‘Thanks for a nice evening,’ she said, finishing her ice cream.
‘Thank you,’ he replied.
She moved closer and realising that she was going to kiss him, he leaned in towards her. Her lips were still cold from the ice cream. her tongue cool, with a lingering taste of sugar.
He was unable to get her out of his head and longed to meet her but could not see her anywhere in the school corridors. He had not been paying proper attention but vaguely remembered talk of a trip with her parents, which probably explained her absence. He tried to ring her but nobody answered, and twice he drove to her house in the evening and saw that all the lights were off. He had never before felt so peculiar, so tense, so tingling with anticipation, had never experienced such yearning.
A few days later he and Patrekur arranged to meet at a club in the city centre. When he arrived he found the place heaving and the noise level almost unbearable. Patrekur shouted in his ear that he had met an amazing girl who went to their school, and called her over to meet his friend. She appeared out of the throng.
It was Súsanna, the girl who had dominated his every thought since that evening.
‘Hi,’ she shouted over the din, adding in surprise: ‘Do you two know each other?’
‘Yes,’ shouted Patrekur. ‘Do you know Siggi?’
Sigurdur Óli looked uncomprehendingly at the pair of them.
‘We went to the cinema the other day,’ she shouted. ‘To a really crap film.’ She laughed. ‘Didn’t you think so?’
‘Are you … are you two …?’
Sigurdur Óli stumbled over the words, the deafening noise drowning out his whisper and before he knew it the two of them had disappeared into the crowd.
52
He thought it safe to assume that just before midday their children would be at school and she would be alone at home. Rather than ringing ahead, he had taken the precaution of calling her workplace, where he learned that Súsanna had reported in sick and had not been seen for several days. He considered calling Patrekur and including him in the plan but abandoned the idea in the end. This was her affair and there was no need to mix Patrekur up in it until after he had spoken to her. The possibility of sending someone else to bring her in had occurred to him, but he resolved to do it himself. Other people would take over the case once they reached Hverfisgata.
When the time came, he drove to his friend’s house. Patrekur and Súsanna lived in an attractive detached house in the new suburb of Grafarholt. They had taken out a large mortgage, part of it as a foreign-currency loan, but Patrekur had assured him that they were perfectly able to afford it, though the monthly payments were well over a hundred thousand kronur. They had purchased their two cars on credit as well.
She answered the door herself, wearing jeans and a pretty, pale blue shirt, and did not seem surprised to see him, though her attempt at a smile was perfunctory and awkward. In spite of everything, he had always liked Súsanna: she was fun, sensible, clear-headed, and a good match for Patrekur. To his eyes, she had not aged at all, with her thick, fair hair and dark eyes, her determined expression and straightforward manner. As far as he knew, she and Patrekur had always had a good life together; at least he had never heard otherwise from his friend until Patrekur admitted to sleeping with Lína.
‘You probably know why I’m here,’ he said as she invited him in, and kissed her on the cheek. They always greeted each other this way.
‘Have you spoken to Patrekur?’ she asked.
‘No.’
‘I thought he might be with you,’ said Súsanna.
‘Would you have preferred that?’ asked Sigurdur Óli.
‘No, probably not.’
‘Could we sit down?’
‘Of course, come in.’
They sat down in the living room. It faced west and offered a fine view of the city. Sigurdur Óli had not slept all night.
‘I’ve just been talking to a man called Hördur or Höddi, who says he’s known you since primary school,’ he began. ‘Right now he’s in custody at Litla-Hraun, charged as an accessory to the unlawful killing of a woman called Lína.’
‘I know him,’ replied Súsanna.
‘He told me you’d always got on well. He didn’t go into details about your relationship at school but said you two always had a laugh when you met up at reunions.’
‘That’s right.’
‘He said you’d once come to him for a favour in connection with a friend of yours, or with her daughter, rather.’
‘Perhaps it would be better if Patrekur was here,’ she said.
