Nightblind (17 page)

I went outside today. It was an unseasonably cold summer day with the sun hidden behind the clouds. There are always clouds over me these days.

I also finally got to meet the doctor. He took me off this fucking medication and he promised to look at the alternatives.

We can’t keep on like this, he said. Then he said, You look terrible.

He was right, of course. I hadn’t realised myself just how weak I had become. The fresh air will help, I hope.

One strange thing was that he didn’t recall being asked to see me, not until today. Somehow I must have misunderstood the nurse. Didn’t she promise repeatedly to ask him on my behalf for an appointment? Or say that she conveniently forgot? There is something going on, and I need to know what it is.

Another death in Siglufjördur dominated the morning’s news, although details were sparse and no names were mentioned; a tragedy but not a mystery, as one expert put it. There was, however, one news website taking the lead on a different story, to the surprise of Ari Thór and apparently Tómas as well. It was reported that Herjólfur had been investigated for corruption a decade previously, when several police officers had been suspected of taking bribes from drug dealers. Nothing was proved and the matter was dropped, but it was something that could be relevant to the current case.

Ari Thór recalled his conversation with Addi the previous night, and felt a sudden wrench. He could see how easy – all too easy – it was to step over the line, and felt a glimmer of sympathy for Herjólfur. He wasn’t going to fall into that trap. He needed to put a stop to Addi’s assumptions at the first opportunity, and leave him in no doubt about where he stood. If Addi thought that he had reached a cosy agreement with the police, he had another think coming.

‘It stinks, my boy. It stinks,’ Tómas said, when he had read the article about Herjólfur. ‘It puts us in a difficult position. We need public opinion behind us. People expect police officers to be honest guardians of law and order, everyone’s friend and protector. Of course it occasionally happens that one of us puts a foot wrong, and I sincerely hope that there was nothing on Herjólfur’s conscience.’

‘Could…’ Ari Thór began, wondering if he should continue. ‘Could Herjólfur have been involved in anything similar here?’

‘It had crossed my mind,’ Tómas answered thoughtfully. ‘I can’t
help but suspect that there’s something behind this shooting that we may wish we’d never uncovered. Perhaps we’d rather
not
know.’

‘What do you mean? Of course we need to know.’

‘Do we?’ Tómas asked, gazing into the distance. ‘Sometimes sleeping dogs are best left to lie quietly. People have to have trust in the police force.’

Ari Thór could hardly believe his ears and wondered if Tómas was really so cynical.

‘We have to finish this case, Tómas. Wherever it takes us.’

‘Yes, I expect you are right, Ari Thór. I just hope that whatever the solution is, it’s something we can live with.’

‘Can you check out these corruption allegations?’ Ari Thór asked. ‘Would your people in Reykjavík know anything?’

‘I expect so.’

It was almost midday. They had taken Gunnar’s statement during the night and Elín’s early that morning. Naturally, both of them were suspects in the Herjólfur case, although there were no direct indicators of their guilt. Both asserted that they had been asleep at home on the night of the attack, not that this provided either of them with an alibi.

Media interest was growing sharply as the town filled up with news teams. Unusually for this time of year, travel conditions were reasonable, tempting many of them northwards. There was an unusual amount of traffic in Siglufjördur, as the town was swelled by an unseasonal number of visitors from nearby towns, many keen to soak up the air of mystery.

Ari Thór had not seen Kristín since the previous day. She had left early to go to work, dropping Stefnir off with the childminder on her way. She would be on duty until well into the evening, with a long shift ahead of her. Stefnir would have to be collected before four, but the childminder could take him again that evening, if necessary.

Ari Thór had received a message from Jódís, the old lady who knew the background of the past occupants of the old house, and she asked him to pay her a visit, making it plain that she had something
important to tell him. He decided that her insights were probably not an immediate priority, but he scheduled a meeting for later that day, planning to take Stefnir with him to visit her. He still hoped that somewhere among the old secrets that shrouded the place it would be possible to find the key to Herjólfur’s death.

‘Should we bring Addi in?’ Ari Thór asked.

‘Addi? Whatever for?’ Tómas asked in astonishment.

Ari Thór gulped. ‘Well, the news about Herjólfur … it might be worth seeing if he had been involved in anything shady up here.’

‘We don’t run an investigation based on hearsay,’ Tómas replied frostily.

Ari Thór knew Tómas was right, but he made another attempt, this time from a different angle that he hoped might hit the target.

‘Addi gave us information about Elín, so it’s obvious that he’s up to his ears in this business. He didn’t exactly try to hide it when we talked last night. There must be more to this.’

Tómas hesitated.

‘I don’t doubt it … but will it get us anywhere? And as far as I can see, Addi has been very helpful so far. The tip-off about Elín was right on the money.’

‘Let’s do it anyway,’ Ari Thór said doggedly. ‘We can’t let him think that there’s some kind of special arrangement just for him.’

‘Well, up to you. Give him a call and ask him to stop by.’

‘I reckon it would give the right impression if we were to fetch him.’

