Blackout (10 page)

It wasn’t the first time that Páll Reynisson had driven through the Strákar tunnel, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. He was born and bred in Siglufjörður, and couldn’t contemplate the idea of living anywhere else. As he emerged from the tunnel the fjord opened up and welcomed him with the familiar warm feeling it never failed to give him.
I’m home.

Páll had spent two summers working under Tómas as a temporary police officer. Although he had enjoyed the work, it didn’t grab his interest enough for him to want to make it a career. Instead he had trained as an electrician. His most recent job had been the Héðinsfjörður tunnel project, working as a contractor for Elías Freysson’s small setup.

Altogether it was going to be odd to turn up at the police station where he had once worked and to be interviewed about what he did now.

Tómas had decided that he wouldn’t take part in interviewing Páll. The fact that they already knew each other well would make it awkward, and in any case he was confident that Ari Thór would do a good job.

As he thought about Ari Thór, he wondered if it wouldn’t be going too far to recommend him for the inspector post, not least as it would mean him leapfrogging Hlynur, who had considerably more experience. But Hlynur was far from being his usual self at the
moment. In fact he was in a world of his own a lot of the time, somewhere far from the police station, his mind entirely on other things.

At first Tómas had wondered if it was something that would pass, fatigue or a temporary malaise. But the situation had become increasingly noticeable over recent months. Now it was so bad that he felt he couldn’t trust Hlynur to deal with anything other than the most straightforward tasks.

He was no longer as punctual as he had been and every job he took on he dealt with almost unwillingly. His slipshod approach had resulted in a relatively straightforward drugs case being bungled; and worse was to follow when an elderly man suffered a heart attack at the swimming pool. Hlynur had been on duty and had attended the scene, but, according to those present, he had been as good as useless. He had said hardly a word to anyone, and had stared at what was unfolding as if he had been struck dumb. The man had fortunately survived, but it wasn’t down to any effort on Hlynur’s part.

If anything more serious than a traffic accident took place, Tómas had no choice but to deal with it himself or assign it to Ari Thór. Surely Hlynur had to be aware of this? They would have to find time to talk over the situation honestly, as soon as this murder case was out of the way.

Tómas was far from certain, however, that he would be moving south after all, so it could well be that he wouldn’t need a successor, and wouldn’t have to decide between the two men. The town had a strong hold over him. He struggled to put into words just why it clasped him so tightly; perhaps it was because the past was here, memories that he found impossible to let go. On top of all that, it was here that he had built up his successful career; here that he had dedicated himself so wholeheartedly to his work – more than likely he had been too dedicated. If he took a temporary leave of absence, might it turn too easily into a longer career break? The inspector’s post wouldn’t be kept open for him indefinitely. Was he prepared to take that risk?

‘Take a seat,’ Ari Thór said to Páll, determined not to let him get away with anything, even though he undoubtedly knew his way around the police station.

‘It’s nice to see the place again,’ Páll said, appearing slightly unsure of his ground. ‘I had a couple of good summers here,’ he went on, as if keen to break the ice. ‘People still call me Páll the Cop.’

‘You don’t lose a nickname easily in Siglufjörður,’ Ari Thór said drily. ‘What took you to Reykjavík?’

‘Just a break. I had a day off yesterday and decided to run south to see what the big city has to offer. Just darkness and ash right now, it turns out.’

He leaned forward over the table and tried to smile.

‘You stayed at a hotel?’ Ari Thór asked.

‘No. Stayed with a friend. You want his name and number?’ he asked, now leaning back in his chair.

‘Definitely.’

Páll gave him an address in Reykjavík and Ari Thór wrote down the information before continuing. ‘When did you set off home?’

‘This morning.’

‘How was it working with Elías?’ Ari Thór asked abruptly, hoping to catch Páll off-guard.

‘It was a bit different,’ said Páll, seeming to get into his stride now.

‘How do you mean?’

