Nightblind

by Ragnar Jónasson

  He had missed his talks with Tómas, realising that he probably had only two good friends now, Kristín and Tómas. After moving to Siglufjördur he had more or less lost contact with his old friends in Reykjavík, and he hadn’t really made any in Siglufjördur, except for Tómas. Of course there was Ugla, who still lived in the town, but they hadn’t spoken for years. She had shown him the door when she had found out he already had a girlfriend, and now he wouldn’t dare even look at her, knowing how Kristín would react.

  Tómas glanced at a desk on which there was nothing but a computer and a keyboard.

  ‘Nobody’s taken Hlynur’s place yet, I see,’ he said heavily.

  ‘No. Not yet.’

  Hlynur, along with with Ari Thór and Tómas, had been Siglufjördur’s police force, until he had taken his own life in the middle of a difficult murder investigation. Ari Thór knew that Tómas had never recovered fully from the shock, and still blamed himself to some extent for what had happened. Ari Thór also felt he deserved some of the blame for not having made an effort to connect with his colleague when there was obviously something troubling him, but then again Ari Thór had been the new boy in town and most of his focus had been on settling in.

  Tómas’s mobile phone rang a moment later and Ari Thór could see from his expression that something had happened.

  It was a short conversation and as soon as it was over, Tómas hurried over to the computer.

  ‘Come here, will you, Ari Thór?’ He spoke gruffly, worry etched on his brow.

  Ari Thór was in no state to be on duty. The multitude of concerns that were spinning in his mind, his illness, his confusion about the case, meant that any energy he had left was fast running out and fatigue was gaining the upper hand. There was little he could do and he had to keep going.

  ‘What is it?’ he sighed, wiping his brow and making his way over to his old friend.

  ‘Look at this,’ Tómas said, his finger pointing at the computer screen. ‘We’ve been sent the list of numbers Herjólfur called before he was assaulted, as well as the numbers from which he was called. Sit down and look them up. You’re quicker than I am.’

  Tómas stood up and let Ari Thór sit at the computer. ‘Start with this one. That’s the last number to call Herjólfur’s phone.’

  Ari Thór searched without success. ‘It’s an unregistered number.’

  ‘In that case we’ll ask for more information,’ Tómas said. ‘Other numbers called, that sort of thing.’

  ‘I’ll send a request,’ Ari Thór said wearily. The rain pounded at the window, hammering a staccato beat that matched his growing headache. The station was hot and a long night beckoned. Ari Thór knew Kristín would not be pleased. Her recent detachment was unsettling, but he hadn’t had the courage to investigate its cause.

  He continued to search through the most recent calls. Most were innocuous, a few calls to Herjólfur’s wife, some to Ari Thór’s own number, and one call to a restaurant in Reykjavík.

  ‘He was going to take his wife off to Reykjavík,’ Ari Thór explained. ‘He mentioned it because he wanted to be sure I’d be well enough to be back on duty. The trip was supposed to be a surprise for her. She probably doesn’t know about it, Helena. Maybe I should have told her…’ Ari Thór said more to himself than to Tómas. ‘But this one is worth looking into.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  Tómas came over to see for himself.

  ‘Gunnar Gunnarsson, the mayor.’

  ‘He called Herjólfur?’ Tómas asked, squinting at the screen.

  ‘No. Herjólfur called him, two days ago.’

  ‘There has to be a reasonable explanation,’ Tómas said, cautious as usual.

  ‘Late in the evening,’ Ari Thór said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘He called him at just about ten in the evening. That’s a strange time to call a town official.’

  Tómas nodded. ‘I agree. Maybe we should go and knock on his door. Best to do it now rather than waiting until tomorrow, wouldn’t you say?’

  Ari Thór shrugged. He still felt a need to prove himself to Tómas.

  ‘Suits me,’ he said, against his own better judgement. He was so very, very tired. Most of all he wanted to go home, climb into bed, and deal with everything later; the case, Tómas’s demands, Kristín’s recent behaviour.

