‘No, he’s not here,’ Valgeir said, taking off his glasses and rubbing his nose. If anything, his face was even more flushed than before. He put his glasses on again, and seemed to be about to speak, but Salka again beat him to it.
‘I’m going to get myself a cup of coffee, so maybe you could let me know when he turns up?’ she said, ready to get to her feet.
‘What about Skúli? He’s waiting to be interviewed.’
‘It’ll do him no harm to wait a little while.’
‘Couldn’t you have talked to him at the scene?’ he asked, his voice sharper than before, as he took off his glasses again, which this time came across as a theatrical gesture. He blinked rapidly and Salka wondered if he could see anything at all.
‘I spoke to him when I met him outside the church, and he wasn’t as co-operative as he could have been. I want a longer chat with him.’
‘He’s a lovely lad and has…’
‘I know he’s your nephew, Valgeir. But we have to follow procedure. I’ll talk to him later and if it all goes well then he can go home to Grenivík. It’s not that far.’
‘You can’t just waltz in here…’
‘Valgeir, I don’t understand where you’re going with this,’ Salka said firmly, standing up and forcing a smile. ‘A murder has been committed. I’ve been asked to investigate it and I don’t honestly care one way or the other whether you like it or not. The same goes for whatever opinion you might have of me. I’m simply here to do my job. I’ll run the investigation and we can work together in peace and harmony, or it can be a pain in the arse for both of us. It’s up to you.’
The computer in front of him pinged.
Valgeir snatched up his glasses. Not the golden ones this time, but a pair of red-framed reading glasses that fitted badly, probably the kind of emergency glasses sold at filling stations. He pored over the screen and puffed through his nose, before looking up at Salka.
The printer hummed.
‘Fine,’ he said and took the sheet of paper it spat out. ‘Fine,’ he said again, shifting in his chair. ‘Your temporary accreditation. Kolbrún sent it just now.’
He opened a desk drawer and took out an old-style stamp. After he'd pressed it against the ink pad, Salka expected he would bang it down hard on the paper in front of him. But the opposite happened. He placed the stamp with great care on the paper and pressed down, then picked up a pen and signed his name across it.
‘Here you are. Welcome back,’ he said and smiled – a cold smile that was a long way off from reaching his eyes.
11
It was half past nine when Salka took a seat in the Blue Jug on Hafnarstræti with a mug of coffee and a baguette sandwich. She had called or checked online every hotel, guest house and Airbnb in the area. No vacancies. When the last one she tried turned her away, she was about to ask if she could just curl up in a corner somewhere.
She had considered staying with her parents, even though that would mean sleeping on the sofa. But she quickly dropped the idea. The sofa was as hard as rock and too short for her to stretch out her full one metre seventy. The cash-strapped police authority would have to cough up for a place where she could lay her head, although that would inevitably take time.
Salka was startled by a knock on the window. She looked up to see a man grinning from ear to ear on the pavement outside.
‘Hello, Pétur,’ she said and was about to get to her feet as he came across to her table, but he told her to stay where she was.
Salka dropped her eyes to the table when she realised that she had been staring at his face, and felt a stab of shame. It was six or seven years since she had last seen him, and she recalled a man with a mass of dark brown hair and a red beard framing a strong face. Now neither were to be seen. His hair was cropped short, clipped close at the side and the beard was gone. But it wasn’t this change that was painful to see. The burns had healed into scar tissue that covered the left side of his face and distorted his ear. The skin that covered the scorched half of his face reminded her of marzipan.
‘Good to see you, Salka. And thanks for coming,’ he said as he took a seat opposite her. ‘I can see from the look on your face that you hadn’t heard about this,’ he said with a smile, pointing at his own face.
‘No. I had no idea. Can I ask what happened?’
