Nightblind (Dark Iceland)

by Ragnar Jónasson

  ‘No, of course not. And you know well enough that I wouldn’t tell them anything.’

  ‘I’m sorry. It’s just so awkward. This Tómas character is so pushy, although he avoided being outright rude. It’s as if he really thinks I had something to do with … the incident.’ He dropped his feet to the floor and stood up. ‘Goddammit, this is not something I’m prepared to put up with,’ he said, bringing his open palm down on the desk with a louder bang than he had intended.

  Elín was on her feet in an instant and went over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder and pushing him back into the chair.

  ‘Relax. It’ll be fine.’

  ‘This is my big chance, you understand?’ he said, hysteria teetering on the edge of his voice, and for a moment he felt as if he were speaking to his wife. ‘This is my stepping stone. I’d never have had a chance of a job like this without the right connections, and a bit of luck. And I’m not going to screw this up.’

  She stood behind him and massaged his shoulders.

  ‘Don’t let it upset you. The police are in a panic. A police inspector murdered, or as good as, and a killer on the loose.’

  Her hands shifted to stroke his neck lightly and Gunnar wasn’t sure how to react. It felt good – too good, but he didn’t see any reason to complain, not right away, at least. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, just sitting there. He couldn’t be accused of being unprofessional.

  She continued to talk, and her fingers didn’t stop.

  ‘We’re due to be at a harbour board meeting later today, but I’ll postpone it so you can take some time off. I have to go up to the valley anyway to see people about some planning changes for the ski area, and that might take all day.’

  Then what Gunnar had feared and also hoped for happened. She kissed him gently on the neck. He waited for a moment, letting the joy of it infuse him before he turned round.

  ‘Listen, we shouldn’t go too far,’ he said awkwardly, his thoughts suddenly shifting to his wife in Norway.

  ‘Yes, I’m sorry.’ Elín let her hands fall to her sides. ‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated. She looked anything but.

  14

  When Kristín was finally able to take a break, she saw that she had missed five calls from her mother.

  Three pre-lunch calls were nothing unusual, a testament to her mother’s occasional lack of patience when there was something she badly needed to talk about. But five missed calls meant that Kristín had no choice but to call her back, even if it was unlikely that anything was wrong. Her mother loved being at the centre of a drama, which was a significant difference in their natures. Kristín was undoubtedly more like her father, pragmatic, thoughtful and quiet.

  Five calls with no hint as to what they were about – that was her mother all over. A text or even a voicemail would never convey the full import of whatever was on her mother’s mind. The spoken word was her preferred form of communication, and Kristín steeled herself for the inevitable over-excitement that was bound to follow.

  ‘Kristín!’ her mother replied, picking up her phone instantly. There was no ordinary ‘hello’, just a full-volume cry instead.

  ‘Hi, Mum,’ she said, weary already.

  ‘So what’s new, my dear?’

  Kristín was exhausted. Although the boy would wake her occasionally, it was her worries about her relationship with Ari Thór that were preventing her from sleeping at night. She had to resolve that one way or another, but she wasn’t going to share this with her mother.

  ‘Everything’s fine, Mum. Everything’s just fine.’

  ‘Of course it is. Is Stefnir there? Is that him I can hear?’

  ‘No, Mum. That’s the PA system at the hospital. He’s with the childminder today.’

  Kristín sighed. Yet another phone call about nothing at all.

  ‘You’re at work? Aren’t you working too hard, sweetheart?’ her mother demanded, the concern clear in her voice.

  ‘I’m just starting back after maternity leave, but it’s all right. We all have to work.’

  ‘Of course. But you and Ari Thór are fine?’

  ‘Yes, Mum. We’re doing fine.’

  ‘Ah,’ her mother breathed, her voice full of pleasure. ‘You are such a lovely couple, it’s as if you were made for each other. He’s just the right type for you, Kristín. You’re going to have to let him take you down that aisle soon. You can’t let such a good man go.’ Her mother gave voice to her standard polite laughter. ‘That child is so lucky to have such reliable parents and such a strong family, just like you did. It makes such a difference when a child’s parents are happy together.’

