Nightblind (Dark Iceland)

by Ragnar Jónasson

  When Ari Thór arrived at the police station that evening, Stefnir safely deposited at the childminder’s house, he found Tómas in conversation with Ottó, the town councillor.

  Ottó got to his feet when he saw Ari Thór, extending a hand as he did so.

  ‘Good evening, Ari Thór,’ he said, his voice courteous. His expression suggested something different. He was here to make clear his disappointment. ‘That came out badly for us,’ he said without any further explanation.

  ‘Good to see you, Ottó,’ Tómas said with finality, making it clear, beyond any doubt, that the visit was over. He turned to Ari Thór.

  ‘Just as well you’re here. We have a few things we need to go over.’

  ‘I was just saying to Tómas here,’ Ottó said. ‘It seems our friend Gunnar is finished. Tómas has declined to confirm anything at all, but a man hears a few things when there are whispers around the town. If Gunnar is involved in anything to do with narcotics, then we have to be rid of him. It’s a pain in the arse, a royal pain, in fact. Nothing but trouble. I’ve no idea who we can find to replace him and in spite of everything, we were all happy with his work.’

  Ottó sighed, a disgruntled, almost petulant look on his face. ‘Of course, you couldn’t leave the man alone,’ he added, more to himself than to Ari Thór and Tómas, but the message was clear all the same.

  Ari Thór found these half-veiled accusations frustrating. He knew that he sometimes asked questions that were better left unasked. He also knew that this was more likely to happen when he allowed something to irritate him.

  ‘Ottó, you know the history teacher from the college?’

  ‘History teacher? You mean Ingólfur?’

  ‘That’s the man,’ Ari Thór confirmed.

  ‘Yes, of course. We know each other. What about him?’

  ‘His shotgun is still not accounted for.’

  ‘Oh, really? That was why you were at his place the other day? I heard about that, and wondered what the reason was.’

  ‘We suspect it may have been used in the assault on Herjólfur,’ Ari Thór said drily. ‘The murder, I mean,’ he added, waiting for Ottó’s response.

  ‘You don’t suspect Ingólfur had anything to do with it?’ Ottó asked in astonishment.

  ‘Have you seen the shotgun?’

  ‘How could I remember that?’ he snapped.

  ‘You had dinner at his house not long ago.’

  ‘And what does that have to do with it?’

  ‘You all saw the weapon, didn’t you?’

  ’Well, yes, I suppose so, it was there, in plain sight,’ Ottó said sulkily. ‘I’d forgotten about that.’ He was restless, clearly keen to avoid being swept into the investigation. ‘If there’s anything that needs to be discussed further, I’d be grateful if we could talk about it later. I’m in a hurry.’

  ‘Fine,’ Tómas said. He looked drained, black rings pressed under his eyes.

  ‘What was he after?’ Ari Thór asked, when Ottó had made his speedy exit.

  ‘Fishing for information. He’s obviously trying to decide whether to stand up for his mayor or not when the shit hits the fan. Ottó is the kind who thinks things through before jumping one way or the other, and he’s certainly not going to be swayed by any sentimentality.’

  Tómas paused before his voice took on a more determined note.

  ‘Sit yourself down, my boy. Time to talk things over. Did you get anything useful out of Jódís? What did she want?’

  Ari Thór had told him about the conversation with Jódís at the church hall and her subsequent invitation to visit.

  ‘Nothing at all,’ Ari Thór said, brushing an invisible speck of dust off his sleeve and avoiding Tómas’s gaze. ‘She’s lonely and I was a suitable victim. I just let her rattle on about the old days, her brother and that sort of thing, but there was nothing relevant there. All this stuff has nothing to do with Herjólfur.’

  He felt not even the slightest twinge of conscience about this lie.

  ‘I didn’t expect anything to come of it, to be honest,’ Tómas said. ‘But no stone unturned, as they say.’

  Ari Thór nodded.

  ‘This matter of Elín and her former boyfriend,’ Tómas continued. ‘This isn’t our case any more. It’ll go to the prosecutor, but I gather there’s little likelihood that she’ll be charged. It was self-defence in extreme circumstances, nothing else.’