Tómas shook his head and said nothing.

Addi sat opposite Ari Thór and Tómas at the police station, confident but clearly less than happy about being publicly hauled in. His face was a mask of fury, and he provided little other than single-word answers to the questions put to him, sometimes refusing to answer at all.

‘Could Herjólfur have been involved in trading drugs in the town?’ Ari Thór asked.

Addi shrugged his shoulders.

Ari Thór repeated his question with more steel in his voice. ‘What do you know, Addi? Is it possible?’

Addi shrugged a second time.

‘What’s your involvement in the business that took place where he was shot?’

Addi sat obstinately mute.

Ari Thór’s patience was starting to wear thin, his tolerance levels eroded by long days, inadequate rest, an increasingly complex investigation, and the tension at home.

‘Well? Do we get an answer?’

Addi stretched in the chair, lifted his head and spoke in a voice as rasping and insolent as ever. ‘I can’t believe that I’ve been hauled down here like some criminal. I’ve done my time inside, thanks very much. I’ve done nothing and certainly had nothing to do with this attack. I may have a record, but I’ve never gone in for violence. You know that, Tómas, don’t you?’

Tómas made no comment, but the look on his face confirmed Addi’s words.

‘I’ve even gone so far as to help you, put my head on the block by helping the filth. And what thanks do I get? Arrested! You have nothing on me, absolutely fuck all.’

‘Take it easy, Addi. Nobody’s arrested you,’ Tómas assured him.

‘I’ve been arrested a few times before and I know how it works, I can tell you,’ Addi retorted. He seemed calmer now, the anger had cooled but it hadn’t left him. ‘I don’t forget that kind of treatment too quickly,’ he said softly, the menace evident.

Ari Thór felt a shiver travel down his spine as Addi glared at him across the interview-room table, catching his eye. Addi didn’t blink as he stared into Ari Thór’s eyes, making plain without having to say a word that they would meet again and next time Addi intended to come off best.

It was obvious that the old lady was delighted to have visitors. A laden table awaited Ari Thór and Stefnir, and he guessed that the snow-white tablecloth had been laid with the Sunday-best china. There was an impressive spread of layer cake, twisted doughnuts and pancakes, everything undoubtedly home baked.

‘It’s a pleasure to have an unexpected guest,’ she said, catching sight of Stefnir. Ari Thór hadn’t told Jódís that they would both be coming. ‘I don’t get many visitors. Most of my friends have gone. Now I only have a few acquaintances, like the ones you met at the church hall.’

Ari Thór stood in the living room with his son in his arms. Jódís lived in the small upstairs flat of a house that looked to date back to the seventies. He had expected her to live in one of the town’s old detached houses, something that her parents might have built, or even dating back a generation further. She was Siglufjördur through and through, as Tómas had said, adding that her family had been townspeople for centuries.

‘Good gracious, have a seat,’ she fussed. ‘I don’t mean you to stand there all day long. That’s what happens when I start talking.’

‘We’re fine,’ Ari Thór reassured her, taking a seat at the table. ‘It’s a magnificent spread. I hope you didn’t bake all this just for us.’

‘I’m always baking. It’s one of the things I
can
still do and I often take something sweet for morning coffee at the church. I can’t read as much as I used to, and baking fills my time. Fortunately, I know all of the recipes by heart.’ She winked at Stefnir.

‘I don’t suppose you have a high chair for the boy?’ Ari Thór asked, looking around, knowing it probably wasn’t worth asking.

‘I’m afraid not, my friend. Afraid not. I never married and don’t have any children. My late brother Jónmundur had a son, but he’s long grown up and moved south to Reykjavík. He doesn’t visit with his children. No little ones have been to see me for a good many years.’ For a moment she looked sad, but her familiar smile soon returned to her face.

‘Not to worry,’ Ari Thór said. ‘He can sit with me.’ Stefnir was normally quiet when he was in his father’s arms. Ari Thór looked intently at Jódís, reluctant to upset her in any way. ‘I hope my questions the other day didn’t bring back bad memories.’

‘Help yourself,’ she said, instead of replying.

Ari Thór poured milk into a glass from the open carton on the table and helped himself to a slice of cake.

‘I’m afraid I can’t help you much with poor Herjólfur,’ she said, picking up a doughnut and taking a tiny bite of it. ‘I don’t know who shot him and I doubt that Baldur has come back from the grave to murder a policeman.’

‘That doesn’t sound likely to me,’ Ari Thór said. The cake was good. The old lady certainly had some skill as a baker.

‘How do you like Siglufjördur?’ she asked. ‘You’ve been here for a few years now, if I recall correctly.’

In a small town, a police officer was practically public property.

Ari Thór answered a few more of her enquiries, polite questions that deserved courteous replies, and it started to occur to him that she had invited him to visit her purely to have some company. He began to feel edgy and it didn’t escape Jódís’s notice.

‘I don’t doubt you’re wondering why I asked you here,’ she said, confirming that there was something behind the invitation after all.

