The Mistake

by Grant Nicol

  ‘No, I don’t suppose you would. Are you sure you want to be concerning yourself with these things so soon after her death? Don’t you think it might be a better idea to allow yourself some time?’

  ‘There’ll be time enough when I’ve got her back home where she belongs. Right now I intend to see to it that the police do their job. I know what they’re like. The whole system’s too easy on people who commit these sorts of crimes. It’s not just the police, it’s the courts as well. They get off too easy. I’m determined to see that there’s absolutely no chance of that happening this time.’

  ‘But what are you planning to do?’

  ‘First of all I’m going to find out as much as I can about this guy they’ve arrested. I want to know everything there is to know about him.’

  ‘You know who it is then?’

  ‘He lives down the street where those cops are standing around talking to each other and he’s called Gunnar Atli. I don’t suppose you know who I’m talking about?’

  ‘Yes, he lives three doors down and works at the hospital.’

  ‘Landspítali?’

  ‘Yes, he works in the kitchen there.’

  ‘How well do you know him?’

  ‘I was a nurse at Klepp, he used to be a patient there.’

  ‘Kleppspítali? So it’s possible he’s not making up all this stuff about memory loss?’

  ‘I can’t talk about the specifics but I don’t think memory loss was ever an issue.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘From what I recall, most of his problems didn’t come from a lack of memories but rather from dealing with the memories of the accident.’

  ‘Accident? What sort of accident are we talking about?’

  ‘A car accident. He and his girlfriend were involved in a car accident and she was killed. He took it rather badly. I think he blamed himself for what happened and tried to kill himself. That was why he was placed in our care.’

  ‘So Bella’s the second girlfriend of his to wind up dead and he’s got a history of mental illness? A smart lawyer would argue that he should have never been released in the first place. That he should go back there rather than to Litla Hraun.’

  ‘It’s possible. You know, I still have some friends at Klepp. I could give someone a call and find out if they’ve heard anything. It would only take a moment and it might make you feel better.’

  ‘I’d be very grateful. That might help put my mind at rest.’

  ‘I don’t mind at all, just give me a couple of minutes and I’ll see what I can find out.’

  Adolfína went to her bedroom to find her phone. She scrolled through her contacts until she found the number she was looking for and didn’t have to wait long for it to be answered.

  ‘Hi, it’s me. I’ve got the murdered girl’s father here with me ... That’s right, he is rather upset... He’s looking for information about Gunnar Atli. Is there anything you can tell me that I can pass onto him?’

  Adolfína listened intently for a few minutes without speaking.

  ‘No problem, anything else? ... Thanks very much, I’ll let him know.’

  Adolfína walked back out to Kjartan and smiled.

  #10

  Grímur stepped out of the heavy snow and in through the front door of police headquarters on Hverfisgata, absent-mindedly wiping white sludge from his sleeves as he went. He’d found his trip to Klepp more disturbing than productive. Between the arrogant Thorgeir Alfreðsson and the almost unconscious yet still mumbling Gunnar Atli all he could see were problems mounting at every turn when it came to orchestrating a prosecution. For the time being the man was considered to be a serious danger to himself and wasn’t going anywhere. He hadn’t a clue what he’d meant by ‘We all learn to live with our mistakes’. Maybe it had finally hit home that he’d made one too many errors of judgment and that there was no way back for him this time. Maybe it didn’t mean anything at all.

  A pile of paper work had grown on his desk in his brief absence. There were notes requesting interviews with newspapers and television stations all of which he threw straight in the bin. He was in no mood for explaining his day to anyone if he didn’t absolutely have to. They would manage to get their sound bites and quotes from someone else. They always did. The rest of the pile looked like what he had asked for earlier in the morning. There were records concerning Gunnar Atli’s employment, driving record, tax payments, phone bills, medical history, etc. He had sent a couple of officers to Leirubakki to interview the rest of the family as well. A thankless task considering what they would be going through today but it had to be done. They had been told to bring back anything that might be considered of interest and even some things that might not. He knew from previous experience that it could be the smallest detail that would bring them success and that the most important part of discovering who was responsible for her death was finding out who might have wanted her dead in the first place.

  He fingered the pieces of paper one by one, setting them aside into separate piles according to their degree of interest to him. They probably weren’t going to teach him much he didn’t already know but with Gunnar Atli locked away in the puzzle factory for the foreseeable future he was a little short on ideas as to exactly how they should proceed.

  Gunnar Atli’s driving record was relatively clean apart from the accident that had killed his girlfriend. Before that there had been a couple of speeding tickets but that was it and there was no sign he had owned a vehicle since. He had been in hospitals of one kind or another for eight of the nine years since then so that was no real surprise. After an ordeal like that Grímur doubted if he would have had the stomach to get behind the wheel again either.

  He had worked part-time before the accident delivering for a bakery in Reykjavík. The job had helped him through university where he earned a degree in Environmental Science. That was presumably where he met girlfriend number one, Nanna. His medical record up until the accident had been completely inconsequential, the broken leg he’d suffered in the crash being the only physical trauma of any consequence he’d ever suffered. It consisted of five breaks to his right leg, all below the knee and his right ankle had been rebuilt with pins and screws as a result. Apparently he had been lucky not to lose the lower part of his leg.