‘We had a report of gunshots being heard at a house in Hrafnagil, so the Special Unit was called out. Then there was a report that the place was on fire. We were there ahead of the fire service and when we got there, the upper storey was burning merrily. We knew there were people inside, so, like an idiot, I went in. Should have realised there was nothing I could do. I was on my way out again just as the house started to collapse on top of me, and that’s how this happened. The place just went up in smoke. My wife says she likes the sexy new look,’ he said and laughed.
‘That’s the fire last year?’ Salka asked, astonished at how positive his outlook was.
‘That’s the one.’
‘Magnús didn’t mention what happened to you when he talked about the fire,’ Salka said, hesitating for a second as she mentioned him.
‘You met him fishing?’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t think anyone talks about it any longer. He probably thought you knew. But enough of all that,’ Pétur said, glancing at his watch. ‘I hear you’ve met Valgeir. He didn’t upset you, did he?’ He laughed. ‘He can be a real pain in the arse.’
‘It was a bizarre encounter, but I reckon it would take a lot more than that to upset me.’
‘And you’ve been to Grenivík. I hear it wasn’t a pretty sight.’
‘That’s about the size of it,’ she said and gave him a brief description of what she had seen. ‘And I’m stopped in my tracks now that the forensic team can’t fly because of the fog.’
‘I have to say, I really appreciate you coming. I know I said Kolla had been pushing me to bring you in, but it’s important to me as well. I don’t know if you were aware, but your dad and I get on well these days,’ he said with a smile.
‘Really?’
‘We’re both in the Odd Fellows. I’ve developed a lot of respect for him since we got to know each other. He’s taught me a lot.’ Pétur fell silent for a moment. ‘I know he’s been on the receiving end of some harsh words, as well as … what shall we say…? Criticism for some of the cases he took on, especially that last one. But as they say, someone has to look after the bad guys as well.’
‘It’s all right, Pétur. It doesn’t bother me. I know Dad and what’s behind what you see. That’ll do for me.’
‘Can I get you anything?’ asked a young waiter, approaching the table.
‘Not for me, thanks. I have a meeting to get to,’ he said.
‘But you could bring a cappuccino for me,’ said Gísli, who appeared by the table, a smile on his face. ‘Hello, Pétur. Good to see you.’
‘I imagine you know each other?’ Pétur said.
‘Gísli was at the church when I got there,’ Salka said. ‘He’s going to be working with me on this case.’
‘Really?’ Pétur asked, glancing from one to the other.
Salka noticed Gísli’s look of astonishment.
‘Well, that’s fine as far as I’m concerned,’ Pétur said as he stood up to leave.
Salka could hear the doubt in his voice. This was a decision he would probably have preferred to discuss privately. Gísli had never been involved in a CID investigation. But an inner voice was telling her that he deserved a chance. She had faith in him, and she liked him.
‘I imagine you must have met Valgeir,’ Gísli said as he took the cup brought by the waiter. ‘Was he as cheerful as he usually is?’ he asked, with a spark of amusement in his eye.
‘Yep, happy as Larry.’
‘I’ve known him for a long time. He can come across as being a crusty old grump, but he’s all right,’ Gísli said when he had stopped laughing. ‘Anyway, here’s an aerial picture I found of Grenivík.
I’ve marked all fifteen houses that are within sight of the church. We’ve spoken to residents in all of them, and nobody saw a thing,’ he said as he placed the sheet of paper on the table. ‘Have you spoken to him?’
Salka looked at him and frowned.
‘Skúli, I mean.’
‘I know who you mean. I’ll have a chat with him later. Are you worrying about him as well?’
‘No, not at all. I know he was a pain this morning… but he’s a decent lad.’
‘How does this work? Does everyone here know everyone else?’
‘No, it’s nothing like that. Well, sort of. This is a smaller community than you see in the city.’
‘So how do you know Skúli?’
‘Since primary school. Then secondary school, which he never actually finished. I’ve had to respond a couple of times to call-outs that have been to do with him. A bit of noise and bother, but never anything serious. Skúli wouldn’t… he’s never hurt a fly.’