‘Of course,’ said Sigurdur Óli. ‘We can call him. I’m in no hurry. There’s no need to rush this.’
‘You must think I …’
‘I don’t think anything, Súsanna.’
She looked out of the window.
‘It was three years ago,’ she said at last. ‘My friend was in trouble. She had a daughter at sixth-form college, who kept being threatened by a gang and forced to give them money that she didn’t owe them. The girl was so afraid of them that she wanted to drop out of school, so I asked Höddi if there was anything he could do. I knew he took on various, well, jobs like that — I knew he sometimes called in debts. He stepped in and after that the girl was left alone. My friend was extremely grateful. But I never asked Höddi what he did.’
‘So he helped you out,’ Sigurdur Óli said.
‘Yes, or rather my friend.’
‘Have you met him since? Or heard from him at all?’
Súsanna hesitated.
‘Have you asked him for another favour?’
She did not answer.
‘I’ve just come from him,’ Sigurdur Óli said. ‘He said to say hello and that I was to tell you he had kept his mouth shut for as long as he could. He claimed that you got in touch with him.’
‘You must think I’m insane,’ said Súsanna after a long pause.
‘I think you’ve made a mistake,’ said Sigurdur Óli. ‘Did you get in touch with him?’
‘Yes,’ said Súsanna. ‘When those people started threatening my sister it occurred to me that Höddi could have a word with them.’
‘And attack Lína?’
‘No, just talk to her.’
‘Did you know he would beat her up?’
‘No.’
‘So you didn’t ask him to?’
Súsanna could sit still no longer. Getting up, she walked over to the picture window and stared blankly out over the city, then wiped her eyes on her shirtsleeve.
‘Did you ask him to hit Lína?’
‘I asked him to get them off our backs. I didn’t go into any specifics. She was blackmailing my sister. She slept with Patrekur — I thought she was going to take him away from me. I just wanted to get them off our backs.’
‘Súsanna, your sister is involved in the sort of sex that carries the risk of running into people like Lína. And it was Patrekur who fell for her. You can hardly blame her for that.’
‘She wasn’t supposed to die,’ said Súsanna. Tears were pricking at her eyes.
He saw that she was fighting a losing battle to stop herself breaking down.
‘I didn’t ask them to do that. I was, I was so angry. With Patrekur of course, but with her too. She was destroying us — she was going to put the photos on the Internet.’
‘Was it your sister’s idea?’ asked Sigurdur Óli.
Súsanna took a deep breath. She was holding back the sobs now.
‘Are you trying to protect her?’ asked Sigurdur Óli.
‘She knew about Höddi too — about what he did for my friend. She asked if I could talk to him, persuade him to retrieve the photos since she couldn’t do it herself. Höddi has always been very kind and sweet and nice to me and the rest of my class, so I’ve tried to ignore what he does, or what people say he does. I didn’t want to know.’
‘So she’s involved too?’
‘Yes.’
‘The man Höddi sent to do the job claim
ed that he’d received veiled instructions to give Lína a beating; to retrieve the pictures and give her something to remember him by. In the event, he hit her too hard. Do you think Höddi got the message wrong?’
‘I don’t know. I should never have talked to him. You can’t imagine how terrible I’ve been feeling.’
‘No, I don’t suppose I can.’
‘What am I to do? What can I do? My life is over. And my sister’s too. You have to help us. And all because of those shits!’
Sigurdur Óli said nothing. He had been devastated about losing Súsanna, though he had never admitted it, either to her or to his friend. Only once had the subject of their cinema date come up in conversation after she and Patrekur had started going out. This was several weeks afterwards, during a party at Patrekur’s house, when Súsanna had told him that she had not been aware that he and Patrekur were friends. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he replied. ‘Is everything OK between us, then?’ she asked. He nodded. ‘Forget it,’ he said.
‘I can’t give you any advice, Súsanna,’ he said now. ‘Except for the obvious: don’t try to kid yourself that the situation is better than it is, either for you or for Patrekur or Höddi or Lína. That’s the way it was and is and always will be. The sooner you face up to that, the better.’
