The Commandments : A Novel (2021)

by Gudmundsson, Oskar

  ‘Well, as a kid you see things in a different light. But looking back, it was obvious that Anton was terribly upset. He was in a very bad way and he was angry with Gunnleifur.’

  ‘Did it come to blows?’

  ‘No, nothing like that. But without being able to recollect any precise words, he had plenty of unpleasant things to say.’

  ‘That’s right enough,’ said a man who had not so far spoken. ‘He accused Gunnleifur of something, and so he looked really awkward and told us all to go home. Most of us did that, but two boys – who aren’t here today – and I stayed and played by the church.’

  ‘You spoke to the police back then, didn’t you?’ Salka asked, leafing through the notes.

  ‘Yes. I was asked to come in for an interview.’

  ‘Here at the station?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Salka wanted to shake her head in disapproval. It wasn’t the done thing to bring children under sixteen to the police station to be interviewed, not even back then.

  ‘Was there an adult with you?’

  ‘Yes, my parents. But they weren’t there in the room when Valgeir questioned me. It was all pretty terrifying and I just remember being shit scared,’ he said with a laugh.

  ‘Same for me,’ said the woman who had spoken first. ‘It was all a bit strange.’

  ‘And the rest of you? Weren’t you asked for your versions of what happened?’

  There was a chorus of no, accompanied by shaking heads.

  ‘Tell me more about when Anton went into the church while you played outside.’

  ‘We messed around out there for a while after Anton went inside with him. I don’t remember for how long, but then Gunnleifur came out.’

  ‘Alone?’

  ‘Yes. He drove away.’

  ‘And you didn’t see Anton?’

  ‘No. I mean, he could have left without us noticing. At any rate, we didn’t see him.’

  ‘Were the two boys who were with you ever interviewed?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And you don’t know how long you were outside the church before Gunnleifur appeared?’

  ‘No, I don’t remember. I think I said something to Valgeir. Isn’t it there in the records?’ he said, pointing at the folder of case files.

  Salka leafed through them, pretending to be looking it up. Almost everything they had told her was nowhere to be found in the files.

  ‘Yes. It’s here. Half an hour, it says. I must have missed that,’ she lied.

  The last thing she wanted was for it to become clear how poorly the investigation into Anton’s disappearance had been carried out. That would attract attention and would inevitably find its way to the media.

  ‘Half an hour? We were there much longer than that,’ he said. ‘As I said, I can’t be certain, but it was certainly longer than half an hour. We built a massive igloo there and that must have taken more than an hour, if not longer.’

  29

  ‘Valgeir!’ Salka called after him as he marched across the car park on the north side of the police station, heading for his car.

  He opened the car door and looked up at her.

  ‘We have to talk,’ she said as she approached.

  ‘It’ll have to wait,’ he said dismissively. ‘I’m in a hurry.’

  ‘To go where?’

  ‘Grenivík. I have to discuss things related to the case with some people there,’ he said, getting into the car and shutting the door.

  He started the engine.

  Salka tapped on the window.

  He looked up at her for a moment before pressing the button, and the window hissed open.

  ‘What kind of investigation was that into Anton?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Really. Valgeir, are you going to play that game? You know who was here just now.’

  ‘Yes, I saw that,’ he said, shifting uneasily in the driver’s seat.

  ‘I could request an inquiry into your investigation.’

  ‘Salka. I don’t know what you’re talking about and I won’t tolerate…’

  ‘Valgeir, you’re no longer competent to have an involvement in this case.’

  He stared out of the windscreen, and loosened the knot of his tie.

  ‘I’m going to discuss matters, and we’ll speak later today,’ he said, slipping the car into gear.

  ‘No, Valgeir. You’ve no business talking to these people in Grenivík. We have to talk now,’ she said, grasping the edge of the window.

  ‘Salka!’ someone called from behind her.

  ‘Valgeir. Turn off the engine, and we can talk over a coffee.’

  ‘Salka!’ the voice repeated.

