Part Two
10
The morning Chief Commissioner Duncan was found dead in bed at Inverness Casino was the second time in its history that Lady had immediately ordered the building to be cleared of customers and a CLOSED sign to be hung up outside.
Caithness arrived with everyone she could muster from Forensics and they closed the whole of the first floor.
The other officers who had stayed the night gathered around the roulette table in the empty gaming room.
Duff looked at Deputy Chief Commissioner Malcolm sitting at the end of the makeshift conference table. He had taken off his glasses, perhaps to clean them, at least that was what he was doing as he stared fixedly at the green felt, as though answers to all the questions lay there. Malcolm was the highest-ranking officer present, and Duff had occasionally wondered whether the reason he walked with such a stoop was that Malcolm, a bureaucrat surrounded by people with practical police experience, felt he was on such thin ice that he automatically leaned forward to catch any advice, any whispered hints. And perhaps Malcolm’s wan complexion was not down to the previous night’s drinking but the fact that he had suddenly become acting chief commissioner.
Malcolm breathed on his glasses and kept cleaning them. He didn’t look up. As though he didn’t dare meet the gazes directed at him, colleagues waiting for him to speak.
Duff was perhaps too harsh. Everyone knew that in chiselling out Duncan’s programme Malcolm had been both the chisel and the hammer. But could he lead them? The others had years of experience leading their respective units, while Malcolm had spent days running two stooped paces behind Duncan like a kind of overpaid assistant.
‘Gentlemen,’ Malcolm said, staring at the green felt. ‘A great man has left us. And at this juncture that’s all I intend to say about Duncan.’ He put on his glasses, raised his head and studied those around the table. ‘As chief commissioner he would not have allowed us to sink into sentimentality and despair at such a pass, he would have demanded that we did what we’re employed to do: find the guilty party, or parties, and put them under lock and key. Tears and commemorative words will have to come afterwards. At this meeting let’s plan and coordinate what to do first. The next meeting will be at HQ at six this evening. I suggest the first thing you do after this meeting is to ring your wives and so on—’
Malcolm’s gaze landed on Duff, but Duff couldn’t work out if there was any intentional subtext.
‘—and say you’re unlikely to be home for a while.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Because first of all you’re going to arrest the person who took Chief Commissioner Duncan from us.’ Long pause. ‘Duff, you’ve got the Homicide Unit. I want an interim report for the meeting in an hour, including whatever Caithness and her team have or haven’t found at the crime scene.’
‘Right.’
‘Lennox, I want a full background check on the bodyguards and details of their movements before the murder. Where they were, who they spoke to, what they bought, any changes in their bank accounts, some tough questioning of family and friends. Requisition any resources you need.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Macbeth, you’ve already contributed a lot to this case, but I need more. See if Organised Crime can link this with the big players, those who would profit most from getting rid of Duncan.’
‘Isn’t it pretty obvious?’ Macbeth said. ‘We’ve dumped Sweno’s dope in the river, killed two and arrested half the Norse Riders. This is Sweno’s revenge, and—’
‘It’s not obvious,’ Malcolm said.
The others stared at the deputy chief commissioner in surprise.
‘Sweno has everything to gain by Duncan continuing his project.’ Malcolm tapped on some gambling chips that had been left on the cloth after the hasty evacuation. ‘What was Duncan’s first promise to this town? He was going to arrest Hecate. And now, with the Norse Riders down for the count, Duncan would have focused all the police resources on precisely that. And if Duncan had succeeded what would he have done?’
‘He would have cleaned up the market for Sweno so that he could make a comeback,’ Lennox said.
‘Quite honestly,’ Macbeth said, ‘do you really think a vindictive Sweno would think that rationally?’ Malcolm raised an eyebrow a fraction. ‘A man from the working classes, with no education or any other help, who has run one of the most profitable businesses in this town for more than thirty years. Could he be financially rational? Is he capable of putting aside a thirst for revenge when he can see what’s good for business?’
‘OK,’ Duff said. ‘Hecate’s the one with the most to gain from Duncan’s removal, so you assume he’s behind this.’ He was looking at Malcolm.
‘I’m not assuming anything, but Duncan’s extreme prioritisation of the hunt for Hecate has been, as we know, much debated, and from Hecate’s point of view anyone who succeeds Duncan would be preferable.’
‘Especially if his successor were someone Hecate had tabs on,’ Duff said. Realising at once what he had insinuated, he closed his eyes. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to...’
‘That’s fine,’ Malcolm said. ‘We can speak and think freely here, and what you said follows from my reasoning. Hecate might think he would have an easier time than under Duncan. So let’s show him how wrong he is.’ Malcolm pushed all the chips onto black. ‘So our provisional hypothesis is Hecate, but let’s hope we know more by six o’clock. To work.’
Banquo could feel sleep letting go. Felt the dream letting go. Felt Vera letting go. He blinked. Was it the church bells that had woken him? No. There was someone in the room. A person sitting by the window and looking down at the framed photograph, who, without looking up, asked, ‘Hangover?’
‘Macbeth? How...?’
‘Fleance let me in. He’s taken over my room, I see. Even the winkle-pickers you bought me.’
‘What’s the time?’
‘And there was me thinking pointed shoes were way out of fashion.’
‘That was why you left them here. But Fleance will wear anything if he knows it was once yours.’
‘Books and school stuff everywhere. He’s hard-working, he’s got the right attitude to get to the top.’
‘Yes, he’s getting there.’
‘But, as we know, that’s not always enough to get to the top. You’re one of many, so it’s a question of opportunity. Having the skill and the courage to strike when the opportunity presents itself. Do you remember who took this picture?’
Macbeth held it up. Fleance and Banquo under the dead apple tree. The shadow of the photographer falling across them.
‘You did. What do you want?’ Banquo rubbed his face. Macbeth was right: he did have a hangover.
‘Duncan’s dead.’
Banquo’s hands dropped to the duvet. ‘What was that you said?’
‘His bodyguards stabbed him in the neck while he was asleep at the Inverness last night.’
Banquo felt nausea on the march and had to breathe in several times to stop himself throwing up.
‘This is the opportunity,’ Macbeth said. ‘That is, it’s a parting of the ways. From here one way goes to hell and the other to heaven. I’m here to ask which you’ll choose.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I want to know if you’ll follow me.’
‘I’ve already answered that. And the answer’s yes.’
Macbeth turned to him. Smiled. ‘And you can say that without asking whether it’ll lead to heaven or hell?’ His face was pale, his pupils abnormally small. Had to be the sharp morning light because if Banquo hadn’t known Macbeth better he would have said he was back on dope. But the moment he was about to push that thought away the certainty broke over him like a sudden freezing-cold deluge.