‘It was an accident. She wasn’t supposed to die. She was never supposed to go and die.’
Neither of them spoke. Súsanna looked out of the window at the city stretching out to the sea.
‘You had your reasons,’ said Sigurdur Óli finally.
‘Which don’t impress you.’
‘Some are easier to understand than others. The other day I was sent some old film footage of a boy of maybe ten or twelve who’s suffered all his life. The footage only lasts around twelve seconds but it says it all, his whole life in a nutshell: how he suffered neglect and violent abuse, and maybe it provides all the explanations necessary for why he ended up the way he did and what he has turned into, thirty years later.’
Sigurdur Óli stood up.
‘I’ve always avoided joining in with the chorus of hand-wringers, but the fact is that you can’t help being affected by horror stories like that. I would understand if he wanted revenge …’
‘But not me?’ said Súsanna.
At that moment the door opened and Patrekur walked in. He had recognised Sigurdur Óli’s car in the drive and could not hide his anxiety.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked. Immediately detecting that something was wrong, he tried to put his arms round Súsanna but she would not let him and backed away, holding up her hands as if to prevent him from touching her.
‘What?’ asked Patrekur.
‘Súsanna?’ said Sigurdur Óli.
She started to cry.
‘Súsanna knows — ’
‘I’ll do it, let me do it,’ she interrupted.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll wait outside.’
A little over an hour later he accompanied them both to the police station on Hverfisgata. Patrekur was allowed no further than the entrance, where they said their goodbyes. He had not fully grasped the sequence of events yet and it seemed as if he would never be able to tear himself away from his wife.
Sigurdur Óli tracked down Finnur and, after informing him of the latest developments, formally resigned from the investigation. He appreciated the fact that Finnur spared him any reprimand. He learned that Alain Sörensen had been arrested in Luxembourg on suspicion of money laundering and that the three Icelandic bankers would be critical witnesses in the case against him.
Given the way the two cases were linked, Sigurdur Óli could have no further involvement with the investigation into Thorfinnur’s death, but before going home he decided to have one more conversation with Sverrir, who was waiting to be transferred from his cell at Hverfisgata into custody at Litla-Hraun.
‘Why did you go to Snaefellsnes?’ he asked once the steel door had closed behind him.
Sverrir was sitting on the blue mattress. After a sleepless night, he had spent the morning with his lawyer. The formal interview process would begin that afternoon, at Litla-Hraun.
‘Was it for the sole purpose of getting rid of Thorfinnur?’
Sverrir did not answer. He was sitting with his back to the wall, head sunk on his chest.
‘Or was it to get him back on side?’
Sverrir still did not speak.
‘Thorfinnur had found out the source of the money you were laundering for Sörensen. He was angry because he didn’t want any part in porn, least of all child porn. Though you were OK with it. Arnar and Knútur don’t seem to have had any opinion, but Thorfinnur wanted to quit. And that wasn’t all; he wanted to report what was going on, and your part in it, to the authorities. He wanted to come clean, to absolve himself of what you’d got him mixed up in and try to make a new start.’
Sverrir was as silent as the grave.
‘Then you had an idea about how to get rid of him. You’d take a short trip out of town — after all, everyone knows that things can go wrong in the wilderness, what with the landscape and climate being so fraught with danger. You wanted Arnar and Knútur to come along to allay any suspicion. It was supposed to look like a working holiday. I don’t know what part they played in Thorfinnur’s death but perhaps you could enlighten me? Then at the last minute they decided to climb the glacier, or was that planned as well?
‘No doubt you and Thorfinnur quarrelled,’ continued Sigurdur Óli. ‘You had all tried to talk him round but Thorfinnur wouldn’t budge. He’d made millions, tens of millions, but he wanted to give it all back. You told him he’d bring the rest of you down with him. You told him you could sort things out, take over his share of the loan and cover his tracks. It would have been possible, but Thorfinnur didn’t want that, he wanted to atone for the crime; he just couldn’t ignore where the money came from.’
