‘That is in fact true,’ Banquo said. ‘Only the signature on that letter can save your daughter.’
Malcolm turned to Banquo on the back seat. Stared into the muzzle of the gun he was holding in his gloved hand.
‘There isn’t any attempt on my life. You lied.’
‘Yes and no,’ Banquo said.
‘You tricked me into coming here so that you could kill me and dump me in this canal.’
‘You’ll drown yourself, as it says in the letter.’
‘Why should I?’
‘Because the alternative is that I shoot you in the head now, drive to your house and then the suicide letter looks like this.’ Banquo passed him another sheet of paper. ‘Just the ending has been changed.’
‘For as long as my daughter and I are alive, the threat will always be there. That’s why I’ve chosen to take our lives and spare her the shame of what I’ve done and a life of endless fear.’ Malcolm blinked. He understood the words, they made sense, yet still he had to reread the letter.
‘Sign now, Malcolm.’ Banquo’s voice sounded almost comforting.
Malcolm closed his eyes. It was so quiet in the car that he could hear the creak of the trigger springs in Banquo’s gun. Then he opened his eyes, grabbed the pen and signed his name on the first letter. Metal rattled on the back seat. ‘Here,’ said Banquo. ‘Put them around your waist under your coat.’
Malcolm appraised the tyre chains Banquo held out. A weight.
He took them and wrapped them around his waist while his brain tried to find a way out.
‘Let me see,’ Banquo said, tightening the chains. Then he threaded through a padlock and clicked it shut. Placed the signed letter on the passenger seat and on top a key Malcolm assumed was for the padlock.
‘Come on.’ They got out into the rain. With his gun Banquo prodded Malcolm along the edge of the quay following a narrow canal that cut in from the main docks. Containers stood like walls on both sides of the canal. Even if people were out walking on the quay they wouldn’t see Malcolm and Banquo where they were.
‘Stop,’ Banquo said.
Malcolm stared across the black sea, which lay flat, beaten down and tamed by the lashing rain. Lowered his gaze and looked down into the oil-covered greenish-black water, then turned his back to the sea and fixed his eyes on Banquo.
Banquo raised his gun. ‘Jump, sir.’
‘You don’t look like someone intending to kill, Banquo.’
‘With all due respect, sir, I don’t think you know what such people look like.’
‘True enough. But I’m a fairly good judge of character.’
‘Have been up to now.’
Malcolm stretched his arms out to the side. ‘Push me then.’
Banquo moistened his lips. Changed his grip on the gun.
‘Well, Banquo? Show me the killer in you.’
‘You’re cool for a suit, sir.’
Malcolm lowered his arms. ‘That’s because I know something about loss, Banquo. Just like you. I’ve learned that we can afford to lose most things. But then there are some we cannot, that will stop us existing even more than if we lose our own lives. I know that you lost your wife to the illness which this town has given to its inhabitants.’
‘Oh yes? How do you know that?’
‘Because Duncan told me. And he did so because I lost my first wife to the same illness. And we talked about how we could help to create a town where this wouldn’t happen, where even the town’s most powerful industrial magnates would face trial for breaking the law, where a murder is a murder, whether it’s with a weapon or by gassing the town’s inhabitants until their eyes go yellow and they smell like a corpse.’
‘So you’ve already lost the unloseable.’
‘No. You can lose your wife and your life still has meaning. Because you have a child. A daughter. A son. It’s our children who are unloseable, Banquo. If I save Julia by dying now, that’s the way it has to be, it’s worth it. And there will be others after me and Duncan. You might not believe me, but this world is full of people who want what is good, Banquo.’
‘And who decides what is good? You and the other big bosses?’
‘Ask your heart, Banquo. Your brain will deceive you. Ask your heart.’
Malcolm saw Banquo shift his weight from one foot to the other. Malcolm’s mouth and throat were dry, he was already hoarse. ‘You can hang as many chains on us as you like, Banquo, it won’t make any difference because we’ll float to the surface. What is good rises. I swear I’m going to float to the surface somewhere and reveal your misdeeds.’
‘They aren’t mine, Malcolm.’
‘Hecate. Yours. You’re in the same boat. And we both know which river that boat will cross and where you’ll soon end up.’
Banquo nodded slowly. ‘Hecate,’ he said. ‘Exactly.’
‘What?’
Banquo seemed to be staring at a point on Malcolm’s forehead. ‘You’re right, sir. I work for Hecate.’ Malcolm tried to decipher Banquo’s faint smile. Water was running down his face as though he were crying, Malcolm thought. Was he hesitating? Malcolm knew he would have to continue talking, to make Banquo talk, because every word, every second prolonged his life. Increased the fading tiny chance that Banquo might change his mind or someone might appear.
‘Why drowning, Banquo?’
‘Eh?’
‘Shooting me in the car and making it look like suicide would be easier.’
Banquo shrugged. ‘There are many ways to skin a cat. The crime scene is underwater. No traces if they suspect murder. And drowning is nicer. Like going to sleep.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘I know. I almost drowned twice in my youth.’
The barrel of Banquo’s gun had sunk a fraction. Malcolm estimated the distance between them.
Malcolm swallowed. ‘Why did you almost drown, Banquo?’
‘Because I grew up on the east side of town and never learned to swim. Isn’t it funny that here in a town on the edge of the sea there are people who die if they fall in? So I tried to teach my boy to swim. The odd thing is he didn’t learn either. Perhaps because it was a non-swimmer trying to teach him. If we sink, they sink, that’s how our fates are passed on. But people like you can swim, Malcolm.’
‘Hence the chains, I assume.’
‘Yes.’ The gun barrel was raised again. The hesitation was gone and the determination back in Banquo’s eyes. Malcolm took a deep breath. The chance had been there and now it wasn’t.
‘Good people or not,’ Banquo said, ‘you have the buoyancy we lack. And I have to be sure you will stay under the water. And never rise to the surface again. If you don’t I won’t have done my job. Do you understand?’
‘Understand?’
‘Give me your police badge.’
Malcolm took the brass badge from his jacket pocket and gave it to Banquo, who immediately threw it. It flew over the edge of the quay, hit the water and sank. ‘It’s brass. It’s shiny but will sink right to the bottom. That’s gravity, sir, it drags everything with it into the mud. You have to disappear, Malcolm. Disappear for ever.’
In the meeting room Macbeth looked at his watch. Twenty-nine minutes past six. The door opened again, and a person Macbeth recognised as Lennox’s assistant stuck her head in, said it still wasn’t possible to get in contact with Malcolm; all they knew was he arrived at HQ, turned round in the garage and left, and no one, not even his daughter Julia, knew where he was.
‘Thanks, Priscilla,’ Lennox said and turned to the others. ‘Then I think we should start this meeting by—’
Macbeth knew this was the moment. The moment Lady had spoken about, the moment of the leadership void, when everyone would unconsciously regard the person who took the initiative as the new leader. For that reason his interruption came over loud and clear.