  ‘Email about that unregistered number first,’ Tómas decided. ‘Then we’ll go for a drive before I let you go home and get some sleep. You look like you could certainly do with it.’

  Ari Thór was uncomfortably warm, but refreshing volleys of raindrops against the misted glass of the station windows offered some potential respite. This was his job, and he had to do it, but his instincts told him that this was not going to be a straightforward visit, and that something dark was simmering at the heart of Siglufjördur. Someone had tried to murder a police officer in cold blood. They were in uncharted territory, nothing like this had ever happened. There was no way of knowing whether or when the assailant would strike again and Ari Thór was frightened.

  According to the nurse, Dr Helgi won’t be here until tomorrow. She’ll find out if he can see me then.

  It’s not easy to work out her age, and I can’t bring myself to ask her. Maybe around forty. She has a slightly pudgy face; too much red wine and too many steaks over the years. Her eyes are tired and she never smiles. I can’t get on with people who don’t smile.

  It may well be that she’s not even forty, and if that’s the case then she hasn’t looked after herself. She’s not my type, that’s for certain.

  There’s something about her that I don’t like, a coldness behind her eyes.

  I can’t write much about my roommate because he never says a thing and doesn’t do much other than sleep. The only good thing about having him in front of me all day is that he’s a sort of encouragement to shake off the lethargy. Yes, I’ll go to tomorrow’s morning meeting. Maybe I’ll find out the truth.

  9

  The mayor lived in a detached house on a new estate on the landward side of the fjord.

  It was a while before anyone came to the door and when he did, the mayor was dressed in a white dressing gown and matching slippers. There was a look of astonishment on his face when he saw the two police officers, but he hastily rearranged his features into an expectant, friendly expression.

  ‘Gunnar?’ Tómas asked, with his usual courtesy.

  ‘That’s me,’ he said, with a standard-issue politician’s smile on his lips.

  ‘My name’s Tómas and I was the inspector in charge of the local force here for many years. That was before your time, of course.’ His voice was laden with authority. ‘I expect you’re already familiar with Ari Thór?’

  ‘Of course. Come in, boys. Apologies that I’m not dressed for the occasion, but I wasn’t expecting guests. This is how it is when you live alone.’

  They followed him into the living room. The television was on and the remnants of what looked to be a forlorn microwave meal were on the table.

  ‘I’d offer you something, but I have to admit that the cupboard is pretty bare. This is a sort of bachelor existence,’ he said, his apology sounding artificial. ‘My wife’s working abroad. She’s a doctor.’

  He offered them the sofa, without taking a seat himself.

  ‘What’s the news?’ He asked. ‘How is Herjólfur? He’s still … with us?’

  ‘He is,’ Tómas replied, and paused.

  ‘Thank God for that. It’s a terrible thing to happen. It’s hard to understand it. The atmosphere at the Town Hall today was very subdued, to say the least, and most people left early. Damn it…’ he swore, his voice rising. ‘I can’t believe that a police officer has been gunned down here in Siglufjördur.’

  Ari Thór looked at Tómas, hoping that he would interrupt before Gunnar broke into a political rant about the safety of police officers on duty. Tómas didn’t let him down, and went straight to the point.

  ‘Why did Herjólfur call
you two days ago?’

  ‘We’re both on the traffic safety committee,’ Gunnar answered quickly, almost before Tómas had finished his question, like a well-prepared contestant in a quiz. ‘There were a few things he wanted to discuss.’

  ‘Such as?’ Tómas asked, adopting the same carefree tone.

  ‘Mainly the roundabout and a few other matters that we need to discuss at the next meeting,’ Gunnar replied smoothly, without apparently needing to think. ‘I don’t recall precisely what was said, as I have a lot on my plate. It’s a busy job.’

  A roundabout? Ari Thór wondered if the man couldn’t have come up with a more convincing lie.

  ‘What roundabout?’ Tómas asked. ‘There’s a roundabout in Siglufjördur now? That’s some impressive progress in the short time since I moved south.’

