Nightblind (18 page)

I don’t know why I’m still writing, or why I haven’t destroyed this book.

I’m still shaking a little, as I’m angry and scared. It’s a dangerous mixture.

I decided to speak to the nurse, and find out how many times she tried to get the doctor to see me. I suffered day after day on this medication and I trusted her to help me.

I couldn’t do it until today, she said.

She lied to me. More than once.

I told her what I thought.

She treated me like a child.

Did I say that? Did I promise that?

She was going to walk away, and I grabbed at her. Not hard, but firmly enough that she had to stop.

I was going to say something, repeat what I thought about her letting me down, ask her why.

Then she snapped at me: I’m twenty-seven.

It took me a moment to understand. Twenty-seven, yes.

I let her go and she ran into my room, opened the book and read out loud everything I had written about her.

‘Maybe around forty. She has a slightly pudgy face; too much red wine and too many steaks over the years. Her eyes are tired and she never smiles. I can’t get on with people who don’t smile.’

And that was some of the better stuff.

The bitch had sneaked in and read my diary, maybe every single day.

I’m not going to let it worry me. I’m going to continue writing, but I’ll take care not to leave the book anywhere and I’ll sleep with it under my pillow at night.

Yes, I could have assaulted her, and I wanted to. But I didn’t. I controlled myself, this time.

That has to be a sign of improvement.

I’ve never gone in for violence.

That was what he had told the police and, up to a point, it was quite true. Addi’s fingers had been in many illegal pies, although his activities had always been conducted with a measure of respect for his fellow citizens.

He had been caught up in the occasional fight, but had rarely harmed anyone without provocation. But threats were part of his package and he had issued plenty of those.

An old man now, he was unlikely to change his habits, even though he was furious with that pipsqueak of a boy, Ari Thór. They had a deal, information in exchange for room to operate, and the first thing the cop did was to go back on his word and haul him off to the police station like some common villain.

The only thing on Addi’s mind as he left the police station was to get his own back. He wanted to get even with Ari Thór one way or another, bring him back down to earth with a bump. There was every chance that Ari Thór would be promoted to inspector in the next few weeks and there was no question that he could be allowed to strut around exhibiting that kind of behaviour. Addi knew that he had to engineer a balance of power between them.

But he wasn’t one for violence. Nobody could accuse him of that.

He went straight to Ari Thór’s house, hammered on the door and waited. He meant to give the girl a fright.

There seemed to be nobody home. The thought of breaking in flashed through his mind – do some damage, just enough to balance the treachery he had suffered at the hands of the young cop. He
sighed. He was far too long in the tooth to be doing that kind of thing, and there was no point in attracting too much attention to himself. There were few if any break-ins in this little town and he wanted to keep it that way. The absence of obvious crimes gave people a false sense of security, and that suited everyone.

He decided on a little jaunt to Akureyri instead. He knew a few things about Ari Thór, the important stuff, at least. For instance, that Ari Thór’s wife, his girlfriend or whatever, worked at the hospital in Akureyri. Visiting her there would be just the thing. If she wasn’t at home with the child, she was bound to be at work.

The hour-long drive to Akureyri didn’t take him long. After the storm during the night, the wind had died down to let a bright winter’s day emerge.

He had to wait an uncomfortably long time at the hospital before he got anywhere at reception. It was busy, and there were not many people on duty, everything cut to the bone in these harsh times of austerity.

He asked for Kristín.

‘She doesn’t deal directly with patients. Have you been in touch with your GP?’ asked the woman in an expressionless voice, her flat tone free of any emotion.

She looked him up and down as she spoke, as if trying to work out what might be wrong with him.

‘No, you’ve got it wrong,’ he said, as courteously as he could. ‘I’m her uncle. I was supposed to meet her here after her shift.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. Let me see…’ the woman apologised, placing a pair of glasses on her nose and peering at the computer screen in front of her. She showed a little more animation, as if speaking to someone with a slightly different agenda made a change from the relentless flow of patients. ‘Yes, Kristín won’t be off duty for another hour.’

‘Oh,’ he said, looking at his watch. ‘I must have got the time wrong.’

‘I do that all the time as well,’ the woman said, and grinned at him. ‘You’re welcome to wait. She normally comes through this way and uses that door,’ she said, pointing it out.

‘All right, I’ll do that. It’s not worth leaving and then coming back. I live out in the east, you see.’

He had seen Kristín before and was sure he would recognise her. He had a memory for faces, always had done. It had served him well in the business. He sat and waited. He always felt uncomfortable in hospitals and this time was no exception.

After an hour sitting at reception, he spied a young woman approaching. Yes, it was her. It was, however, a surprise to see that she had a man at her side, probably a few years older. They seemed friendly. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have guessed they were a couple. Could it be…? Or what?