Sverrir straightened up and sat forward on the bed.
‘I had no part in Thorfinnur’s death,’ he said at last. ‘What you say about the money is true. I don’t know what Arnar and Knútur have told you but I can hardly deny having taken part in money laundering with them and Alain Sörensen. I’m prepared to take responsibility for that. But I had no part in Thorfinnur’s death. We had an argument, you’re right. We quarrelled about money, about our secret accounts and the origin of the funds. He couldn’t ignore how the money was made. I told him it didn’t matter but that if he wanted to quit, we’d all quit. But it wasn’t enough; he wanted to give the money back, open the accounts and tell the police the whole story. The rest of us had agreed to cut our ties to Sörensen; we were even prepared to give back the money; we were ready to do almost everything Thorfinnur asked but we couldn’t agree to make the matter public the way he wanted.’
Sverrir stood up and took a deep breath.
‘That’s what we quarrelled about,’ he said. ‘That was the only thing we wouldn’t do. We’d agreed to the rest.’
‘So you pushed him over a cliff?’
‘I left him behind,’ said Sverrir. ‘We had a row about the accounts and about Sörensen. He wouldn’t give an inch, so I told him he could go to hell and left him on his own while I went to fetch the car. I was angry.’
‘Before, you only said you’d gone to fetch the car. You said nothing about a row.’
‘Well, I admit it now,’ said Sverrir. ‘You seem to know all about the accounts anyway. I lost my temper and left him. It’s up to you whether you believe me or not but that’s the truth. I blame myself for what happened to him — I haven’t had a moment’s peace since then. I was indirectly responsible for his death — I admit that — by leaving him, but it wasn’t murder. I deny that; I deny that categorically. I always meant to go back for him, but then he went and got himself killed.’
Sigurdur Óli studied Sverrir and Sverrir avoided his gaze, standing there awkwardly, staring at the four walls that hemmed him in and now seemed to be pressing in from all sides.
‘Did he
have any suspicion of what you intended to do?’ asked Sigurdur Óli. ‘Towards the end?’
‘Didn’t you hear what I said? I wasn’t there.’
‘Did he die the moment he hit the rocks? Or did he live a little while longer?’ Sigurdur Óli continued mercilessly.
‘I didn’t touch him,’ protested Sverrir.
‘Did you hear his screams as he fell?’
‘I’m not answering that. It’s not worthy of an answer.’
‘It may not be easy to prove it but the fact is that you organised the trip, you took Thorfinnur with you, you came back alone, and you had a huge amount to lose. I doubt you’ll get away with this.’
Sigurdur Óli turned and knocked on the steel door for someone to open it.
‘I didn’t kill him,’ said Sverrir.
‘I think you’re still in denial,’ said Sigurdur Óli. ‘I think the judges will take Thorfinnur’s side. I believe you pushed him; I believe you saw an opportunity to get rid of him. It’s conceivable that you planned it before you went to Snaefellsnes — you and the others. Or possibly it was just a moment of madness. It makes no difference. But you pushed him over the edge.’
There was a slight squeak as the door opened and Sigurdur Óli stepped out into the corridor, thanked the guard, then locked the door painstakingly behind him. Sverrir hammered on the inside and started to shout.
‘Speak to me! Speak to me!’
There was a hatch in the door. Sigurdur Óli opened it and they eyed each other through the hole. Sverrir was scarlet in the face.
‘It was an accident,’ he said.
Sigurdur Óli merely looked at him.
‘It was an accident!’ Sverrir repeated, more emphatically. ‘An accident!’
Sigurdur Óli closed the hatch again and walked away, affecting not to hear when Sverrir started banging and kicking the door and yelling from the depths of his cell that it had been an accident, that he had had nothing to do with Thorfinnur’s death.
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