Outrage (13 page)

‘So it wasn’t rape, as such?’

‘No. And he didn’t injure me, really. He didn’t hit me hard.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I just froze up. That seemed to be what turned him on, and then it was all over. He was pathetic afterwards. He left without a word, and I lay there paralysed, completely at a loss. I didn’t tell anyone, it was just too … I was embarrassed. It wasn’t rape, but I felt as if I had been raped. Looking back, I think that was what he wanted. I think that was the whole point.’

‘And you never saw him again?’

‘No. I avoided him, and he never got in touch. Just as well. It was as if he’d made his use of me. I would never have agreed to see him again. Never.’

‘And then you left the gym?’

‘I did. I feel soiled just talking about it, especially after I read about him, what happened.’

‘Did you know - or do you know now - about any other women in his life? Did he ever mention any female friends?’

‘No, no one,’ said Frida. ‘I know nothing about him, and I don’t want to.’

Elinborg knocked at the door. Berti had finally been persuaded to give her the name of a drug dealer, Valur, who lived in a block of flats in the suburbs with his partner and two children. The investigation had made little progress. Elinborg had uncovered nothing more about the shawl, and no clothes shop in the Reykjavik area had sold T-shirts with a San Francisco design.

A man in his thirties opened the door. With a baby girl slung on his arm, he looked with hostility at Elinborg and Sigurdur Oli in turn. Elinborg had felt that it would be safer not to make this call alone. She did not know much about Valur, who had crossed paths with the Drug Squad from time to time, both as a user and as a dealer, though always strictly small-time. He had once been caught smuggling a small quantity of marijuana into the country, for which he had received a short suspended sentence. Berti might have lied to her: maybe he wanted to get Valur into trouble, had a grudge against him; or perhaps he had just thought of a name in order to placate his beloved Binna.

‘What do you want?’ the man demanded.

‘Are you Valur?’ asked Elinborg.

‘What’s that got to do with you?’

‘We need to talk to him,’ snapped Sigurdur Oli. ‘What do you think?’

‘What’s your problem?’ the man retorted.

‘Just calm down, will you, mate,’ said Sigurdur Oli.

‘Are you Valur?’ Elinborg asked again. Perhaps it had been a mistake to bring Sigurdur Oli.

‘I’m Valur,’ the man replied. ‘Who are you?’ He transferred the baby over to his other arm, and looked again from Elinborg to Sigurdur Oli.

‘We need information about a man named Runolfur,’ explained Elinborg, and introduced herself and her colleague. ‘Can we come in and talk to you?’

‘You’re not coming in here,’ answered Valur.

‘All right,’ said Elinborg. ‘Did you know this Runolfur?’

‘I don’t know any Runolfur.’

The baby had a toy in her hand, which she was sucking with intense concentration. She was so endearing, safe in her daddy’s arms, that Elinborg had to resist the urge to ask if she could hold her for a minute.

‘He was in his own home when his throat was cut,’ explained Sigurdur Oli.

Valur looked at him with disdain. ‘Doesn’t mean I know him.’

‘Can you tell us where you were when he was killed?’ asked Sigurdur Oli.

‘We think you—’ Elinborg got no further.

‘Do I have to talk to you?’ asked Valur.

‘We’re only looking for information,’ said Elinborg. ‘That’s all.’

‘Yeah, well, you can fuck off,’ he sneered.

‘You can either answer our questions here, or you can come to the station and answer them there,’ she said. ‘It’s up to you.’

Valur was still looking from one detective to the other. ‘I’ve got nothing to say,’ he said. As he was about to shut the door in their faces Sigurdur Oli flung himself forward and leaned against it.

‘Then you’re coming with us,’ he said.

Valur stared at them through the gap. He saw that they meant what they said. Even if he refused to let them in this time, they would not leave him alone.

‘Wanker,’ he said, releasing the door.

‘Scumbag,’ said Sigurdur Oli and shoved his way in.

‘Charming,’ said Elinborg, following him in. The place was a mess of dirty laundry, old newspapers and leftover food. There was a nasty sour smell in the air. Valur was home alone except for the younger of his children. He put her down on the floor where she sat still, chewing on her toy and dribbling.

‘What do you want?’ Valur asked Elinborg. ‘Are you accusing me of topping him?’

‘Well, did you?’ she asked.

‘No,’ replied Valur. ‘I didn’t know the man.’

‘We think you knew him well,’ said Sigurdur Oli. ‘Shouldn’t you tidy up in here?’ he added, looking around.

