The Last Refuge (19 page)

He just looked at me until the rain misted his glasses and he had to wipe them clean again.

‘You didn’t? Good. This will be easy then. Come, we are going back into town to talk about it. Watch your head when you get into the police car. I will see you at the station.’

I couldn’t help but look back as I was led off, seeing my colleagues engrossed in the drama. Hojgaard seemed unable to decide whether to be angry with me or apologetic. He was a decent man and probably felt both. Samal, Petur and a handful of others that I called friends stood by the entrance and watched open-mouthed as I was put into the police car and driven away.

Chapter 28

‘You see the time?’ Tunheim pointed at the clock on the wall of the interview room. It was five minutes to two.

‘That is your enemy and mine,’ he explained with a smile. ‘A flight from Copenhagen lands at two o’clock and on it will be two detectives and a forensic examiner from Denmark. It will take them perhaps an hour to get to the station and then the case will be theirs. We have one hour and five minutes, you and me. We should spend it wisely, don’t you think?’

Tunheim was in his early fifties, his fair hair cut in an untidy fringe and his face lightly freckled and tanned. His glasses seemed a constant distraction to him, being pushed up or down on his nose, or taken off and wiped with whatever he had to hand. There was an air of affability about him that I didn’t quite trust. The man who would be your friend.

The larger of the two cops who’d accompanied him to the fish farm sat next to him, across the table from me. This one looked like he spent more time chasing food than he did criminals, a sizeable paunch being evident when he sat down, his podgy frame sinking into the chair.

Tunheim leaned in and lowered his voice, as if the uniformed cop couldn’t hear.

‘Between you and me? The Danish guys are officious sons of bitches. And their forensic guys? They don’t miss a thing. If there is so much as a hair or part of a footprint or a fibre of clothing near the murder scene they will find it. Sure as sure. Kind of takes all the fun out of detecting.’

He leaned back in his chair and raised his voice again. ‘But they are the experts, you see. I’m just a simple island policeman. I am more used to investigating traffic crimes or maybe some vandalism. But so little of it. Do you know it is stated that the Faroe Islands have the lowest crime rate in the world? It is true. For every 100,000 people in the United States, 760 are in prison. In Faroe Islands? The rate is 15 for every 100,000.

‘Scotland is not so different from the Faroes in some ways, Mr Callum. We have long winters, little daylight, we drink too much, we have the Viking blood. And yet you have much crime and we have so little. Here there is nowhere to run or to hide, and everyone knows everyone else, or at least someone who knows them. And we are not so poor; even those of us who do not have much, have the sea. The need to commit crime to survive, or because your neighbours do, is not there.

‘Now, this is good if you are a citizen, but not so good if you are a policeman. You know, we have only had one bank robbery ever in the history of the islands? And yet now, today, we have a murder. A terrible thing.’

The word had the effect on me that it was probably intended to have. Murder. It rang in my ears, spread through my body like a virus. A terrible thing. It had filled my head since I heard it said in the fish factory. The murder of Aron Dam. I couldn’t think about it without wanting to shake.

The inspector took his glasses off and wiped them with the tail of his shirt. Holding them up to the light, he checked they were to his satisfaction then positioned them carefully on his nose again.

‘So,’ he began again. ‘I am thinking you would be doing both of us a favour if you just told me what happened last night. It would go better for both of us. I would get to solve a terrible crime and you would get the benefit of cooperating with the police and the judiciary. You see?’

I saw. And maybe if I’d known then I would have told him. The problem was that I didn’t know anything except the possibility of the worst. All I could be sure of was that I had to keep my doubt inside me.

‘Yes. But there is only one problem. I didn’t do it.’

‘Ah,’ Tunheim nodded sagely. ‘That is a problem indeed. You know what the Danish police will do, don’t you?’

I shrugged noncommittally.

‘They will look at you. A foreigner. A newcomer. A man who had a public fight with the deceased just a couple of hours before the murder. They will think you did it. Sure as sure. And maybe you did. But maybe you were provoked, you were angry. It happens. We all get angry, even me. Did you get angry, Mr Callum?’

I didn’t know. ‘No.’