‘It wasn’t easy to work with Elías and Svavar. They’d known each other for years and I had the feeling there was something they were cooking up between them, something I never got to hear anything about.’

‘You mean another job?’

‘Could have been. I just don’t know,’ Páll said and dropped his voice. ‘Or else … something that was on the shady side, you understand?’

‘Why didn’t you inform us if that was the case?’

‘It was just a gut feeling. I had nothing to back it up, otherwise I would have come straight here,’ he said. ‘But I do know that these last few days the two of them were tense – really nervous. It was as if something big was going on. But I never got to hear anything about it.’ Páll shrugged as if to emphasise his point.

‘How long had you worked together?’

‘A year and a half, give or take. Elías took me on not long after he moved here.’

‘What sort of character was he?’

Páll took a moment to think. ‘It’s hard to describe him. I just felt there was something sinister about him. He pretended to have this burning interest in charity work, for example. But that was clearly bullshit. The only person he had any interest in helping was himself. I think he wanted to make a pile of money and then move abroad. Svavar was always talking about moving somewhere warmer too.’ He leaned forward again. ‘I can tell you that was never going to happen, if he was on what I was earning. So either they were paying me a particularly lousy rate, or else they had some other shady job on the go that nobody else knew about.’

‘What about Logi?’ Ari Thór asked. ‘Was he part of this … other job, do you think?’

‘To tell you the truth, I couldn’t be sure. I don’t think so. They certainly trusted him more than they did me. Once a cop, always a cop, eh?’ He grinned. ‘I saw Elías talking to Logi the day before yesterday; they went quiet as soon as I turned up, so maybe he did have something to do with it. Or maybe they were going to let him join their secret society…’ Páll spoke lightly, but there was an underlying bitterness that showed he resented having been left out in the cold.

Hlynur had watched as Ari Thór disappeared with Páll into the interview room.

He was all too aware that a year or so ago he would have been the one going in there, not Ari Thór. The old anger welled up inside him again.

He absolutely had to find out as soon as possible who was sending him these emails. Only then would he be able to get back some sort of equilibrium in his life.

Screwing up his courage, he looked again through Gauti’s obituaries. It was a long time since he had last looked at them, but still he could not escape the same coincidence: Gauti had died on the tenth of May, and the first mysterious email had been sent to him on the same date, several years after Gauti’s death.

According to the obituaries, Gauti had left a sister, younger by a few years. At the time of his death, Gauti’s father was already dead but his mother was still living.

Hlynur jotted down the names and searched for them in the national registry.

Gauti’s sister lived in the Reykjavík area. Their mother, however, had died just a year after her son. Hlynur easily found her obituary as well, and skimming through it the feeling crept up on him that she had died of sorrow, although there was no mention about whether or not she had taken her own life.

Hlynur felt sick. Wasn’t the responsibility for Gauti’s death a big enough cross to bear? Suddenly he had the deaths of two people on his conscience.

He felt a heaviness settle on his mind and a dark hopelessness engulfed him, however much he tried to shake it off.

Next he searched on the internet for pictures of Gauti’s sister.

The sister’s name was Oddrún. It was an unusual name, so Hlynur located a picture of her with very little difficulty. Gazing at the face looking out at him, he was sure he had never seen this woman before.

Tómas and Ari Thór had been asked to attend a status meeting in Akureyri that evening. Tómas suggested setting off late in the afternoon and finding a place for a meal on the way.

In fact, Tómas was pleased to have the chance to eat out and to enjoy some company over a meal. These days he was pretty much living on microwaved food. He had never got round to learning how to cook, so all he could really manage were ready meals; and occasionally he’d buy a frozen pizza and heat it up in the oven. He missed all the things his wife had cooked, from the everyday fare to the feasts she’d whip up on special occasions.

Most of all he missed the steak with béarnaise sauce and chips that would make an appearance on the menu once in a while; a slow but delicious way to hasten an early demise.