  ‘Not our case?’ Ari Thór was taken aback. ‘Don’t we have to file a report?’

  ‘I’ve already done that. I hope you don’t mind. There’s so much to do that it seemed best to get it out of the way.’

  Ari Thór did mind. In fact, he was furious that Tómas was taking so much control. Strictly speaking, the Valberg case was Ari Thór’s and not Tómas’s. Tómas had been sent north with an assignment to assist the investigation into Herjólfur’s death, and there was no indication of any link other than Elín’s connection to both cases and the fact that the media coverage of the Herjólfur case had resulted in Valberg being able to track Elín down.

  He decided to let the matter rest, for the moment, at least, and nodded his agreement. He could only assume that Tómas was missing his old role as the town’s inspector of police. Enough to tempt him to re-apply for the post?

  ‘I’ve also had a word with my colleagues down south,’ Tómas said, and Ari Thór could not help noticing his choice of words – not ‘back home’, but ‘down south’.

  ‘They’re convinced Herjólfur had nothing to do with any historical corruption; they’re certain that he’s not … sorry, he wasn’t ever dishonest. Quite the opposite, he was very aware of the force’s honour, and the same went for his father. Both of them were coppers to their boot-heels, honest, strict and determined. Neither one of them would allow themselves to be manoeuvred into … involved in … anything underhanded.’

  ‘All the same, that kind of thing isn’t easily forgotten,’ Ari Thór said.

  ‘No, no. You’re right. The seeds of doubt, and all that. Now there’s gossip running around that he was shot because he’d been keeping dubious company, that he brought it on himself. It’s important that we protect the man’s reputation, now that he can’t defend himself.’

  Ari Thór wasn’t entirely in agreement, but he wasn’t inclined to start an argument with Tómas.

  ‘He has a family … had a family. His wife and children ought to be the ones to defend his reputation,’ Ari Thór said.

  Tómas said nothing, his usual response when he didn’t agree with Ari Thór.

  ‘Speaking about family.’ Tómas said. ‘The boy will be coming to Siglufjördur tonight to collect a few things for his mother. I don’t see any reason why that should be a problem. We’ve been through everything, including all of Herjólfur’s papers, and there were certainly no secrets there. I said the boy could take whatever he needs to, and he could stay in the house. The widow said that she’s never setting foot here again, so she sent him instead. The funeral will be in Reykjavík and they’re getting things ready. And as if that’s not enough, she has a broken leg.’

  ‘Broken leg? Who?

  ‘Helena. Herjólfur’s wife.’

  ‘What? Did that happen recently? I saw her the other day and she was fine,’ Ari Thór asked, his mind travelling back to their last visit. He recalled that she had not stood up. Not once.

  ‘She picked up a skiing injury a while ago, or so I understand. She thought it was nothing serious and it would heal soon enough, but now it seems that the leg is badly injured … broken.’

  ‘All right’ Ari Thór said, his mind elsewhere. He was wondering, not for the first time, how the boy was coping with the loss of his father, and whether or not he had realised quite how tough it was to lose a father at such a young age.

  ‘I called on Elín earlier, as well,’ Tómas said. ‘She’s on sick leave. I just hope the newspapers can treat her with a little sympathy, show some consideration. But all things considered, she seems to be doing well.�
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  ‘You believe them?’ Ari Thór asked.

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘That they know nothing about Herjólfur’s death? Gunnar had plenty at stake, his reputation and his job, as we now know.’

  ‘I’m inclined to believe that they’re telling the truth … at least, I think Elín is,’ Tómas said. ‘I genuinely hope she’s innocent … It’s not only that she suffered a brutal attack by that man, Valberg, but she’s going to have to live with the burden of having killed him to save her own life.’

  ‘But let’s say she is guilty of killing Herjólfur, for argument’s sake. Wouldn’t that also put Valberg’s death in a new light?’ Ari Thór asked.

  ‘You mean that she set out to murder him? Come on…’

  ‘We shouldn’t rule it out.’

