Nightblind

by Ragnar Jónasson

  Addi shrugged a second time.

  ‘What’s your involvement in the business that took place where he was shot?’

  Addi sat obstinately mute.

  Ari Thór’s patience was starting to wear thin, his tolerance levels eroded by long days, inadequate rest, an increasingly complex investigation, and the tension at home.

  ‘Well? Do we get an answer?’

  Addi stretched in the chair, lifted his head and spoke in a voice as rasping and insolent as ever. ‘I can’t believe that I’ve been hauled down here like some criminal. I’ve done my time inside, thanks very much. I’ve done nothing and certainly had nothing to do with this attack. I may have a record, but I’ve never gone in for violence. You know that, Tómas, don’t you?’

  Tómas made no comment, but the look on his face confirmed Addi’s words.

  ‘I’ve even gone so far as to help you, put my head on the block by helping the filth. And what thanks do I get? Arrested! You have nothing on me, absolutely fuck all.’

  ‘Take it easy, Addi. Nobody’s arrested you,’ Tómas assured him.

  ‘I’ve been arrested a few times before and I know how it works, I can tell you,’ Addi retorted. He seemed calmer now, the anger had cooled but it hadn’t left him. ‘I don’t forget that kind of treatment too quickly,’ he said softly, the menace evident.

  Ari Thór felt a shiver travel down his spine as Addi glared at him across the interview-room table, catching his eye. Addi didn’t blink as he stared into Ari Thór’s eyes, making plain without having to say a word that they would meet again and next time Addi intended to come off best.

  35

  It was obvious that the old lady was delighted to have visitors. A laden table awaited Ari Thór and Stefnir, and he guessed that the snow-white tablecloth had been laid with the Sunday-best china. There was an impressive spread of layer cake, twisted doughnuts and pancakes, everything undoubtedly home baked.

  ‘It’s a pleasure to have an unexpected guest,’ she said, catching sight of Stefnir. Ari Thór hadn’t told Jódís that they would both be coming. ‘I don’t get many visitors. Most of my friends have gone. Now I only have a few acquaintances, like the ones you met at the church hall.’

  Ari Thór stood in the living room with his son in his arms. Jódís lived in the small upstairs flat of a house that looked to date back to the seventies. He had expected her to live in one of the town’s old detached houses, something that her parents might have built, or even dating back a generation further. She was Siglufjördur through and through, as Tómas had said, adding that her family had been townspeople for centuries.

  ‘Good gracious, have a seat,’ she fussed. ‘I don’t mean you to stand there all day long. That’s what happens when I start talking.’

  ‘We’re fine,’ Ari Thór reassured her, taking a seat at the table. ‘It’s a magnificent spread. I hope you didn’t bake all this just for us.’

  ‘I’m always baking. It’s one of the things I can still do and I often take something sweet for morning coffee at the church. I can’t read as much as I used to, and baking fills my time. Fortunately, I know all of the recipes by heart.’ She winked at Stefnir.

  ‘I don’t suppose you have a high chair for the boy?’ Ari Thór asked, looking around, knowing it probably wasn’t worth asking.

  ‘I’m afraid not, my friend. Afraid not. I never married and don’t have any children. My late brother Jónmundur had a son, but he’s long grown up and moved south to Reykjavík. He doesn’t visit with his children. No little ones have been to see me for a good many years.’ For a moment she looked sad, but her familiar smile soon returned to her face.

  ‘Not to worry,’ Ari Thór said. ‘He can sit with me.’ Stefnir was normally quiet when he was in his father’s arms. Ari Thór looked intently at Jódís, reluctant to upset her in any way. ‘I hope my questions the other day didn’t bring back bad memories.’

  ‘Help yourself,’ she said, instead of replying.

  Ari Thór poured milk into a glass from the open carton on the table and helped himself to a slice of cake.