He sneaked out ahead of Kristín and the man, before the receptionist noticed and could alert her to that fact that her ‘uncle’ was waiting for her.

Addi had hoped to have a chat with her in private. He didn’t intend do her any harm, just give her a bit of a fright, a few vague but menacing threats. He knew from experience that that was enough to put the fear of God into most people – especially ordinary people like these, who worked from nine to five and then spent the rest of their time relaxing with their families.

Kristín and the gentleman strolled downtown. There was hardly a breath of wind to shake the few remaining leaves from the trees and the fjord was glassy calm, the lights of the town reflected in the placid water.

Addi hurried after them. He needed to talk to Kristín alone, but it didn’t seem likely that the man would leave her side any time soon. They finally disappeared inside a restaurant – a pricey one, noted Addi, and quite romantic, too. Addi followed, sitting at a table not far from them. It wasn’t long before he realised that maybe he didn’t need to talk to Kristín after all. Maybe it would be enough to take a picture of the two of them together – to give that upstart Ari Thór a shock. A simple but effective tactic – enough to convince Ari Thór that gentlemen don’t break their word.

When Ari Thór arrived at the police station that evening, Stefnir safely deposited at the childminder’s house, he found Tómas in conversation with Ottó, the town councillor.

Ottó got to his feet when he saw Ari Thór, extending a hand as he did so.

‘Good evening, Ari Thór,’ he said, his voice courteous. His expression suggested something different. He was here to make clear his disappointment. ‘That came out badly for us,’ he said without any further explanation.

‘Good to see you, Ottó,’ Tómas said with finality, making it clear, beyond any doubt, that the visit was over. He turned to Ari Thór.

‘Just as well you’re here. We have a few things we need to go over.’

‘I was just saying to Tómas here,’ Ottó said. ‘It seems our friend Gunnar is finished. Tómas has declined to confirm anything at all, but a man hears a few things when there are whispers around the town. If Gunnar is involved in anything to do with narcotics, then we have to be rid of him. It’s a pain in the arse, a royal pain, in fact. Nothing but trouble. I’ve no idea who we can find to replace him and in spite of everything, we were all happy with his work.’

Ottó sighed, a disgruntled, almost petulant look on his face. ‘Of course,
you
couldn’t leave the man alone,’ he added, more to himself than to Ari Thór and Tómas, but the message was clear all the same.

Ari Thór found these half-veiled accusations frustrating. He knew that he sometimes asked questions that were better left unasked. He also knew that this was more likely to happen when he allowed something to irritate him.

‘Ottó, you know the history teacher from the college?’

‘History teacher? You mean Ingólfur?’

‘That’s the man,’ Ari Thór confirmed.

‘Yes, of course. We know each other. What about him?’

‘His shotgun is still not accounted for.’

‘Oh, really? That was why you were at his place the other day? I heard about that, and wondered what the reason was.’

‘We suspect it may have been used in the assault on Herjólfur,’ Ari Thór said drily. ‘The
murder
, I mean,’ he added, waiting for Ottó’s response.

‘You don’t suspect Ingólfur had anything to do with it?’ Ottó asked in astonishment.

‘Have you seen the shotgun?’

‘How could I remember that?’ he snapped.

‘You had dinner at his house not long ago.’

‘And what does that have to do with it?’

‘You all saw the weapon, didn’t you?’

’Well, yes, I suppose so, it was there, in plain sight,’ Ottó said sulkily. ‘I’d forgotten about that.’ He was restless, clearly keen to avoid being swept into the investigation. ‘If there’s anything that needs to be discussed further, I’d be grateful if we could talk about it later. I’m in a hurry.’

‘Fine,’ Tómas said. He looked drained, black rings pressed under his eyes.

‘What was he after?’ Ari Thór asked, when Ottó had made his speedy exit.

‘Fishing for information. He’s obviously trying to decide whether to stand up for his mayor or not when the shit hits the fan. Ottó is the kind who thinks things through before jumping one way or the other, and he’s certainly not going to be swayed by any sentimentality.’

Tómas paused before his voice took on a more determined note.

‘Sit yourself down, my boy. Time to talk things over. Did you get anything useful out of Jódís? What did she want?’

Ari Thór had told him about the conversation with Jódís at the church hall and her subsequent invitation to visit.

‘Nothing at all,’ Ari Thór said, brushing an invisible speck of dust off his sleeve and avoiding Tómas’s gaze. ‘She’s lonely and I was a suitable victim. I just let her rattle on about the old days, her brother and that sort of thing, but there was nothing relevant there. All this stuff has nothing to do with Herjólfur.’