  ‘What?’ she demanded, turning round. She saw Fanney at the doorway, gesturing to her. The moment she took one step back from the car, Valgeir closed the window and drove away.

  ‘Valgeir!’ she called after the departing car. ‘What the fuck is going on?’ she cursed. She felt the soreness in her throat intensify, from the hold she had been caught in the night before.

  ‘He’s disappeared,’ Fanney said, hurrying towards her.

  ‘Who’s disappeared?’

  ‘Skúli.’

  Salka leaned forward and arched her back, hands on her knees. She felt her breath coming fast, as if she had run a marathon. She also felt an overwhelming urge to yell with every ounce of strength she had.

  Salka stood at her office window, watching a heavy bank of cloud that lay over Eyjafjörður, looming over Grenivík.

  She hoped it wouldn’t pass over the town, as she could see that grey shadow of a downpour beneath it. She decided it would be no surprise if they were heading her way, both the shadow and the downpour. She felt that, considering the progress the investigation was making, far too much was piling up on her shoulders.

  She saw a patrol car pull up outside by the back entrance. Gísli and another officer got out, opened the back door and helped Alda to get out. As they made for the door, Gísli looked up, saw Salka and smiled.

  ‘You’ve scared my boy away with your unfounded allegations,’ Alda snapped, standing as if gearing up for a fight in front of Salka’s desk.

  Gísli looked awkwardly at Salka, and shrugged, standing as he was behind Alda. He mouthed a sentence that Salka tried and failed to understand.

  I couldn’t hold her back…

  ‘Alda,’ Salka said, standing up and coming around the front of the desk as Alda sat down. ‘We really need to speak to Skúli.’

  ‘What on earth for?’

  ‘I can’t tell you at this moment,’ Salka said, taking a seat by her side.

  ‘Is this to do with Hróbjartur?’

  ‘Alda,’ Salka said firmly. ‘We’re running an investigation and there are all kinds of angles that we need to examine. That includes talking to Skúli. When did you see him last?’

  ‘Just before dinner yesterday.’

  ‘And what time’s dinner at your place?’ Salka asked impatiently.

  ‘On the dot of eight o’clock. Someone called and he said he had to nip out quickly.’

  ‘Who called?’

  ‘He didn’t want to tell me. The home phone had rung twice before Skúli came home. He had been fixing something at the pool. I answered the phone but whoever it was hung up both times. And there’s no point asking what number it was, because it showed up on the screen as a withheld number.’

  ‘And what happened when Skúli answered?’

  ‘He spoke quietly and I couldn’t hear what he was saying. He put the phone down and said he had to go out quickly. I wasn’t pleased, because dinner was ready,’ she said, staring into space with sorrow in her eyes.

  ‘Does he have the use of a car?’

  ‘Yes. My car.’

  ‘Did he take it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Could he have been collected?’

  ‘At least not at the house. I watched him walk away,’ Alda said with concern in her voice.

  ‘What about friends?
Or a girlfriend?’

  ‘Neither. My darling boy’s pretty much a loner.’

  ‘Does he have any enemies?’

  ‘No, certainly not. He’s well liked, as he’s always helpful.’

  ‘What if he wants to be alone? Is there any place he can go?’

  ‘There’s just his room,’ she said with a smile. ‘Or the sofa in the living room, which he shares with Húbert.’

  ‘Why didn’t you get in touch with us earlier?’

  ‘I can see now that was a mistake,’ she said after a pause. ‘I thought he’d just come home. I thought of contacting you, and then each time I thought I’d wait a little longer. Every time I was about to call, I had the feeling he was about to walk in. You have to find him,’ she said, looking at Salka imploringly. She took her hands, and Salka could feel how cold they were.

  ‘Is there anything else you can tell us?’ Salka asked, sensing that Alda had something on her mind. ‘I’ve had the feeling that Skúli wasn’t telling me the whole story. Do you know anything?’

  Alda held Salka’s gaze for a long time before she sighed and looked down at her hands.