  Ari Thór kept himself deliberately to one side. He preferred to maintain a decent relationship with the mayor, and this conversation looked like it was going to end badly.

  ‘Well, not exactly. It’s more about building roundabouts, to improve road safety. You understand?’

  Tómas’s expression demonstrated that he saw no point in building a roundabout in such a small town.

  ‘It reduces speeding,’ the mayor added haughtily, back in election mode, as he did his utmost to convince his audience.

  ‘Speeding was never a problem when I was inspector here,’ Tómas muttered, a little too loudly.

  ‘No, maybe not. But now the town is opening up, with more through traffic, maybe a higher crime rate…’

  ‘Why was this so important?’ Tómas asked, his tone sharper than before.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Discussing roundabouts. It was after ten at night when Herjólfur called you.’

  This time Gunnar hesitated.

  ‘I couldn’t say why the man decided to call me so late. I recall that I found it intrusive at the time. As you can see, I’m not much of a one for staying up late.’ He smiled and looked down at the dressing gown. ‘I didn’t say anything to him about it, of course. I was just my usual courteous self. We had built up a good working relationship.’

  ‘Did you discuss any other matters?’

  ‘I honestly don’t remember.’

  ‘Was that the last time you and he spoke?’

  ‘Yes, yes, it was. But I couldn’t have known at the time what was about to happen, so it wasn’t an especially memorable conversation. And I hope it doesn’t turn out to have been our last conversation.’

  A pretty weak hope, Ari Thór thought to himself, recalling the harrowing scene upon which he had arrived only that morning. It seemed days ago now, the horror of it still thrumming away at the corners of his mind, muted only by his determined effort to keep it there.

  ‘Did he say anything about the house?’ Tómas asked.

  ‘The house?’

  ‘The house where the shooting took place.’

  Tómas’s voice was measured. Gunnar appeared increasingly agitated.

  ‘Well, why would he have done that?’ Gunnar asked. Tómas’s silence was deafening. ‘Of course he didn’t mention that house,’ Gunnar snapped at last.

  Tómas rose quickly to his feet and Ari Thór followed his lead.

  ‘Thank you for the information and apologies for the intrusion.’

  ‘What? Yes, of course. A shame I can’t be of more help.’

  ‘Maybe later.’

  ‘Well, precisely. Yes.’

  ‘Don’t hesitate to get in touch, Gunnar, if there’s anything that occurs to you.’

  They left the mayor in his dressing gown, standing in his living room.

  ‘Now I’m taking you home,’ Tómas said when they were in the car.

  ‘That would be kind,’ Ari Thór said, unable to keep the fatigue out of his voice.

  ‘What did you make of your mayor’s performance?’ Tómas asked, glancing over at his dishevelled colleague.

  Ari Thór paused. ‘I’ve never seen him lie so obviously,’ he said quietly. ‘There’s something he’s not telling us, and I have a feeling it has more than a little to do with Herjólfur’s shooting.’

  10

  Gunnar sat still for a while after the police officers had gone. He had expected questions about that phone call, but not right away and not with such vigour.

  He had kept himself dry for twelve years but there were still occasions when he felt that a drop would help; just enough to settle his nerves. This wasn’t the first time he had been tempted, nor was it the worst situation he’d faced over those twelve years, and he knew he would get over it.

  Loneliness had become more of a burden that he liked to admit. The days at work weren’t a problem, but in the evenings when he came home, the cold, empty house, far too big for him, was all there was to receive him. The job was demanding and he relished the involvement in municipal politics, working out the cliques and establishing how people would form alliances on particular issues. It was certainly an advantage for the municipality to have an outsider in his position, someone with no allegiances. In the same way it was a clever move to bring in an outsider to manage the investigation. He was sure that Ari Thór on his own would never have dared to push his way into the mayor’s residence to make veiled accusations so late in the evening.

  He stood up and drew the curtains, an unconscious reaction to the police’s invasion of his home. He also managed to shut out the darkness outside, but there was no hiding from the sound of the rain. What a miserable day this had been, in every respect. The low pressure that was bringing them all this October rain also had a negative effect on Gunnar’s mood that he felt very deeply.