  It was as if her mother had pierced her heart.

  ‘Well, Mum…’ Kristín said, desperate to talk about something else. She looked at the clock, determined not to spend her entire break on the phone.

  ‘Yes, darling. It’s always good to hear your voice.’

  ‘And you, Mum? Was there anything special? I saw you called a couple of times this morning.’

  ‘That’s right, I wanted to let you know that we’re coming home early,’ she declared, joy pervading every word of her announcement.

  ‘You’re moving back?’

  ‘Yes, we’ve booked flights and we’ll arrive in two weeks. I’ve already given notice at my office and your father got his employers to agree to let him work on preparing the Icelandic office from Iceland instead of working on it in Norway.’

  Kristín’s father had been a fishing industry consultant in Norway after losing his job in the wake of the financial crash, and was now working for an expanding Norwegian company. Not so long ago it had been Iceland’s meteoric expansion abroad, but things had changed dramatically. Her mother was an architect and had easily found work in Norway.

  ‘I thought you weren’t coming until the summer?’

  ‘We’re just too keen to see you and to spend some time with our little prince, of course.’ There was a moment’s silence. ‘Naturally, we’ve been following the news on the radio…’

  Kristín knew that her parents followed every detail of Icelandic news from Norway. The first thing she had done the previous day, before the incident hit the papers, was to call her parents and reassure them that the injured police officer was not their son-in-law.

  ‘This attack is getting so much coverage it’s terrifying. This is so unbelievable, Kristín, someone shooting a police officer. In Iceland! They say it’s the first time ever anyone has taken a shot at the police, and I think they’re right. Never in my life could I have imagined this. I always thought Iceland was the safest place on earth … Anyway, it gave us something of a wake-up call … It feels wrong to be so far away when such awful things are happening. Ari Thór must be having a terrible time right now.’

  ‘Yes, of course he is.’

  ‘I just wanted you to know. We’re so excited to be coming home.’

  ‘We’re excited to see you as well,’ Kristín said. She certainly missed her parents but, nonetheless, she felt a knot of worry forming in her belly at the thought of their imminent return. Things were not quite as rosy as her mother made out.

  Who the hell had the bright idea that this screamingly bright orange would go down well with the inmates on a psychiatric ward? The mattress is orange and so is the chair. The door is dark brown, creating a colour scheme from hell. I can’t be happy in here and I have no desire to mix with the people on the other side of the door.

  I’m in a dreadful mood today. I spoke to the nurse and asked her when I could have an appointment with Dr Helgi.

  Not now, she said. Not this week. Short and cold. She doesn’t like me. It was as if she was telling me about the weather rather than breaking the news that I wouldn’t be able to see my doctor this week. How am I supposed to make any progress? I must see him.

  Why not? I asked. I must have sounded angrier than usual, and I was furious.

  I saw her take a step back. Was she frightened of me? Maybe I was too brusque?

  He doesn’t wan
t to see you right away, she replied. You need more time and he’s very busy, but I’ve spoken to him on your behalf. And then she left me, none the wiser but a lot more unsettled.

  15

  Ari Thór was alone on duty after a long discussion with Tómas in front of the whiteboard.

  Tómas had adopted some new habits since he’d left. He had become more formal and better organised, using the whiteboard at the police station to track the different threads of the investigation. Until now, the whiteboard had remained largely pristine.

  No new information had been forthcoming and while there was little need for the meeting, Ari Thór had not protested. The only notable development was the fact that the owner of the mobile phone that had been used to call Herjólfur shortly before the attack could not be traced. The number was unregistered and the SIM card appeared to have been removed from the phone so it couldn’t be tracked. The call had gone through a mast in Siglufjördur, but there was no possibility of pinpointing the caller’s location with any real accuracy. This was the only call made, before or since, from that particular number.