  ‘If there’s anything you want to tell us, then I would encourage you to do so right now,’ Salka said quietly. ‘Of course, I hope he’s fine, but that might not be the case. It’s important that you tell us everything, and it could make all the difference. We want – and you want – him to be found as soon as possible.’

  ‘He was spending more time that I was happy with in Hróbjartur’s company. I never did like that man.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘He had a sneaky look in his eye. I know the type. I was married to one like that.’

  ‘Tell me about their dealings.’

  ‘I don’t know exactly what they got up to. If I asked, he’d blank it out. Skúli isn’t like most people. More than likely you’ve figured out that he has his own ways of dealing with people. He’s easily led, sometimes on the simple side, and he’s too trusting. And he always means well. I’ve tried my best to shield him, but there are always people ready to abuse his trust. Thank you,’ she added as Gísli brought her a glass of water. ‘Grenivík is a wonderful place to live,’ she continued. ‘There are good people there, all of them. Or, most of them at least. It’s a small community and everyone knows everyone else.’

  That was something Salka had seen as she had driven around; she had noticed that neighbours greeted one another. She had dropped in at Jónsabúð, the Grenivík grocery store, and every customer had enjoyed an extended chat with the cashier. There were questions about health and prosperity, and the queue for the till was longer than it needed to be.

  ‘We don’t need a local paper. Everyone here is almost a reporter. You go out to walk the dog and come back with all the news of what’s going on and how everyone is. That’s the way it has always been and I suppose it’s nothing unusual. And you get questions. People were asking me if Skúli was working for Hróbjartur. He’d been seen at his summer house at Sunnuhlíð. He had been seen getting into his car. He’d been seen in the church. To begin with it was nothing odd, but when I started hearing this kind of thing daily, then I started to pay more attention. And I didn’t like what I saw,’ she said thoughtfully, and put the glass of water down on the desk. She wiped away a few drops of water that had landed on her leg. ‘I found an envelope full of cash in his room.’

  ‘Was it unusual for him to have cash?’

  ‘Yes. That’s unusual. He works for the local authority and his wages are paid every month, direct to his account.’

  ‘But hasn’t he been doing all kinds of extra jobs? Fixing this and that?’ Gísli asked.

  ‘Yes, but that was just pocket money. Like I said, there were always people ready to take advantage of his good nature, that he’s so straightforward. There was far too much money in that envelope for it to be that.’

  ‘How much was it?’ Salka asked.

  ‘Three hundred and eighty thousand.’

  ‘And I take it you asked him about it?’

  ‘Yes, and he just got angry. Didn’t answer. There have never been secrets between Skúli and me, never. That’s why I found it so strange that he’d hidden this under his mattress. And then I caught them.’

  She looked at them both, and passed a hand across her eyes.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘In the church.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘I don’t remember exactly. Maybe a week, ten days. Yes, exactly a week ago. I’d just come home from the sewing circle. I could see from the living room window that Hróbjartur’s car was parked outside the church and some people went in.’

  ‘Who?’ Salka asked once the silence had been held for too long.

  ‘I didn’t see properly. It was getting dark. Except that I recognised the silhouettes of Skúli and Hróbjartur. So I went over there and into the church. Of course there were my Skúli and Hróbjartur … and that Helgi. I’d never seen him before and didn’t realise who he was until I saw his picture in the papers after…’ she said, and stared blankly into space.

  Salka and Gísli caught each other’s eyes.

  ‘And what did you see, Alda?’

  ‘There were more of them,’ she said, glancing at Salka. ‘There were three lads there.’

  The anguish shone from her eyes and she wiped away the tears that trickled down her cheeks.

  ‘Please go on, Alda,’ Salka said softly.

  ‘When I opened the door I saw them standing behind the boys who knelt at the altar rail. I asked what on earth was going on, and I could see they were all taken by surprise to see me there. The boys got up and ran past me and out of the church. I told Skúli to come and he followed me home.

  ‘Who were the boys?’ Gísli asked.

