to the toilets, where a woman of indeterminate age was standing bent over with her hair hanging down in front of her face as she clung to the handrail.

‘No.’

‘All right,’ Banquo said.

Macbeth stopped and crouched down by a young boy sitting by the wall with a begging cup in front of him. The boy raised his head. He had a black patch over one eye and the other stared out from a doped-up state, a dream. Macbeth put a banknote in his cup and a hand on his shoulder. ‘How’s it going?’ he asked softly.

‘Macbeth,’ the boy said. ‘As you can see.’

‘You can do it,’ Macbeth said. ‘Always remember that. You can stop.’

The boy’s voice slurred and slid from vowel to vowel. ‘And how do you know that?’