  ‘And I’ve requested the records of calls to and from your mayor,’ Tómas added. ‘It shouldn’t take long.’

  ‘Do you really think he…?’ Ari Thór started to ask, before Tómas interrupted him.

  ‘In the attempted murder of a police officer we don’t rule anything out,’ he said firmly.

  After that, Tómas made himself scarce, saying he was going to call on Addi Gunna again.

  ‘Best for you to stay here and keep things ticking over,’ he said, a clear but discreet indication that he was more confident about getting something out of Addi if he went alone.

  Left on his own in the station, Ari Thór’s thoughts returned to Kristín. She’d called with the unexpected news that her parents were moving home to Iceland earlier than planned. He was genuinely pleased by this turn of events; not only did he like them, but he also enjoyed being part of a family. Their relationship was like nothing he had ever experienced in his upbringing. They might also be able to help out a bit, looking after Stefnir from time to time. Maybe he and Kristín would get a chance to go out for a meal or a film? Maybe the constant pressure was the reason for her odd behaviour? Ari Thór sighed and rubbed his temples with his thumbs. There was something wrong, and he didn’t know if he had the strength to face up to it.

  Ari Thór was startled by a knock on the police station window. He glanced out and saw a face he recognised, a history teacher from the local college. Ari Thór didn’t know the man to speak to, but was getting to know many of the townspeople by sight. Anything else would have been virtually impossible in such a small community as Siglufjördur.

  The teacher pointed, indicating the door, as if asking if he might come in, and Ari Thór nodded, standing up to greet his visitor.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said racking his brains for the man’s name once the newcomer was inside the police station.

  ‘Yes, hello,’ he said, putting out a hand and introducing himself as he did so. ‘Ingólfur.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ Ari Thór said, trying to sound friendly. ‘You teach at the college, don’t you?’

  ‘That’s right, yes,’ he said, and hesitated, as if he would prefer to be anywhere but standing in front of a local police officer. ‘I teach history.’

  Ari Thór waited for him to come to the point, while Ingólfur seemed to be looking for the right words.

  ‘Well, I reckon…’ he mumbled at last, as Ari Thór waited with growing impatience. ‘I think Herjólfur might have been shot with my gun.’

  16

  Ingólfur buried his face in his hands, despair evident in his hunched shoulders. An unusually tall man, he was powerfully built, and well padded around the waist, someone who had once been fit, but let himself go.

  After a short but painful silence, Ari Thór spoke.

  ‘Sit down, won’t you?’

  Ingólfur looked up. ‘What? Yes,’ he murmured.

  At first glance, he did not appear to be a man who might be able to keep the attention of young and unruly students, but it could be that being in the police station was unnerving him.

  Ari Thór had planned to show him into the little meeting room that was sometimes referred to as the interview room, but Ingólfur had already taken him at his word and sat in the nearest chair, at Hlynur’s old desk. There was something about the man that reminded him of Hlynur during the days and weeks before he took his own life. There had been a silence about him, and a worrying combination of hesitation, fear and distance.

  ‘Well,’ Ingólfur began, but the remaining words seemed to fade away.

  Ari Thór waited patiently, recognising that it had been difficult for the man to find the courage to come down to the police station.

  Ingólfur sighed deeply. ‘Look, I’m sorry this is taking a while … Someone borrowed my gun, or I think so, anyway. And it looks to me like it has been used…’ He spoke swiftly, hardly pausing for breath.

  ‘What makes you think someone has used your gun?’ Ari Thór asked gently. He had grabbed a recorder from his desk, setting it to record the interview.

  ‘I noticed it yesterday, you understand? The gun was gone.’

  ‘Yesterday, you say?’ Ari Thór said in his usual steady tone, taking care to speak slowly and carefully in light of his visitor’s obvious agitation.

  ‘Yes, exactly. Yes.’

  ‘So why didn’t you come yesterday?’