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t help you much with poor Herjólfur,’ she said, picking up a doughnut and taking a tiny bite of it. ‘I don’t know who shot him and I doubt that Baldur has come back from the grave to murder a policeman.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound likely to me,’ Ari Thór said. The cake was good. The old lady certainly had some skill as a baker.

  ‘How do you like Siglufjördur?’ she asked. ‘You’ve been here for a few years now, if I recall correctly.’

  In a small town, a police officer was practically public property.

  Ari Thór answered a few more of her enquiries, polite questions that deserved courteous replies, and it started to occur to him that she had invited him to visit her purely to have some company. He began to feel edgy and it didn’t escape Jódís’s notice.

  ‘I don’t doubt you’re wondering why I asked you here,’ she said, confirming that there was something behind the invitation after all.

  ‘Yes…’ Ari Thór said, through a mouthful of layer cake.

  Jódís sat in silence and waited, maybe waiting for the right moment.

  He looked around the small sitting room. It was a simple home, with little in the way of decoration and furnished sparsely. There were no priceless heirlooms and no paintings on the walls. One photograph was on display on the sideboard, a black-and-white portrait of a young man, wearing a suit, his hair combed back from his forehead.

  Ari Thór broke the silence. ‘Is that your brother? Jónmundur?’

  There was silence again.

  ‘That’s Börkur … was Börkur.’

  ‘One of the twins?’

  ‘Yes.’

  This came as a surprise to Ari Thór. He wondered why she had a photograph of Börkur on show.

  ‘The one who lived longer?’ he asked awkwardly.

  ‘Yes, yes. He had a longer life,’ she said. ‘But he was only half a man after his brother Baldur’s death and sometimes hardly even that.’

  ‘Did he kill his brother?’ Ari Thór asked without hesitating.

  ‘No, he didn’t,’ Jódís said and sat silent for a long moment. ‘We were in love,’ she said finally.

  Ari Thór was perplexed by the link, but pressed on, ‘Börkur and you?’

  ‘Yes, exactly. Börkur and me.’

  ‘But he always lived alone?’

  ‘He lived by himself, yes. It came to nothing between us. Everything changed after Baldur died.’ There was a note of despair in her voice, regret at opportunities lost. ‘I kept the photograph of Börkur and had it framed a few years ago. I can’t always face the past so sometimes it stays in the cupboard. But today he’s here. I went and got it out as you were going to visit. Of course it’s painful to remember it all but, between us, I think it’s probably for the best. And it’s time the truth of the matter made its way out into the daylight after all these years,’ Jódís paused. ‘I think it’ll be a relief of sorts to tell the story. And you’re a policeman, a young man, a representative of the authorities. So this is the perfect opportunity.’

  ‘And what is the truth?’ Ari Thór asked, trying to contain his curiosity.

  ‘The truth, my friend, is that I have a confession to make. I have to confess to being responsible for a man’s death.’

  Ari Thór was taken completely off guard.

  ‘Responsibility for Baldur’s death?’ he asked, choosing his words with care. She had said nothing about murder, and he had no intention of using the word. There had to be something else behind this.

  ‘Yes, my friend. That’s right.’

  ‘You pushed him off the balcony?’

  ‘Nothing so simple,’ she said, and was silent for a moment. ‘You know, I’m so glad not to have to carry this burden by myself any longer. I’ve kept the secret for too many years. A confession is a relief, regardless of what comes afterwards.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘He tr
ied to trick me,’ she said. ‘In the darkness.’

  ‘Baldur phoned and invited me round, pretending that Börkur was there as well. He knew that Börkur and I were close. I turned up, late that evening. He was upstairs, out on the balcony. I was fooled for a while to start with, in the dark, like I said, and thought Baldur was his twin brother. It was late summer, getting on for autumn. It was warm outside, but night was drawing in. When I realised what was going on, I fought him tooth and nail. He wasn’t going to let me go. Somehow I found a little bit of extra energy, not something I can explain, and I got him off me by pushing him away. And…’ Her voice vanished into silence, her words swallowed up. Nothing more needed to be said.