  They were both silent for a moment.

  ‘There’s a lot of pressure on us,’ Tómas said. ‘We have to get this right.’

  ‘That’s nothing new,’ Ari Thór said, suddenly feeling an inexplicable surge of optimism. He had the feeling that a solution was within his grasp, as long as he could work out how everything fitted together. For some reason, Valberg kept coming back to him.

  I’m going home tomorrow. The new medication is much more effective, and I’m a lot better. I think. It’ll be good to get away from this place but I’m nervous about it. I don’t particularly want to go home. I’m sure that time has stood still while I’ve been away.

  The doctor says I’ve turned the corner.

  But he doesn’t really know. He doesn’t know why Hanna and I parted so suddenly and with so much ill feeling.

  I had pretty much moved in with her, and came home one evening to her place, our place. I was tired, irritated by my parents, as always, and angry.

  She said something and I don’t even remember what it was. It doesn’t matter now, but it was something that caused me to see red. I don’t know what came over me, but I hit her. Not as hard as Dad would have done, but hard enough all the same.

  She was shocked to begin with. Then I saw her feel the pain, and the anger poured out. Everything happened so fast. We haven’t spoken since. I moved back to my parents’ house and shut myself away for days on end. I couldn’t believe what I had done. I didn’t believe I had done it.

  It was as if I had been infected by something malicious, an incurable sickness. There was no way to escape it. That’s the way I felt and that’s the way I sometimes still feel. Occasionally I hope for a brighter future, and that I can lift myself above all this somehow.

  Dad came yesterday. He said it was time to come home. He had obviously spoken to my doctor or someone else in charge here because he seemed to know everything about my treatment. Then he told me I had nothing to worry about, and this spell in hospital would be wiped clean from any official documents. In other words, it would be hushed up. There would be no black mark on my file, as he put it. My career would not be affected. Of course I don’t have a career yet, but we both know what he has planned for me. Maybe he wants to wipe out any record of these dark days for his own benefit as well as for the family’s reputation. It’s a humiliation he’d find hard to bear.

  The nurse came to see me off. She was unusually warm, almost embarrassed. We both know that she had crossed the line, but I’m not going to do anything about it. Dad would never have it, anyway, as it would attract too much attention. For someone with Dad’s connections and influence, it’s possible to make all the records of my stay here disappear, but there will be people who will remember me, especially that nurse. And it’s not as if I have a name that’s all that common.

  Herjólfur.

  38

  Kristin found Ari Thór and their son asleep when she returned home late that evening, and she didn’t want to disturb them. Ari Thór had managed to get very little rest over the last few days, and he was still struggling with the after-effects of his flu.

  Dinner in Akureyri had not gone well. She wondered what she had been expecting. Was it just a half-hearted attempt to be unfaithful to her husband, but without taking things too far? Pay him back for his dalliance with Ugla all those years ago? Or maybe shock him into noticing that she actually existed, and needed more from him to make the relationship sustainable? Petty revenge wasn’t her style, really, and the evening had been a mistake.

  Even the food had been poor and she hadn’t eaten much of it. Maybe her conscience had soured her taste buds. She made herself a snack from the contents of the fridge to quash the worst of the hunger pangs. The company hadn’t been everything she had hoped for, either, and there had been more excitement in the expectation of dinner with this good-looking man than in the reality of it. She had found that they actually had less in common than she had hoped, and Ari Thór had never been far from her thoughts. She had to admit that it had been a grand error of judgement on her part. Her punishment, and fortunately her only punishment, was that she would have to continue to work with this man and endure endless potentially awkward moments.

  Ari Thór woke up as she crawled into bed alongside him. He turned to her, kissed her and stroked her cheek.

  ‘Tough day?’ he asked.

  ‘Just a bit,’ she said, shivering at the lie she had told, and the necessity of maintaining the fantasy that she had been on duty far into the evening. ‘And you?’

  ‘It’s not been easy. I’m sure there’s something crucial in this case that we’ve overlooked, some kind of explanation…’

  He sat up in bed, and force of habit made him check his phone.