‘I don’t know anyone who hasn’t hurt a fly,’ Salka said with a smile.
‘No, I suppose not,’ he said thoughtfully.
‘What’s he like? I mean, personality-wise? It was like talking to a child in your car.’
‘Yes, I know. He’s always been like that.’
‘Like what?’
Gísli sat for a moment in thought.
‘I remember him from way back. Back then he was pretty immature. As a kid he was often still playing with the toys that the rest of us had outgrown. Yet at other times he was like an old farmer. That’s to say, he talked like … the vocabulary he used was grown-up. Maybe that’s because he mostly grew up with his grandparents. I’ve noticed this whenever I’ve had to deal with him in the last few years. One minute he’s like a child and the next he’s as sharp as a knife and speaks completely differently.’
‘Sounds like, what’s it called? A personality disorder, or something like that,’ Salka said, dabbing with a serviette to remove a drop of sauce that had strayed from her sandwich to the sleeve of her sweater.
‘Exactly. Poor chap,’ he said and Salka frowned, already tired of what seemed to be Gísli’s sympathy that bordered on enablement. ‘At any rate, he’s devastated after what he saw when he found Hróbjartur. He told me just now…’
‘Just now? You’ve spoken to him?’
‘Yes, up at the station.’
‘Gísli, I thought I’d given clear instructions that nobody was to speak to him. There are reasons why I’m letting him wait, alone. There’s a process going on here. You said you spoke to him?’ she asked, and felt the heat rising in her face.
‘Yes. I did.’
Salka sighed and looked out of the window. She watched the tourists who walked past, open-mouthed and smiling with delight at things that locals had long stopped noticing.
‘Did you get hold of Skúli’s mother?’
‘That’s why I went to speak to him, to get her phone number and ask when she would be likely to be coming back from Dalvík. He didn’t know when she would be going home. He also said that she hardly ever hears her phone ring. In any case, I wasn’t able to get hold of her.’
‘Keep trying. What about…?’
Salka was interrupted by her phone ringing. After a short 'yes, no, all right, speak to you later' conversation, she ended the call.
‘The forensic team still hasn’t left, but they should be able to take off shortly,’ she said. ‘What was I saying? What about the search warrant for Skúli’s place? Any progress?’
‘Yes. The house is actually in his mother’s name, so maybe she’ll allow access.’
‘Let’s get the warrant anyway, just in case. And what’s the score with this place? Is there any chance of finding somewhere to stay in this town?’
‘That could be a problem. But there are a few empty cells,’ he said with a grin. ‘Have you tried many places?’
‘Every single one I could find.’
‘I should be able to sort something out. Like you said, everyone here knows everyone else.’
12
Gísli worked some magic over the phone and Salka found herself with a place to stay above a tourist shop on Hafnarstræti. It was a warm, neat hotel apartment with a living room that doubled as a kitchen. Salka put her bags down and let herself collapse onto the sofa. She was immediately disappointed, finding that it wasn’t as soft as it looked.
As she lay on her back, she thought of Magnús, after which, contrary to what she would have preferred, her thoughts went to Eysteinn. She sat up and took out the paperwork Eysteinn had sent her. She flipped through it. Six months ago he had sought a divorce, and now she had the decree nisi in her hands. She hurled the documents across the room, buried her face in her hands, and wept.
It went without saying that this had been the only possible outcome after everything that had happened. There was the shame, her own self-reproach, plus what someone had told her, that self-destructiveness was not the way to put anything right. She had implored Eysteinn for them to seek counselling. But by then it had already been too late. That had been what he asked for when their world had been turned on its head, but at that time she hadn’t listened and allowed herself to be drawn deep into a darkness of her own to which nobody else had access. She had been there, or so it had felt, for an eternity and could no longer see any point in this life. When she finally emerged from the blackness, Eysteinn was as good as gone.