‘Says who?’

‘Just look at this place. It’s a pigsty,’ said Sigurdur Oli.

‘Are you retarded, or what?’ exclaimed Valur. ‘Who says I knew him well?’

‘Information received,’ said Elinborg.

‘Someone’s spinning you a line.’

‘It’s a reliable source,’ she replied, trying not to think about Shorty.

‘Says who? Who is it?’

‘None of your business,’ snapped Sigurdur Oli. ‘We’ve been told you knew Runolfur and sold him stuff, supplied him with this and that.’

‘Maybe he owed you money,’ said Elinborg. ‘Maybe you went round to collect, and things got out of hand.’

Valur stared at her, open-mouthed. ‘Hey, hang on, what the hell is this? Who says that? I didn’t know the bloke, didn’t know him at all. Someone’s telling lies about me. And you’re saying I’m supposed to have killed him? Absolutely not! I had nothing to do with it. Don’t even go there.’

The child looked up at her father and stopped chewing.

‘We can take you down to the station,’ said Elinborg. ‘We can lock you up. We can treat you as a suspect and read you your rights. OK, we haven’t got much evidence yet, but we have to start somewhere. We can hold you in custody for a few days. You’ll need a lawyer, which will cost you. The papers and the telly will report that we’ve made an arrest, and they’ll dig up pictures of you. Information tends to leak out - you know how it is. The tabloids will publish a front-page interview with your girlfriend in the weekend edition: there’ll be a photo of her with your little girl here. I can see the headline:
My Valur Is No Killer
!’

‘Why do you think I know something?’

‘Please,’ said Elinborg, and bent down to pick up the baby from the floor. ‘You get doctors to prescribe all sorts of drugs for you, which you sell on at a much higher price. Prescription medications. Like roofies. You probably sell them mostly to coke users, who are out of stuff and scared of coming down. We’ve heard you supply the coke, too. So it’s a comprehensive service you provide. Maybe you use coke yourself? You look as if you probably do. Must be expensive. How do you find the cash?’

‘What are you doing with the kid?’

‘Then there’s the odd one who uses roofies to—’

‘Give her here,’ said Valur, snatching the baby.

‘Sorry. Then there’s the odd one who uses roofies to spike women’s drinks and have sex with them when they’re helpless. That’s what we call a rapist. The question is: do you sell roofies to rapists?’

‘No,’ said Valur.

‘Quite sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘How can you be? You haven’t a clue what they do with it after you sell it to them.’

‘I just do. And I didn’t know that Runolfur bloke.’

‘Do you use roofies on women yourself?’

‘No, what …?’

‘Is that your flatscreen telly?’ Sigurdur Oli asked, pointing at a brand-new 42-inch plasma screen.

‘Yeah,’ said Valur, ‘it’s mine.’

‘Got the receipt, have you?’

‘Receipt?’

‘You must have a receipt for an expensive bit of kit like that.’

‘All right,’ said Valur. ‘I used to sell - you know about it, you’ve got it on file. But I’m not selling any more, and I never sold much prescription medicine anyway. The last time I sold any roofies was about six months ago. Some idiot I’ve never seen before, or since.’

‘Not Runolfur?’ asked Elinborg. She noticed that Valur was willing to talk about anything other than the plasma TV.

‘He was really nervous. He said his name was Runolfur. He was about to shake hands with me, as if we were at some important meeting or something. He said a relative had told him about me. He gave me a name, but I’d never heard of him. It was like he’d never done it before.’

‘Did he come back often?’

‘No, just that once. I didn’t know him. I usually know who they are. The punters. You build up a group of regulars. He was kind of a weirdo.’

‘And why did he want the roofies?’

‘He said he was buying them for a friend. That’s what they all say - when they’re new and don’t know what sad little losers they are.’

‘And it was definitely Rohypnol he bought?’

‘Yeah.’

‘How much did you sell him?’

‘One bottle. Ten pills.’

‘Did he come here? To your place?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Was he alone?’

‘Yeah.’

‘And was it Runolfur?’

‘Yes. No. Look, he said his name was Runolfur but it wasn’t him.’

‘Not the Runolfur who was murdered?’

‘No, it wasn’t that bloke whose picture was in the papers.’

‘So was he posing as Runolfur?’

‘How would I know? Maybe his name was Runolfur too. Maybe it’s a coincidence. Do you think I give a fuck?’

‘What did he look like?’

‘I don’t remember.’

‘Try.’

‘About my height, probably thirty-something. Fat face, balding, with a bit of a beard. I don’t remember him very clearly.’