  His psychiatric records wouldn’t be released without a court order and even then it would be a prolonged battle if Thorgeir Alfreðsson didn’t feel like handing them over, which he probably wouldn’t. That was a shame because it was almost undoubtedly in those files that the key to this mystery lay. As for Bella, her life had been far less colourful, until recently that was. Murder had a way of spicing up a person’s profile where before there had only been drab and mundane events. The girl had endured a colourless time at school, had no medical problems of any note and had never been so much as pulled over while driving. Something had caused her to run away from home and never look back, though.

  A note had been left on one of the interview sheets about a remark made by a friend of the family. Apparently Bella had been regarded as something of a tramp around her hometown of Leirubakki. He hadn’t elaborated on what that might have had to do with her disappearance but otherwise there didn’t seem to be any clues to explain why she’d wanted out of the place so badly. It was possible that something had happened at or after the wedding. They were now in the process of tracking down and interviewing every single guest but that would take time. Maybe she just hadn’t been able to handle all the attention her sister had received and realised that it was never going to happen for her. Not if she stayed where she was, anyway.

  One of the officers included something that caught Grímur’s eye. It was the sister’s wedding certificate, Abelína Kjartansdóttir. Grímur couldn’t for the life of him think why a wedding certificate would be pertinent to a murder investigation but he had learned the hard way not to ignore anything, no matter how small and unconnected it seemed. In a case with virtually no leads apart from a crazy man in a hospital
bed it would be unwise to dismiss anything and his instructions to ‘bring me copies of absolutely everything’ had been unequivocal.

  He ran his eyes over the certificate. There wasn’t all that much in the way of information on it. The names and signatures of the couple getting married, the minister who had presided over the ceremony, and the witnesses, all no doubt friends of the bride and groom. The officer who copied the certificate had ringed the name of one of the witnesses with a black pen and made a small note next to it - ‘Also disappeared after the wedding but now back in Reykjavík, as of December 23rd.’ The name of the witness was Viveca Thorgeirsdóttir and the address was in the city centre not far from Leifsgata. Her name was certainly interesting. Viveca Thorgeirsdóttir; it was definitely worth checking out.

  If her father was the same Thorgeir as Gunnar Atli’s doctor it was too much of a coincidence to ignore. Even if he wasn’t, it was still something. But not much. Considering the lack of any other real leads they had to go on, it was worth following up. He grabbed his keys.

  The house was on the expensive-looking side of things. An old two-storey wooden home with a large double-garage attached. The garage door was open and there were empty spaces for two cars. It was probably safe to assume that they were out somewhere but he decided it was worth a try anyway now that he was there. When he rang the doorbell a thin, very pretty blonde girl in her twenties answered the door and asked what he wanted.

  ‘Are you Viveca?’

  She smiled at him in a way that suggested she was bored and his unexpected appearance at her front door was just the distraction she’d been looking for.

  ‘I am, and who might you be?’

  ‘My name is Grímur, I’m a police officer. Are either of your parents home?’

  ‘No. Dad’s been called in to work and Mum’s, I don’t know, out I guess.’

  ‘Okay, I’d like to ask you some questions. I believe you were at a wedding in Leirubakki about six months ago. Is that correct?’

  ‘Yeah, how did you know?’

  ‘Do you remember if your friend Abelína had a sister? Or rather, did you meet her sister?’

  ‘Yeah, I did. She introduced herself right as I was leaving. She was pretty wasted by then. She didn’t get herself in any trouble did she?’

  ‘She was found dead this morning, you may have seen it on the news.’

  ‘That was her?’

  ‘That was her.’

  ‘Oh my God.’

  ‘Did you have any contact with her after the wedding? See her again, talk to her on the phone, maybe?’

  ‘She said she was thinking about moving to Reykjavík and that she wanted to catch up when she got here so she’d at least know someone.’

  ‘And did you?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Catch up with her?

  ‘No, she called here to see me not long after the wedding but by then I’d had a fight with Dad and wasn’t around. I took off with my boyfriend to Akureyri for a few months. Sometimes you just have to get away, you know?’

  ‘So your parents met her while you were away?’

  ‘Mum did, I don’t know about Dad.’

  ‘I’d like to talk to both of them, are they expected home soon?’

  ‘To be honest I don’t really know. Mum’s at a friend’s place I think. She’ll be drunk and probably won’t be back for a while. And Dad’s at work, he’s a psychiatrist. He was called into work on his day off to deal with some loony.’

  Grímur had never been much of a believer in coincidences.

  #11

  What Adolfína told him hadn’t come as too much of a surprise. Kjartan’d had a bad feeling all along that Gunnar Atli would play on his psychiatric history to avoid spending any time in prison and now his suspicions had been confirmed. With his prior psychiatric record he stood a good chance of being taken seriously as a genuine nutcase, even if all he’d done was beat himself up in the back of a police van.

  That could not be allowed to happen.