Salka reached for her wallet in the pocket of her moss-green denim jacket and took out her wallet. In it was an old, creased photo of their daughter María, grinning at the camera and tugging her red hair to one side. She recalled what María had once said.
Mum, I have twenty-three freckles. I just need one more and we’ll be just the same.
She picked up her phone and called. It rang a few times until a happy voice answered.
Hi, this is María. I’m soooo busy right now. Don’t call back, I’ll call you… If I remember.
The message ended with a peal of laughter.
Salka unlocked the door to the room where Skúli had been taken on the police station’s second floor. She had hardly stepped beyond the threshold before Skúli was on his feet.
‘About time,’ he barked, hands waving. ‘What’s going on here? Why have I been locked away in this cubbyhole?’
‘Looks more like a suite to me,’ she said, looking around. ‘You’ve clearly never been inside a cell.’
He did as she asked and followed her, taking a seat at a desk beneath the window in one of the interview rooms. She sat opposite him, took off her jacket and hung it over the back of the chair. She took out a notepad and her phone, and placed them in front of her.
Salka unhurriedly checked her notes and switched on the recorder.
‘What are you recording for? I’ve already told you everything I know.’
Salka didn’t reply.
‘Can I get you something to drink, Skúli? Coffee, water? Soft drink?’
‘Have I been arrested?’
‘No, but your status is that of a suspect, and you didn’t tell me anything at all.’
‘That means what?’
‘What means what?’
‘Being a suspect?’
‘That means I can keep you here for twenty-four hours.’
Skúli slapped both palms down hard on the table and stood up. He puffed out his chest and glared down at Salka.
She flipped through the notepad’s pages, as if searching for something. Skúli’s reaction had taken her by surprise. She managed not to show it, and Skúli’s chest deflated as if it had been punctured.
‘Sit down, Skúli,’ she said quietly, without looking at him. ‘If you do that again I’ll have no option but to have you cuffed.’
After staring at her for a moment, Skúli dropped back into his seat. She was sure she heard him curse under his breath, but couldn’t be certain. He continued to grunt as he sat opposite her.
‘Shall I get you a fresh plaster for that?’ she asked as
she glanced at him, indicating the plaster that was half hanging from the injury to his temple.
‘What? No, it’s all right,’ he said, pulling it off, and feeling the place with his fingertips. ‘It’s stopped bleeding.’
She could see a small cut there in the swelling and the skin had flaked away from it.
‘That’s a hell of a shiner you have there. How did you say you got it?’
‘I was fixing a leak under the sink at home and managed to bang my head.’
‘Where, exactly?’
He thought for a moment.
‘I’m not completely sure.’
‘I mean, did you catch yourself against the outflow pipe, or against the cupboard itself?’
‘What difference does it make?’ he blustered.
‘Just between ourselves, Skúli, I’ll give you a piece of advice,’ Salka said gently, putting the notepad aside. ‘How you reply to questions can have a negative effect on how all this plays out. I’m here to ask you simple questions. Your job is to answer them. I’m a police detective and I have a great deal of experience in figuring out whether or not people are telling the truth. My advice to you is to tell the truth. Speak from the heart. Can you see where I’m going with this?’
‘Yeah,’ he said after pausing for thought.
‘This interview is purely so that I can piece together what went on. Understand?’
She leaned forward a little and raised an eyebrow.
Skúli said nothing.
‘Fine. At any rate, I can tell you that you saying you don’t remember where you banged your head sounds very unconvincing. When people knock into something and hurt themselves, the instinct is to put a hand to the sore place and look at whatever it was that got in their way. Often people get angry and swear,’ she said. ‘I stubbed my big toe against at home, and it hurt like hell. I looked down at the doorstop and swore like a bargee,’ she said and smiled, maybe because she was lying about something personal. ‘So I’m asking you, Skúli. Where did you hit your head?’
The Commandments : A Novel (2021) Page 6