‘Are you certain? You don’t sound certain. The people in the bar said you were pretty angry. So, are you certain?’

I didn’t know. ‘No.’

Tunheim smiled warmly. ‘So. We are getting somewhere. An hour is enough time, I think. So maybe you were angry, yes?’

‘I was angry earlier, yes.’

‘Angry at Aron Dam.’

‘Yes.’

‘Angry enough to kill him?’

‘I didn’t kill him.’

‘Yes, you said that. Where did you go when you left the Cafe Natur last night, Mr Callum?’

I didn’t know. I wished the hell that I did.

‘I don’t know.’

His eyes widened, his expression full of surprise. He was playing me. I knew he was playing me. I’d faced questioning before. I’d cope. Or at least I thought I would. I’d cope better if I wasn’t drowning in uncertainty.

‘You don’t know? Wow. You
really
don’t know? Oh this is bad, Mr Callum. The Danish police . . . you know that they won’t even give you time to confess, to make it easy for yourself? They are so good at what they do – especially the forensic man, the CSI guy – that before you know it they will have nailed this case, with all their techniques and scientific knowledge. They won’t need your confession. They won’t even want it. It could mean years more in prison.’

Tunheim took his glasses off again, reaching for his shirt tail and spending an age polishing them, leaving his last statement hanging in the air. I filled the gap with my own fear.

‘Did the officers tell you what happened to Aron Dam?’ he asked me. ‘How he was killed?’

‘No. But the workers at the fish farm say he was stabbed.’

Tunheim tilted his head to one side, considering what I’d said. ‘Hm. Stabbed, yes. But that doesn’t quite cover it. Maybe I should wait and let the Danes tell you. They’d probably like that. Unless you already know?’

‘I don’t.’

He laughed. ‘I’m sorry. Just a little trick by me. You didn’t fall for it. I’m not very good at this. No practice, you see. If you stole a fishing boat or broke someone’s window . . . I’d be fine. Murder . . . it’s not my area.’

He sat back in his chair and took his damned glasses off again, spreading his arms wide in defeat.

‘I give in, Mr Callum. I really should just leave this to the Danish policemen. They will know what to do with you. But it is a pity. I would have liked to have helped you. To have helped both of us.’

I said nothing.

Tunheim made a play of looking at the clock, watching the minutes tick away.

‘We have a saying in the Faroe Islands, Mr Callum. Maybe you have heard it.
Harm far byr, id bidar, og havn, id rør.
It means, he who waits gets a tailwind, and he who rows, a harbour. You understand?’

‘No.’

‘Well, in this case, you have a choice. You can wait for the Danes, who will be here very soon. Or you can row now and find your harbour. I am your harbour, Mr Callum. Unburden yourself.’

‘I told you. I didn’t kill him.’

‘No? You wanted to, though, didn’t you? Was Aron Dam fucking your girlfriend?’

‘What?’

‘Karis Lisberg. She is very beautiful. Was Aron fucking her behind your back? Humiliating you?’

The flame lit inside me and I could feel my temper rising.

‘Fuck you. No, he wasn’t.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m sure.’

Tunheim pursed his lips, his head bobbing slowly up and down.

‘Okay. Okay. I’m sorry, Mr Callum. I was fucking with you. It is called “good cop, bad cop”, right? I know that I should just play one of them and Demmus here,’ he indicated the fat cop, ‘should play the other, but Demmus doesn’t like to play. So I am being both. I hope you don’t mind.’

‘When are the Danish police getting here?’

‘Oh. You
do
mind. I see. That is too bad. I don’t do murder investigations, I told you that. So I am just learning. Is it annoying you?’

‘No.’

‘It is. I can see. Do you have a
grindaknivur
, Mr Callum?’

‘A what?’

‘Oh don’t lie, please. I know you are lying. You know what it is. Don’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then why lie? Why think it is something you would have to lie about?’

‘I am just nervous. That’s all.’

‘So you lie when you are nervous. Have you been nervous throughout this interview?’

‘Yes.’

‘And therefore it has all been a lie?’

‘No!’ I annoyed myself by letting my voice rise. ‘Only that. I do know what a
grindaknivur
is.’

‘And you have one?’

‘No.’

‘You know someone who has one?’