‘Yes…’ Ari Thór said, through a mouthful of layer cake.

Jódís sat in silence and waited, maybe waiting for the right moment.

He looked around the small sitting room. It was a simple home, with little in the way of decoration and furnished sparsely. There were no priceless heirlooms and no paintings on the walls. One
photograph was on display on the sideboard, a black-and-white portrait of a young man, wearing a suit, his hair combed back from his forehead.

Ari Thór broke the silence. ‘Is that your brother? Jónmundur?’

There was silence again.

‘That’s Börkur … was Börkur.’

‘One of the twins?’

‘Yes.’

This came as a surprise to Ari Thór. He wondered why she had a photograph of Börkur on show.

‘The one who lived longer?’ he asked awkwardly.

‘Yes, yes. He had a longer life,’ she said. ‘But he was only half a man after his brother Baldur’s death and sometimes hardly even that.’

‘Did he kill his brother?’ Ari Thór asked without hesitating.

‘No, he didn’t,’ Jódís said and sat silent for a long moment. ‘We were in love,’ she said finally.

Ari Thór was perplexed by the link, but pressed on, ‘Börkur and you?’

‘Yes, exactly. Börkur and me.’

‘But he always lived alone?’

‘He lived by himself, yes. It came to nothing between us. Everything changed after Baldur died.’ There was a note of despair in her voice, regret at opportunities lost. ‘I kept the photograph of Börkur and had it framed a few years ago. I can’t always face the past so sometimes it stays in the cupboard. But today he’s here. I went and got it out as you were going to visit. Of course it’s painful to remember it all but, between us, I think it’s probably for the best. And it’s time the truth of the matter made its way out into the daylight after all these years,’ Jódís paused. ‘I think it’ll be a relief of sorts to tell the story. And you’re a policeman, a young man, a representative of the authorities. So this is the perfect opportunity.’

‘And what is the truth?’ Ari Thór asked, trying to contain his curiosity.

‘The truth, my friend, is that I have a confession to make. I have to confess to being responsible for a man’s death.’

Ari Thór was taken completely off guard.

‘Responsibility for Baldur’s death?’ he asked, choosing his words with care. She had said nothing about murder, and he had no intention of using the word. There had to be something else behind this.

‘Yes, my friend. That’s right.’

‘You pushed him off the balcony?’

‘Nothing so simple,’ she said, and was silent for a moment. ‘You know, I’m so glad not to have to carry this burden by myself any longer. I’ve kept the secret for too many years. A confession is a relief, regardless of what comes afterwards.’

‘What happened?’

‘He tried to trick me,’ she said. ‘In the darkness.’

‘Baldur phoned and invited me round, pretending that Börkur was there as well. He knew that Börkur and I were close. I turned up, late that evening. He was upstairs, out on the balcony. I was fooled for a while to start with, in the dark, like I said, and thought Baldur was his twin brother. It was late summer, getting on for autumn. It was warm outside, but night was drawing in. When I realised what was going on, I fought him tooth and nail. He wasn’t going to let me go. Somehow I found a little bit of extra energy, not something I can explain, and I got him off me by pushing him away. And…’ Her voice vanished into silence, her words swallowed up. Nothing more needed to be said.

‘What about Börkur and your brother? How were they involved?’ Ari Thór asked after a short spell of silence.

‘Börkur and Jónmundur weren’t there.’

‘What? Wasn’t there supposed to have been a party that night? Have I got it all wrong? I was given to understand that all three of them were present?’

‘Yes, that was our story. The story we cooked up between us, that
they
cooked up. Baldur died in the fall. I was going to give myself up, go to the police, but first I wanted to find my brother. I couldn’t
go alone. He went and fetched Börkur, and they wouldn’t have it. They refused to let Baldur ruin my life. All three of us knew that Baldur was … well, he was nothing like Börkur. He had a dark side to him. Those brothers, the twins, they were chalk and cheese, even though they looked the same. I don’t think Börkur ever mourned his brother, although he missed him. But of course, after that Börkur and I never could rekindle what we had before. The lies brought us together and tore us apart.’

She sighed, and stood up.

‘Would you like me to come and make a formal statement? I’ll take whatever’s coming to me. It’s about time.’

Ari Thór believed her account – he had no reason to doubt it. He also felt a deep sympathy for her. She’d carried the secret with her for decades, much of that time on her own, a single person living in a small flat with few friends. It didn’t occur to him for a second to make her life any harder than it already had been.

‘I don’t see any need for that. I’ll make a suitable report,’ he said, although he had no intention of doing so. This story wouldn’t be going any further. ‘We don’t pursue cases that go back that far. You don’t need to be concerned about it.’

‘What? Are you quite sure about that?’ she asked, eyes wide in surprise.

‘Quite sure,’ he said with a smile, quietly pleased that he had been able to put the old lady’s mind at rest, but unable to avoid comparing her situation with Elín’s. Would Siglufjördur’s deputy mayor find herself charged with manslaughter or even murder, even taking into account the injuries she had suffered and the long years of fear and maltreatment?