  ‘Well, you see…’ he said and stopped. ‘Of course I should have come yesterday, but I wanted to be certain. I wanted to make sure before I went off and got myself into trouble. I wanted to be sure my boy hadn’t taken it. He said he hadn’t.’ Ingólfur looked up suddenly, a look of panic warping his features. ‘Oh! Please don’t misunderstand me. My son has no interest in guns, and … Well, the truth is that it’s partly my fault. I kept it in an unlocked garage.’ He hung his head for a moment, but lifted it to look straight into Ari Thór’s eyes before continuing. ‘But I can’t keep quiet any longer, especially if it turns out the poor man was shot with my gun.’

  ‘I expect there’ll be some questions to answer later about how the gun was stored,’ Ari Thór said. ‘But we won’t worry about that for the moment. You’re saying that your son denied taking the weapon?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘And you believe him?’

  ‘What? Yes, yes, of course I do.’

  ‘And you? I don’t suppose you had anything to do with the shooting?’

  The words were almost a careless remark, but Ingólfur didn’t seem to register Ari Thór’s tone.

  ‘What? No! What do you mean? I don’t know the man at all. You think that I did it, tried to kill him?’

  ‘I didn’t say that. Who else lives with you? Is it a detached house?’

  ‘It’s detached. My wife and I live there, and so does our son. He’s finishing college in the spring. He’s in some of my classes, and he’s doing all right…’ He looked puzzled by the direction the conversation was taking. ‘But about the gun, can you keep it out of the newspapers?’

  ‘We don’t make a habit of telling the newspapers about every lead.’

  ‘No, I mean, can you keep me out of it? It’s the boy I’m thinking of, so he doesn’t get bullied at school,’ he said. Either he was a good actor, or he was genuinely deeply distressed.

  ‘Did many people know there was a gun in your garage? Is the garage part of the house? Have you noticed anyone suspicious hanging around?’

  Ingólfur didn’t seem to be sure which question to answer first.

  ‘Well, no. No. The garage is next to the house, and I didn’t notice anything. Not that it would be a problem to sneak in there, but people don’t do that kind of thing in Siglufjördur. People leave you alone.’

  ‘Most of the time, yes.’

  Times were undeniably changing and the town was no longer quite as peaceful as it had been in the past. When Ari Thór had first arrived,
Tómas told him that nothing ever happened in Siglufjördur, but now the new tunnel had brought the town closer to the main roads and it was starting to become busier. There were more visitors, more traffic. In some ways this was a positive development, but it was also clear that outsiders brought more than just a boost to the tourist industry.

  ‘What were those last questions again?’

  ‘Who knew you kept the shotgun there?’

  ‘It wasn’t a secret. Loads of people, I imagine. I’m in a hunting club and all the boys know I have a shotgun, but none of them would do anything like that; shoot a cop, I mean.’

  Ari Thór gave him a pen and paper and asked him to write down the names of the hunting club members. When Ingólfur gave the page back there were five names on the list.

  ‘And ammunition? Was that kept in the garage as well?’

  Ingólfur hesitated and looked at his feet. Ari Thór wondered, was he going to tell the truth?

  ‘Well, I think it was. Not always. But this time the shells were in the garage.’

  ‘And are any of them missing?’

  ‘I don’t really know. I’m not sure how many were there to start with.’

  Ari Thór nodded, and sat silently, hoping that Ingólfur might say something else.

  ‘Keep quiet about this for the moment,’ Ari Thór said, finally. On occasion, he found himself behaving just like Tómas, in both word and deed.

  ‘Well, yeah. Yes.’

  ‘I’ll ask my colleague and the technical team to pay you a visit.’

  ‘Isn’t it illegal to keep it like that, in an unlocked garage? With the shells as well?’ Ingólfur looked worried, as if regretting having turned himself in. ‘Can’t we just say the garage was locked and the thief broke in?’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  If Ingólfur’s shotgun had been used, was this his way of trying to avoid suspicion…? Coming to the police on his own initiative, playing the shocked and worried citizen.

  For a moment Ari Thór wondered if he sat face to face with the killer.