‘Been?’ Macbeth said, trying to hold on to a scrap of the dream. ‘Haven’t I been here?’
‘Your body has, yes, but I’ve been trying to wake you for hours. It’s as if you’ve been unconscious. What have you done?’
Macbeth was still holding on to the dream, but suddenly he didn’t know whether it was a good dream or a nightmare. Duncan... He let go, and images whirled in the darkness.
‘Your pupils,’ she said, holding his face between her hands. ‘You’ve taken dope, that’s why.’
He squirmed away, from her, from the light. ‘I needed it.’
‘But you’ve done it?
‘It?’
She shook him hard. ‘Macbeth, darling, answer me! Have you done the deed you promised you would?’
‘Yes!’ He groaned and ran a hand across his face. ‘No, I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know ?’
‘I can see him in front of me with a dagger in him, but I don’t know if it really happened or I just dreamed it.’
‘There’s a clean dagger here on the bedside table. You were supposed to have put both daggers in with the bodyguards after killing Duncan, one with each of them.’
‘Yes, yes, I remember.’
‘Is the other dagger with them? Pull yourself together!’
‘Sleep no more. Macbeth is murdering sleep.’
‘What?’
‘He said that. Or I dreamed it.’
‘We’d better go in and check.’
Macbeth closed his eyes, reached out for the dream — perhaps it could tell him. Rather that than go back in. But the dream had already slipped through his fingers. When he reopened his eyes Lady was standing with an ear to the wall.
‘They’re still snoring. Come on.’ She grabbed the dagger from the bedside table.
Macbeth breathed in deeply. The day and its revealing light would soon be here. He swung his legs out of bed and discovered he was still fully dressed.
They went into the corridor. Not a sound to be heard. Those who stayed at the Inverness didn’t usually get up early.
Lady unlocked the guards’ room, and she and Macbeth went in. Each was lying asleep in an armchair. But there were no daggers anywhere, and there was no blood smeared over their suits and shirts, as per their plan.
‘I only dreamed it,’ Macbeth whispered. ‘Come on, let’s drop this.’
‘No!’ Lady snarled and strode off to the door connecting to Duncan’s room. Shifted the dagger to her right hand. Then, without any sign of hesitation, she tore open the door and went in.
Macbeth waited and listened.
Nothing.
He walked over to the door opening.
Grey light seeped in through the window.
She was standing on the opposite side of the bed with the dagger raised by her mouth. Squeezing the handle with both hands, her eyes wide with horror.
Duncan was in the bed. His eyes were open and seemed to be staring at something by the other door. Everything was sprayed with blood. The duvet, the gun lying on the duvet, the hand on the gun. And the handle of the dagger sticking out of Duncan’s neck like a hook.
‘Oh darling,’ Lady whispered. ‘My man, my hero, my saviour, Macbeth.’
Macbeth opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment the total Sunday silence was broken by a barely audible but continuous ringing sound from below.
Lady looked at her watch. ‘That’s Duff. He’s early! Darling, go downstairs and keep him busy while I sort this out.’
‘You’ve got three minutes,’ Macbeth said. ‘Don’t touch the blood. It’s semi-coagulated and will leave prints. OK?’
She angled back her head and smiled at him. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘There you are.’
And he knew what she meant. At last he was there. The zone.
Standing in front of the door to the Inverness, Duff shivered and longed to be back in Caithness’s warm bed. He was about to press the bell a second time when the door opened.
‘Sir, the entrance to the casino is down there.’
‘No, I’m here to collect Chief Commissioner Duncan.’
‘Oh, right. Come in. I’ll ring and say you’re here. Inspector Duff, isn’t it?’
Duff nodded. They had really first-class staff at the Inverness. He sank down into one of the deep armchairs.
‘No answer, sir,’ said the receptionist. ‘Neither there nor in his bodyguards’ room.’
Duff looked at his watch. ‘What’s the chief commissioner’s room number?’
‘Two thirteen, sir.’
‘Would you mind if I went up to wake him?’
‘Not at all.’
Duff was on his way up the stairs when a familiar figure came bounding down towards him.
‘Morning, Duff,’ Macbeth called cheerily. ‘Jack, could you go to the kitchen and get us both a cup of strong coffee.’
The receptionist went off.
‘Thanks, Macbeth, but I’ve been told to collect Duncan.’
‘Is it that urgent? And aren’t you a bit early?’
‘We’ve arranged a time to be home, and I remembered that Kenneth Bridge was still out of action, so we’ll have to take the detour over the old bridge.’
‘Relax.’ Macbeth laughed, grabbing Duff under the arm. ‘She won’t be setting a stopwatch, will she? And you look exhausted, so if you’re driving you’ll need some strong coffee. Come on, let’s sit down.’
Duff hesitated. ‘Thanks, my friend, but that’ll have to wait.’
‘A cup of coffee and she won’t notice the smell of whisky quite as easily.’
‘I’m considering becoming a teetotaller like you.’
‘Are you?’
‘Booze leads to three things: a colourful nose, sleep and pissing. In Duncan’s case, obviously sleep. I’ll go up and—’
Macbeth held on to his arm. ‘And booze is lust’s dupe, I’ve heard. Increases your lust but reduces performance. How was your night? Tell me. Slowly and in detail.’
Duff arched an eyebrow. Slowly and in detail. Was he using the interrogation term from their police college days as a jokey parody or did he know something? No, Macbeth didn’t talk in riddles. He didn’t have the patience or the ability. ‘There’s not much to tell. I stayed with a cousin.’
‘Eh? You never told me you had any family. I thought your grandfather was the last relation you had. Look, here’s the coffee. Just put it on the table, Jack. And try ringing Duncan again.’
Reassured that the receptionist was on the case, Duff went down the steps and greedily reached for the coffee. But stayed standing.
‘The family, yes,’ Macbeth said. ‘It’s a source of a constant guilty conscience, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, maybe,’ said Duff, who had burned his tongue with his first sip and was now blowing on the coffee.
‘How are they? Are they enjoying Fife?’
‘Everyone enjoys Fife.’
‘Duncan still isn’t answering his phone, sir.’
‘Thanks, Jack. Keep trying. Lots of people will have heavy heads this morning.’
Duff put down his cup. ‘Macbeth, I think I’ll wake him first and drink coffee afterwards, so we can get going.’
‘I’ll go up with you. He’s next to us,’ Macbeth said, taking a sip of his coffee. He spilled it on his hand and jacket sleeve. ‘Whoops. Have you got a paper towel, Jack?’
‘I’ll just—’
‘Hang about, Duff. That’s it, yes. Thanks, Jack. Come on, let’s go.’
They walked up the stairs.
‘Have you hurt yourself?’ Duff asked.
‘No. Why?’
‘I’ve never seen you climb stairs so slowly.’
‘I might have pulled a muscle during the Norse Rider chase.’
‘Hm.’
‘Otherwise. Sleep well?’
‘No,’ Duff said. ‘It was a terrible night. Thunder, lightning and rain.’