  ‘Hmmm,’ he grunted to himself. ‘I need to pop downstairs to use the computer, sorry. It’s a message from a guy – a local villain, in fact – about some pictures he’s sent me. There’s never a minute’s peace.’

  ‘All right, love,’ Kristín said and closed her eyes.

  She was on the verge of sleep, when Ari Thór came back upstairs. For once, he didn’t try to keep his voice down, even though Stefnir was asleep in the same room.

  ‘Can you explain this?’ he demanded, a hurt surprise, fury evident in his voice. ‘Can you explain that?’ he demanded, louder this time.

  He handed her the laptop. She was shaken fully awake by the photographs. There were several, not particularly clear, presumably taken with a mobile phone, but clear enough; pictures of her secret dinner date.

  ‘When were these taken? Weren’t you at work this evening?’

  At that moment she knew she could tell a lie, but also knew that she wouldn’t. She knew that she had to be completely honest and there was no way to cheat her way out of this, not if she had any intention of salvaging her relationship with Ari Thór. She definitely wanted to do her best to do just that.

  ‘No … I was invited to dinner,’ she said in a low voice.

  ‘Dinner? Who invited you? This guy in the photo?’ Ari Thór snapped.

  ‘Yes…’

  ‘And who is he? Who’s this man?’

  ‘Just a doctor, in Akureyri.’

  ‘Just a doctor? Are you sleeping with him?’

  ‘No,’ she answered, hesitating unnecessarily and immediately regretting not having been more definite. Of course not. Something like that would have been better.

  ‘We’re just friends,’ she added.

  ‘So why did you say you had to work?’ His voice was loud and it woke Stefnir, who started to cry.

  She gulped again. She didn’t want to lie, but the whole truth was going to be difficult.

  ‘I … er. I thought you’d react badly.’

  ‘Why? Because you’re seeing someone else?’

  Stefnir’s cries became louder. Kristín got out of bed and swept him into her arms, trying unsuccessfully to comfort him.

  ‘No, Ari Thór, we’re just friends.’

  Her words sounded unconvincing in the dark bedroom, even to her own ears.

  ‘I don’t believe it.’ The anger in his voice seemed to have given way to wretched sadness. ‘You can sleep here tonight, you and Stefnir. And you m
ade me take him to the childminder so you could go for dinner with your boyfriend!’ He was hurt, deeply upset.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ari Thór,’ she said, a sob threatening to burst from her, and realising that an apology was tantamount to an admission.

  He said nothing, and disappeared downstairs, leaving Kristín with the discomfort of knowing that everything had changed. Nothing could ever be the same again.

  39

  Ari Thór found an interesting email awaiting him when he arrived at the police station, a message that had also been copied to Tómas. There were questions over Valberg’s knife wound and the way the knife had entered his chest. It seemed unlikely that he had ‘walked into the knife’ and more plausible that he had received the wound where he had laid on the floor. Ari Thór was uncomfortable with the theory. He found it hard to accept that Elín was anything other than the victim, and his sympathies lay with her.

  The email had been sent to him and to Tómas for their information only, making it plain that they were not expected to take any further part in the investigation.

  He struggled to get to sleep on the old sofa at the station. It was too small in every direction. His feet stuck out over the end and the slightest movement threatened to topple him onto the floor. Above all, the evening’s events were keeping him awake – the argument with Kristín, and the overwhelming disappointment. Of course he’d made a mistake of his own, but that was in the past, and he’d taken his punishment for it at the time.

  Kristín’s face, her body language, her tone of voice and of course the secrecy all pointed towards something much more than an innocent meal with a colleague. He couldn’t get out of his mind how distant she had been recently. How long had this relationship been going on? It was a betrayal, a clear betrayal of him, Stefnir and their family.

  What next? Should he go home after a night on the sofa as if nothing had happened?

  Should he allow Addi Gunna, who had sent him the pictures, to succeed in wrecking his family? The idea was distasteful, but this was about something larger and deeper. A trust that had taken a long time to build had been swept away in the blink of an eye.