  He switched on the espresso machine. Normally he avoided coffee in the evenings, but he suspected he wouldn’t sleep much anyway.

  He wanted to call his wife, not to tell her about the visit from the police, but more to make some kind of contact. It wasn’t too late for a call to Norway, but the relationship had become so strained that phone calls for no special reason had long ago been consigned to the past. She would be surprised to hear from him and would want a reason for the call, and then there would be silence on the line between Siglufjördur and Oslo.

  Instead he called Elín. He wanted to go and see her, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. An evening visit could result in all kinds of awkward misunderstandings. There was no point in boosting the inevitable gossip that was undoubtedly already being whispered about the mayor and his deputy.

  She answered quickly, as she did everything. Sharp-witted and astute, Elín responded rapidly to anything he asked her to do at work.

  ‘I just had a visit from the police,’ he blurted out, not bothering with any courtesies.

  ‘A visit? At your place?’ Elín asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And … what did they want to know?’ she asked, her voice guarded.

  ‘Why Herjólfur called me the day before yesterday,’ he replied, trying to hide his worries.

  There was silence on the line.

  ‘And what did you tell them?’ Elín finally asked.

  ‘What we decided, of course.’

  ‘And they believed you?’

  ‘Well, I think so. Yes, I’m sure they did.’

  The silence deepened. He knew what was at stake, and how unlikely it was that this was the last they would hear of it.

  This is the first day that nobody has been sitting outside my room.

  Of course they were checking that I didn’t do myself any harm. Fortunately they let me have a little elbow room. The door was kept ajar and I was able to go to the toilet and the shower by myself.

  I wouldn’t have tried anything, even with nobody watching. At the moment I want to continue to live, in spite of being frightened, as always.

  I seem to be past the worst, judging by the fact that I’m not being watched every moment of the day, like a small child.

  This morning’s meeting wasn’t too bad. The staff and the inmates all talked as equals, on the surface, n
aturally. There wasn’t a doctor to be seen, any more than any other day. Doctors seem to be a rare sight on the ward. There were nurses, medical staff and some auxiliary staff there. I’m not quite sure who does what. Nobody wears a uniform but you can normally tell the staff by the keys they have in their hands all the time.

  I didn’t say anything at the meeting, just listened. The discussion was mostly about the programme for the day. It’s the height of summer and most of them wanted to be out in the gardens. I have to stay indoors for a few more days, or so I’m told. All the same, I’d have liked to have gone outside in the warm weather. It’s hot, stuffy – airless in here. There’s a balcony, a smart little one, at the end of the corridor. I’d love to be able to go out there, breathe the fresh air and enjoy the sunshine for a little while, but the doors are kept locked. That balcony is like a mirage in the desert.

  The meeting became almost amusing this morning, when the other inmates started complaining about each other. One asked to be moved to another room as the man he was sharing with is bad-tempered and borderline violent. The other guy answered right back, so forcefully that it confirmed the first one’s point. They carried on for a while without reaching any conclusion. The staff didn’t seem concerned about chasing the inmates’ minor complaints, but an argument like that must serve some purpose. It clears the air, gives people an opportunity to air pent-up grievances without coming to blows. The blows come later.

  11

  Ari Thór slept badly that night. He woke up more than once, finding it hard to fall asleep again with the heavy rain beating on the roof of the old house. His home was usually warm and cosy, a safe haven, but now it just felt cold and menacing.

  The flu was to blame as much as the assault on Herjólfur. The incident had been a shock, but the thought of how narrowly he had avoided being the target … If he hadn’t been ill…

  It wasn’t just his concern about Herjólfur that kept him awake. If he was honest with himself, he had not been able to create any real relationship with his new superior. Of course he hoped that the inspector would make a full recovery, and at the very least survive. It was unthinkable that any police officer should lose his life under such circumstances, and it didn’t matter who the victim was. And now that he had met Herjólfur’s wife and son, Ari Thór felt a bewildering set of new sympathies for his colleague’s family.