Macbeth

Around the circular oak table in the chief commissioner’s large, airy but soberly furnished office sat four people, not counting Duncan. Deputy Chief Commissioner Malcolm, prematurely grey and bespectacled. He had studied philosophy and economics at the university in Capitol, spoke accordingly and was seen by many as a strange bird in HQ. He was an old friend of Duncan’s, who claimed he had brought him in because they needed his broad range of management skills. Others said it was because Duncan needed Malcolm’s unqualified ‘Yes’ vote at management meetings. Beside Malcolm, Lennox leaned forward, as keen as ever, albino-pale. His section, the Anti-Corruption Unit, had been established during Duncan’s reorganisation. There had been a brief discussion as to whether anti should be in the title, some arguing that they didn’t say the Anti-Narcotics Unit or the Anti-Homicide Unit. Yet under Kenneth the Narcotics Unit had been known as the corruption unit in local parlance. On the other side of Duncan sat an assistant taking minutes of the meeting, and beside her, Inspector Caithness.

As Duncan didn’t allow smoking in his office there were no ashtrays on the table with cigarette ends to tell Duff roughly how long they had been sitting there, but he registered that some of the notepads on the table had coffee stains and some of the cups were nearly empty. And the open, gentle, almost relaxed atmosphere suggested they had reached a conclusion.

‘Thank you for coming so quickly, Duff,’ Duncan said, showing him to the last vacant chair with an open palm. ‘Let me get straight to the point. We’re pushing forward the merging of your Narcotics Unit with the Gang Unit to become the Organised Crime Unit. This is our first crisis since I took over the chair of—’ Duff looked in the direction Duncan was nodding, to the desk. The chief commissioner’s chair was high-backed and large, but didn’t exactly look comfortable. Bit too straight. No soft upholstery. It was a chair to Duff’s taste ‘—so I feel it’s important we show some vim.’

‘Sounds sensible,’ Duff said. And regretted it at once. The remark made it seem as if he had been brought in to assess top management’s reasoning. ‘I mean, I’m sure you’re right.’

There was a moment’s silence around the table. Had he gone too far the other way, suggesting that he didn’t have opinions of his own?

‘We have to be absolutely one hundred per cent certain that the person is not corrupt,’ Duncan said.

‘Of course,’ Duff said.

‘Not only because we can’t afford any similar scandals such as this one with Cawdor, but because we need someone who can help us to catch the really big fish. And I’m not talking Sweno but Hecate.’

Hecate. The silence in the room after articulating the name spoke volumes.

Duff straightened up in his chair. This was indeed a big mission. But it was clear this was what the job demanded: slaying the dragon. And it was magnificent. For it started here. Life as a different, better man.

‘You led this successful attack on the Norse Riders,’ Duncan said.

‘I didn’t do it on my own, sir,’ Duff said. It paid dividends to show a bit of humility, and especially in situations where it wasn’t required; it was precisely then you could afford to be humble.

‘Indeed,’ Duncan said. ‘Macbeth helped you. Quite a lot, I understand. What’s your general impression of him?’

‘Impression, sir?’

‘Yes, you were in the same year at police college. He’s undoubtedly done a good job with SWAT, and everyone there is enthusiastic about his leadership qualities. But of course SWAT is a very specialised unit. You know him, and that’s why we’d like to hear whether you believe Macbeth could be the man for the job.’

Duff had to swallow twice before he could get his vocal cords to produce a sound. ‘If Macbeth could be the man to lead the Organised Crime Unit, you mean?’

‘Yes.’

Duff needed a couple of seconds. He placed a hand over his mouth, lowered his eyebrows and forehead and hoped this made him look like a deep thinker — not a deeply disappointed man.

‘Well, Duff?’

‘It’s one thing leading men in a raid on a house, shooting criminals and saving hostages,’ Duff said. ‘And Macbeth’s good at that without any doubt. Leading an organised crime unit requires slightly different qualifications.’

‘We agree,’ Duncan said. ‘It requires slightly different and not completely different qualifications. Leading is leading. What about the man’s character? Is he trustworthy?’

Duff squeezed his top lip between thumb and first finger. Macbeth. Bloody Macbeth! What should he say? This promotion belonged to him, Duff, and not some guy who could equally well have ended up as a juggler or knife thrower in a travelling circus! He focused his gaze on the painting on the wall behind the desk. Marching, loyalty, leadership and solidarity. He could see them in his mind’s eye on the country road: Macbeth, himself, the two dead men. The rain washing the blood away.