‘Every adult male in Torshavn has one. And I know a few of them. So yes.’

‘If I search your house, will I find a
grindaknivur
?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I don’t have one. And you won’t search my house.’

‘Oh? And why is that?’

I turned and looked at the clock. ‘Because the Danes will be here soon and I am saying nothing else until they arrive.’

Tunheim burst out laughing and rapped his knuckles on the table in what seemed like appreciation.

‘So you think you will do better with the Danes?’ He smiled proudly. ‘That is good. I am flattered, Mr Callum. Thank you. You have made my day. I must go home and tell my wife. But a word of warning. Remember the forensics guy. The CSI. These people are very good. Amazing.’

I just looked back at him and wondered how right he might be.

‘Last chance, Mr Callum. Confess. For both our sakes.’

‘I would if I could, Inspector.’

‘Ha. Very good. I wish you well. Although not if you killed him. Did you?’

‘Goodbye, Inspector.’

He stifled a laugh and reached across to shake my hand. He gripped it and looked me in the eye. ‘I shall not be going far, Mr Callum. This is my home.’

Before he released my hand, he took hold of my right wrist with his left hand and turned my hand palm-up.

‘A nasty cut you have there, Mr Callum! It looks fresh.’

Chapter 29

After a brief respite in a white-walled cell, I was returned to the interview room where the heavy-set local cop Demmus sat silently on the other side of the table. His name badge read D. Klettskarð. It was the only thing I had to read in the ten minutes that we sat there.

I had time to think, though, straining the muddy waters of my mind through a sieve of sudden, stark reality. But the more I tried to remember, the more uncertain I became. I just didn’t know. But I knew I could have done it. History told me that.

Had I killed Aron Dam? The thought terrified me. Not knowing terrified me too.

I wanted to scream. Run if I could. Instead I gripped the edge of my chair and tried to drive my fingers through it. I had to have something to hold onto.

Finally the door opened and two blond-haired men marched through it. They didn’t even look at me but nodded towards the uniformed cop who promptly left the room. Both pulled back chairs, depositing folders, a brown envelope and a laptop on the desk before sitting down.

The one who sat opposite me had the air of being in charge. He was tall, a good few inches over six feet, with an athletic build and close-cropped hair. With his black leather suit jacket and black turtleneck jumper, he looked like a poster boy for Danish police recruitment. The other was slightly shorter, his blond locks swept back to shoulder length, but equally lean. He was kitted out in a light-brown suit with a pale-blue shirt and darker blue tie.

They both fussed with their papers and the laptop, making me wait. At last, they were both settled in their seats, but the taller of the two still opened and booted up the laptop as he spoke.

‘I am Detective Inspector Silas Nymann and this is Sergeant Kim Kielstrup. We are from the homicide department in Copenhagen. You know why you are being held here?’

It was only after he’d finished the sentence that Nymann looked at me for the first time. His sky-blue eyes stared hard.

‘Yes.’

‘Okay. Good. For the record, I am interviewing you in connection with the murder of Aron Dam in the early hours of this morning. You have the right to remain silent. Please state your name, your date of birth and your address.’

They were both looking at me now, trying to read me. Their faces were blank. I considered remaining silent but dismissed the idea.

‘My name is John Callum. I was born on the 4th of March 1981. My address is the Hojgaard residence near Kongsgil. It does not have a number.’

‘You real name and your real address, please, Mr Callum.’

My heart dropped into my stomach, despite my having known it was inevitable.

‘That is my real address.’

Nymann’s expression darkened and his voice got firmer. ‘Your full name and your address in the United Kingdom, please.’

‘My full name is Andrew John Callum. As for my address in the UK, I don’t live there any more.’

‘I am asking you for your previous address. It is in your interest to cooperate.’

‘Okay. It was 16 Carmichael Place, Battlefield. In Glasgow, Scotland.’

‘Thank you. Mr Callum, if you are arrested, as you are a foreign national you can be held for seventy-two hours before we put you before a judge in a preliminary statutory hearing. If you are presented at such a hearing then the judge may either renew the arrest for a further three periods of seventy-two hours, set you free, or take you into custody for up to four weeks. Do you understand?’