  ‘What about Börkur and your brother? How were they involved?’ Ari Thór asked after a short spell of silence.

  ‘Börkur and Jónmundur weren’t there.’

  ‘What? Wasn’t there supposed to have been a party that night? Have I got it all wrong? I was given to understand that all three of them were present?’

  ‘Yes, that was our story. The story we cooked up between us, that they cooked up. Baldur died in the fall. I was going to give myself up, go to the police, but first I wanted to find my brother. I couldn’t go alone. He went and fetched Börkur, and they wouldn’t have it. They refused to let Baldur ruin my life. All three of us knew that Baldur was … well, he was nothing like Börkur. He had a dark side to him. Those brothers, the twins, they were chalk and cheese, even though they looked the same. I don’t think Börkur ever mourned his brother, although he missed him. But of course, after that Börkur and I never could rekindle what we had before. The lies brought us together and tore us apart.’

  She sighed, and stood up.

  ‘Would you like me to come and make a formal statement? I’ll take whatever’s coming to me. It’s about time.’

  Ari Thór believed her account – he had no reason to doubt it. He also felt a deep sympathy for her. She’d carried the secret with her for decades, much of that time on her own, a single person living in a small flat with few friends. It didn’t occur to him for a second to make her life any harder than it already had been.

  ‘I don’t see any need for that. I’ll make a suitable report,’ he said, although he had no intention of doing so. This story wouldn’t be going any further. ‘We don’t pursue cases that go back that far. You don’t need to be concerned about it.’

  ‘What? Are you quite sure about that?’ she asked, eyes wide in surprise.

  ‘Quite sure,’ he said with a smile, quietly pleased that he had been able to put the old lady’s mind at rest, but unable to avoid comparing her situation with Elín’s. Would Siglufjördur’s deputy mayor find herself charged with manslaughter or even murder, even taking into account the injuries she had suffered and the long years of fear and maltreatment?

  I don’t know why I’m still writing, or why I haven’t destroyed this book.

  I’m still shaking a little, as I’m angry and scared. It’s a dangerous mixture.

  I decided to speak to the nurse, and find out how many times she tried to get the doctor to see me. I suffered day after day on this medication and I trusted her to help me.

  I couldn’t do it until today, she said.

  She lied to me. More than once.

  I told her what I thought.

  She treated me like a child.

  Did I say that? Did I promise that?

  She was going to walk away, and I grabbed at her. Not hard, but firmly enough that she had to stop.

  I was going to say something, repeat what I thought about her letting me down, ask her why.

  Then she snapped at me: I’m twenty-seven.

  It took me a moment to understand. Twenty-seven, yes.

  I let her go and she ran into my room, opened the book and read out loud everything I had written about 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.’

  And that was some of the better stuff.

  The bitch had sneaked in and read my diary, maybe every single day.

  I’m not going to let it worry me. I’m going to continue writing, but I’ll take care not to leave the book anywhere and I’ll sleep with it under my pillow at night.

  Yes, I could have assaulted her, and I wanted to. But I didn’t. I controlled myself, this time.

  That has to be a sign of improvement.

  36

  I’ve never gone in for violence.

  That was what he had told the police and, up to a point, it was quite true. Addi’s fingers had been in many illegal pies, although his activities had always been conducted with a measure of respect for his fellow citizens.

  He had been caught up in the occasional fight, but had rarely harmed anyone without provocation. But threats were part of his package and he had issued plenty of those.

  An old man now, he was unlikely to change his habits, even though he was furious with that pipsqueak of a boy, Ari Thór. They had a deal, information in exchange for room to operate, and the first thing the cop did was to go back on his word and haul him off to the police station like some common villain.