  ‘I didn’t see them. I know practically every face in the village, but it all happened so fast and it was quite dark. I just didn’t see them. But they must have been around twelve, maybe fourteen. I couldn’t be sure.’

  ‘And what did Skúli say?’

  ‘All I could get out of him was that he was assisting. Hróbjartur and Helgi were setting up a YMCA branch here in the village,’ she said and fell silent. She shook her head. ‘That wasn’t true. I asked around, and nobody had heard anything about that. I even tried to ask about those boys, and that came to nothing. I was going to find Hróbjartur and ask him, but that didn’t happen. And now it’s not going to.’

  30

  From where she sat in the canteen, Salka could see along the corridor to where two uniformed officers escorted Gunnleifur up to the second floor.

  He noticed her and smiled. She nodded back, expressionless. She had been unable to agree with Valgeir’s decision to allow him to go home, even with police protection, when she knew the man was in danger. There was a certain satisfaction in having found that Gunnleifur had gone with Anton into the church. That gave her a pretext for bringing him back in for further questioning.

  Salka had asked Valgeir to organise two groups. One would go to Grenivík to search for Skúli and the other would look into Rafn’s whereabouts. She had also asked for them both to be listed in the media as persons of interest, and she had stepped up checks at the airport and on the roads leading out of Akureyri. She had gone herself to the Hlíð old people’s home to talk with Fríða, who had been Gunnleifur’s assistant at the time of Anton’s disappearance.

  ‘She’s awake for the moment, but she dozes off now and again,’ said a young nurse who showed Salka to Fríða’s room. ‘I’m not sure you’ll get a lot out of her. There are gaps in her memory. And her hearing isn’t great. Could I ask what this is about?’

  ‘I’m looking for some information in connection with an old case we’re following up.’

  ‘How old?’

  ‘Around twenty years,’ Salka said, surprised at the question.

  ‘In that case, no problem,’ he laughed. ‘She drops in and out of connection, but if you’d wanted to ask her about something that happened yest
erday, then you could have saved yourself the trouble.’

  ‘Hello, Fríða. My name’s Salka and I’m from the police. Could I have a word with you?’ she asked, pulling a chair over to Fríða’s bedside. She moved a vase from the edge of the bedside table to the middle, and could smell the aroma of lilies.

  ‘That’s perfectly all right, young lady,’ the old lady said, turning her head towards Salka and tugging at her ear as if that would let in more sound. ‘What’s the news?’ she asked, smiling and squinting at her.

  ‘I’ll just sort you out, Fríða,’ the nurse said with a smile, as he rearranged a pillow behind her head.

  ‘Thank you, my dear Dóri,’ she said as he left the room, after fixing her snow-white hair, hooking the hearing aid behind one ear and putting her glasses on her nose.

  ‘Everything’s fine,’ Salka said, shifting her chair closer to the bed. ‘Tell me, you were a deacon for the Reverend Gunnleifur, weren’t you?’

  ‘You have such beautiful red hair, my dear.’

  Salka thanked her for the compliment and repeated her question.

  ‘Yes. I did. I was a deacon at the Glerá church for twenty-two years.’

  ‘And how long since you stopped?’ Salka asked, reaching for a birthday card on the bedside table.

  ‘When I turned seventy. That was enough.’

  ‘I see yesterday was your birthday. Congratulations.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Fríða said contentedly.

  ‘So you were working back in 1995?’

  ‘Yes … 1995 … I expect so. I’m so bad with dates and years. So, what happened that year?’ she said, half-apologetically. ‘It’s sometimes fine to get older. You see, you can say that you don’t remember things, with some justification,’ she added.

  ‘It was the year of the avalanche in Súðavík,’ Salka said, after having thought it over.

  ‘Good Lord, yes. Who could forget that? Those poor people. We had a prayer meeting at the Glerá church.’

  ‘Yes, it was a tragedy. So you were…?’ Salka said, leaving the question hanging when she saw Fríða’s eyelids droop.

  ‘What did you say?’ she asked, her eyes still shut.

  ‘You were working at that time?’