Elinborg looked at Valur. Suddenly she recalled the man she had interviewed in her office, Runolfur’s friend. Edvard. The description fitted him well.

‘Anything else?’ she asked.

‘No. I don’t know anything else.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Yeah, whatever. Now fuck off out of here.’

‘At least he takes good care of the baby,’ sighed Elinborg once they were back in the car. ‘Her nappy was dry, and she’d just been fed. She was fine with her daddy.’

‘He’s a piece of shit.’

‘No doubt.’

‘Have you heard from Erlendur at all?’ asked Sigurdur Oli.

‘No, he hasn’t been in touch. He said he was going to the east for a few days, didn’t he?’

‘How long’s he been gone?’

‘Must be over a week.’

‘How much holiday was he taking?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘What was he planning to do there?’

‘He’s visiting the place where he lived as a boy.’

‘Have you heard anything from that woman he’s been seeing?’

‘Valgerdur? No. I probably ought to give her a ring. See if she’s heard from him.’

13

It was evening when Elinborg and Sigurdur Oli pulled up outside Edvard’s home, a dilapidated house on the west side of town. Edvard was unmarried, and childless. His car was parked beside the house - a Japanese hatchback, several years old. Elinborg knocked, and they heard movement from within. But nobody came to the door. Lights were visible in two windows and they had noticed the glow of a television, which was suddenly extinguished. They knocked again, then a third time. Sigurdur Oli hammered at the door, and finally Edvard appeared. He recognised Elinborg at once.

‘Is this a bad time?’ she asked.

‘No, well, it’s … is something the matter?’

‘We’ve got some more questions about Runolfur,’ explained Elinborg. ‘Can we come in?’

‘It’s really not convenient now,’ answered Edvard. ‘I was on my way out.’

‘It’ll only take a minute,’ said Sigurdur Oli.

They stood at the threshold while Edvard stubbornly blocked their way.

‘I really can’t invite you in at the moment,’ he protested. ‘I’d appreciate it if you could come back later - maybe tomorrow.’

‘Yes, well, no, I’m afraid that won’t be possible,’ Elinborg replied. ‘It’s to do with Runolfur, as I said, and we have to speak to you now.’

‘What about him?’ asked Edvard.

‘We’d really prefer not to have this conversation here, on the doorstep.’

Edvard glanced out into the street. The house was cloaked in darkness, with no street lamp nearby and no porch light. It faced straight on to the street without a front garden, but by the wall stood a single tree, a dead alder, whose naked, contorted branches loomed over the roof like the paw of a great beast.

‘Yeah, well, come in, then. I don’t see what you want from me,’ the detectives heard Edvard mumble. ‘We were just friends.’

‘This will only take a minute,’ said Elinborg.

They entered a small living room, sparsely furnished with old, worn furniture. A large, new-looking flatscreen hung on one wall, and on the desk stood a brand-new computer with a huge monitor. Computer games of many kinds were scattered around and arranged on shelves, along with a vast array of films on DVD and video cassettes. Tables and chairs were also piled high with documents, papers and textbooks.

‘Marking essays?’ asked Elinborg.

‘Is that a serious question?’ asked Edvard, eyeing the stacks of paper on the table. ‘Yes, it’s time I handed them back. They do tend to pile up.’

‘Do you collect films?’ asked Elinborg.

‘No, I’m not a collector as such, but I have quite a lot, as you can see. I sometimes buy them from rental shops when they close down. They’re sold off dirt cheap.’

‘Have you watched them all?’ asked Sigurdur Oli.

‘No … yeah … pretty much. Most of them.’

‘You said you knew Runolfur very well,’ said Elinborg. ‘Last time we spoke.’

‘Yes, quite well. I liked him.’

‘And you shared an interest in films, if I remember correctly.’

‘We used to go to the cinema sometimes.’

Elinborg noticed that Edvard was more uncomfortable than at their previous encounter. He seemed uneasy having visitors in his home. He did not look them in the eye, and his hands wandered restlessly over the desk. Finally, he thrust them into his pockets, but before long he was scratching his head or his arm, or fiddling with the DVD cases. Elinborg decided it was time to put him out of his misery. She picked up a film from a chair, one of Hitchcock’s early silents,
The Lodger
. Elinborg had prepared carefully, and was about to ask her first question, but Sigurdur Oli was impatient - not for the first time. He was especially edgy with individuals who were vulnerable, or had low self-esteem, and was quick to pinpoint their weaknesses.