He felt not even the slightest twinge of conscience about this lie.

‘I didn’t expect anything to come of it, to be honest,’ Tómas said. ‘But no stone unturned, as they say.’

Ari Thór nodded.

‘This matter of Elín and her former boyfriend,’ Tómas continued. ‘This isn’t our case any more. It’ll go to the prosecutor, but I gather there’s little likelihood that she’ll be charged. It was self-defence in extreme circumstances, nothing else.’

‘Not our case?’ Ari Thór was taken aback. ‘Don’t we have to file a report?’

‘I’ve already done that. I hope you don’t mind. There’s so much to do that it seemed best to get it out of the way.’

Ari Thór did mind. In fact, he was furious that Tómas was taking so much control. Strictly speaking, the Valberg case was Ari Thór’s and not Tómas’s. Tómas had been sent north with an assignment to assist the investigation into Herjólfur’s death, and there was no indication of any link other than Elín’s connection to both cases and the fact that the media coverage of the Herjólfur case had resulted in Valberg being able to track Elín down.

He decided to let the matter rest, for the moment, at least, and nodded his agreement. He could only assume that Tómas was missing his old role as the town’s inspector of police.
Enough to tempt him to re-apply for the post?

‘I’ve also had a word with my colleagues down south,’ Tómas said, and Ari Thór could not help noticing his choice of words – not ‘back home’, but ‘down south’.

‘They’re convinced Herjólfur had nothing to do with any
historical corruption; they’re certain that he’s not … sorry, he
wasn’t
ever dishonest. Quite the opposite, he was very aware of the force’s honour, and the same went for his father. Both of them were coppers to their boot-heels, honest, strict and determined. Neither one of them would allow themselves to be manoeuvred into … involved in … anything underhanded.’

‘All the same, that kind of thing isn’t easily forgotten,’ Ari Thór said.

‘No, no. You’re right. The seeds of doubt, and all that. Now there’s gossip running around that he was shot because he’d been keeping dubious company, that he brought it on himself. It’s important that we protect the man’s reputation, now that he can’t defend himself.’

Ari Thór wasn’t entirely in agreement, but he wasn’t inclined to start an argument with Tómas.

‘He has a family … had a family. His wife and children ought to be the ones to defend his reputation,’ Ari Thór said.

Tómas said nothing, his usual response when he didn’t agree with Ari Thór.

‘Speaking about family.’ Tómas said. ‘The boy will be coming to Siglufjördur tonight to collect a few things for his mother. I don’t see any reason why that should be a problem. We’ve been through everything, including all of Herjólfur’s papers, and there were certainly no secrets there. I said the boy could take whatever he needs to, and he could stay in the house. The widow said that she’s never setting foot here again, so she sent him instead. The funeral will be in Reykjavík and they’re getting things ready. And as if that’s not enough, she has a broken leg.’

‘Broken leg? Who?

‘Helena. Herjólfur’s wife.’

‘What? Did that happen recently? I saw her the other day and she was fine,’ Ari Thór asked, his mind travelling back to their last visit. He recalled that she had not stood up. Not once.

‘She picked up a skiing injury a while ago, or so I understand. She thought it was nothing serious and it would heal soon enough, but now it seems that the leg is badly injured … broken.’

‘All right’ Ari Thór said, his mind elsewhere. He was wondering, not for the first time, how the boy was coping with the loss of his father, and whether or not he had realised quite how tough it was to lose a father at such a young age.

‘I called on Elín earlier, as well,’ Tómas said. ‘She’s on sick leave. I just hope the newspapers can treat her with a little sympathy, show some consideration. But all things considered, she seems to be doing well.’

‘You believe them?’ Ari Thór asked.

‘What d’you mean?’

‘That they know nothing about Herjólfur’s death? Gunnar had plenty at stake, his reputation and his job, as we now know.’

‘I’m inclined to believe that they’re telling the truth … at least, I think Elín is,’ Tómas said. ‘I genuinely hope she’s innocent … It’s not only that she suffered a brutal attack by that man, Valberg, but she’s going to have to live with the burden of having killed him to save her own life.’

‘But let’s say she is guilty of killing Herjólfur, for argument’s sake. Wouldn’t that also put Valberg’s death in a new light?’ Ari Thór asked.

‘You mean that she set out to murder him? Come on…’

‘We shouldn’t rule it out.’

They were both silent for a moment.

‘There’s a lot of pressure on us,’ Tómas said. ‘We have to get this right.’

‘That’s nothing new,’ Ari Thór said, suddenly feeling an inexplicable surge of optimism. He had the feeling that a solution was within his grasp, as long as he could work out how everything fitted together. For some reason, Valberg kept coming back to him.