  In the middle of winter Kleppspítali was at its most beautiful and serene. Stands of naked Icelandic birch graced the grounds along with some of the city’s most luxurious fir trees. The red corrugated iron roof was almost completely covered with white powder matching the ivory carpet that lay all around the majestic old building.

  Rather than drive into the car park Kjartan parked some distance away and walked. Lilja Skaftadóttir greeted him at the front door where she stood alongside what had to be one of the orderlies or security personnel. Lilja was in her mid-twenties, blond and chirpy-looking while the guy with her was the best part of 6’7” and looked like he was eyeing Kjartan up for lunch.

  ‘Hi there,’ Lilja chirruped.

  The red-headed behemoth smoking a cigarette beside her nodded to acknowledge he’d seen Kjartan but nothing more. Kjartan pulled out a notebook and pretended to check a few details in it before addressing Lilja.

  ‘I understand you had a man by the name of Gunnar Atli Davíðsson admitted here today,’ he said. ‘I was wondering if we might have a talk about him if that’s all right with you. It won’t take long.’

  ‘We’re not supposed to discuss patients with members of the public, sorry,’ Lilja stated.

  ‘Of course. It’s just that his being here is something the public deserve to know about, don’t you think? I was wondering if there was someone here I could get a statement from regarding his admission, considering he’s a suspect in a murder case. That’s something I’m sure our readers would be interested in.’

  Kjartan smiled but it was the smile of a man determined to be a pain in the arse rather than a genuine attempt to be pleasant. Lilja and the orderly looked at each other as if they were waiting for one another to come up with a solution then Lilja got up on her toes and whispered something in her colleague’s ear. He thought about what she said for a second and then nodded before turning on his heels and disappearing into the building. Lilja stared hard at the cigarette in her hand and seemed to be doing a great deal of thinking about something.

  ‘We’re going to see if anyone feels like talking to you,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you, I appreciate it.’

  Lilja was obviously toying with the idea of saying more but seemed to be undecided on whether to speak her mind or not. She sucked on her cigarette instead and pulled her cardigan a little tighter around her shoulders.

  ‘He’s the guy who killed that girl this morning, isn’t he? We’re not allowed to watch television in here but my friends have been messaging me, saying that he’s the one they’re all talking about on the news today,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, he is. That’s why I want to speak to someone for a comment about why he’s here. Some people think he should be locked up someplace more secure. That he’s just faking his condition to avoid spending time in prison.’

  ‘I don’t know anything about that,’ she said.

  The cheerfulness had left her voice though and been replaced with something more thoughtful and considered. As she stubbed out her cigarette a man appeared beside her at the door and gently placed his hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Is this the gentleman, Lilja?’

  ‘Yes, this is him,’ she said and instantly disappeared behind him back into the building.

  ‘My name is Thorgeir, how may I help you?’

  ‘I was wondering if you’d like to make a comment on the presence of Gunnar Atli Davíðsson at your facility.’

  ‘If you’re looking for me to discuss the details of a patient here you should know that I can’t do that.’

  ‘Okay, would it be safe to assume that there is a patient here who was brought in today because he is considered to be a danger to himself?’

  Kjartan didn’t wait for an answer he knew wasn’t coming. Thorgeir continued to stand in front of him with his arms crossed looking both condescending and vaguely amused at the same time.

  ‘Don’t you think he would be better suited to a more secure facility where he could be properly detai
ned in the interest of public safety since it is in fact them and not himself that he is a threat to?’

  This time there was a real smile from Thorgeir.

  ‘May I ask what your name is and which media source it is you represent?’

  ‘My name is Kjartan Jónsson and I represent myself and my family. I represent Ísabella Kjartansdóttir because no one else is going to if I don’t. She died at the hands of this maniac and all I see now is people concerning themselves with his wellbeing.’

  Kjartan took a quick couple of steps towards Thorgeir but stopped just short of making any physical contact with him.

  ‘What I want to know,’ Kjartan raised a finger and held it just in front of Thorgeir’s face, trembling with the self-control needed to hold himself back from attacking him. ‘Is who’s worried about what happened to her?’

  Thorgeir took a full step back from Kjartan and took a moment to formulate his reply. He looked around the grounds to see if anyone else may have heard Kjartan’s outburst.

  ‘I strongly suggest you go home, Kjartan, before someone takes an idea to call the police. You’re not doing anyone any good by coming here, you need to grieve for your loss instead of wasting precious time venting your anger on strangers. Behaving this way isn’t going to help you or your family.’

  ‘If you help him to stay here instead of going to prison where he belongs, I’ll be back.’

  Thorgeir took a step out of the doorway towards Kjartan and stared down his nose at him.

  ‘You’re not threatening me are you?’

  Thorgeir turned his head slightly and whispered something to someone waiting behind him who Kjartan couldn’t quite see.

  ‘I really think it is time for you to go now.’

  ‘Make sure he’s out of here as soon as possible or else he’s going to have even more to worry about than he does right now. You can tell him that I know what he’s playing at and that I know he can’t hide here forever. Sooner or later he’s going to be out and I’ll be waiting for him. Someone needs to be held accountable for what happened to Bella and right now he’s the only one who can answer my questions about what happened to her. Either he admits what he did or he tells us who killed her.’