  The only thing on Addi’s mind as he left the police station was to get his own back. He wanted to get even with Ari Thór one way or another, bring him back down to earth with a bump. There was every chance that Ari Thór would be promoted to inspector in the next few weeks and there was no question that he could be allowed to strut around exhibiting that kind of behaviour. Addi knew that he had to engineer a balance of power between them.

  But he wasn’t one for violence. Nobody could accuse him of that.

  He went straight to Ari Thór’s house, hammered on the door and waited. He meant to give the girl a fright.

  There seemed to be nobody home. The thought of breaking in flashed through his mind – do some damage, just enough to balance the treachery he had suffered at the hands of the young cop. He sighed. He was far too long in the tooth to be doing that kind of thing, and there was no point in attracting too much attention to himself. There were few if any break-ins in this little town and he wanted to keep it that way. The absence of obvious crimes gave people a false sense of security, and that suited everyone.

  He decided on a little jaunt to Akureyri instead. He knew a few things about Ari Thór, the important stuff, at least. For instance, that Ari Thór’s wife, his girlfriend or whatever, worked at the hospital in Akureyri. Visiting her there would be just the thing. If she wasn’t at home with the child, she was bound to be at work.

  The hour-long drive to Akureyri didn’t take him long. After the storm during the night, the wind had died down to let a bright winter’s day emerge.

  He had to wait an uncomfortably long time at the hospital before he got anywhere at reception. It was busy, and there were not many people on duty, everything cut to the bone in these harsh times of austerity.

  He asked for Kristín.

  ‘She doesn’t deal directly with patients. Have you been in touch with your GP?’ asked the woman in an expressionless voice, her flat tone free of any emotion.

  She looked him up and down as she spoke, as if trying to work out what might be wrong with him.

  ‘No, you’ve got it wrong,’ he said, as courteously as he could. ‘I’m her uncle. I was supposed to meet her here after her shift.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. Let me see…’ the woman apologised, placing a pair of glasses on her nose and peering at the computer screen in front of her. She showed a little more animation, as if speaking to someone with a slightly different agenda made a change from the relentless flow of patients. ‘Yes, Kristín won’t be off duty for another hour.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said, looking at his watch. ‘I must have got the time wrong.’

  ‘I do that all the time as well,’ the woman said, and grinned at him. ‘You’re welcome to wait. She normally comes through this way and uses
that door,’ she said, pointing it out.

  ‘All right, I’ll do that. It’s not worth leaving and then coming back. I live out in the east, you see.’

  He had seen Kristín before and was sure he would recognise her. He had a memory for faces, always had done. It had served him well in the business. He sat and waited. He always felt uncomfortable in hospitals and this time was no exception.

  After an hour sitting at reception, he spied a young woman approaching. Yes, it was her. It was, however, a surprise to see that she had a man at her side, probably a few years older. They seemed friendly. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have guessed they were a couple. Could it be…? Or what?

  He sneaked out ahead of Kristín and the man, before the receptionist noticed and could alert her to that fact that her ‘uncle’ was waiting for her.

  Addi had hoped to have a chat with her in private. He didn’t intend do her any harm, just give her a bit of a fright, a few vague but menacing threats. He knew from experience that that was enough to put the fear of God into most people – especially ordinary people like these, who worked from nine to five and then spent the rest of their time relaxing with their families.

  Kristín and the gentleman strolled downtown. There was hardly a breath of wind to shake the few remaining leaves from the trees and the fjord was glassy calm, the lights of the town reflected in the placid water.

  Addi hurried after them. He needed to talk to Kristín alone, but it didn’t seem likely that the man would leave her side any time soon. They finally disappeared inside a restaurant – a pricey one, noted Addi, and quite romantic, too. Addi followed, sitting at a table not far from them. It wasn’t long before he realised that maybe he didn’t need to talk to Kristín after all. Maybe it would be enough to take a picture of the two of them together – to give that upstart Ari Thór a shock. A simple but effective tactic – enough to convince Ari Thór that gentlemen don’t break their word.

  37

  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.