Thorson felt sorry for the girl.
‘Don’t tell me you’ve been on the ships! Go on, answer me! Are you completely off your rocker? Are you a bloody navy whore now?’
Thorson didn’t hear a reply, just a light crack as if the girl had been slapped in the face.
‘Why couldn’t you go to Vera’s, you little tart? She’s been asking for you all day. Why couldn’t you go round to hers like I told you?’
A moment later there was a knock at the door and the Canadian policeman was standing on the step again, handsome but a little too sensitive-looking. The woman couldn’t work out what it was about him that she found so irritating.
‘Yes, what, are you still there?’ she barked at him. ‘What do you want?’
‘Excuse me, did you say Vera?’
30
It took Flóvent quite a while to come to his senses. His head ached, especially at his temple; why, he didn’t know. He had a hazy recollection of following Brynhildur Hólm from the hospital down to the town centre, of climbing a steep staircase and entering a doctor’s surgery. Putting a hand to his head, he encountered something sticky in his hair and on his clothes too. He was lying on his side on a hard floor, enveloped in darkness, though the window let in a bit of light from the street outside. He felt both sick and hungry at the same time, and couldn’t for the life of him work out where he was.
He lay there for a while, wondering dully how he had come to be lying on the floor.
Eventually, Flóvent eased himself into a sitting position, feeling groggy and unbelievably tired. Peering around in the gloom he saw the outlines of an examination table and a filing cabinet, a desk and a chair, and realised that he must still be in the doctor’s surgery. He struggled to his feet and immediately doubled up, coughing and retching. He leant against the examination table for support and happened to glance over into the corner where the wardrobe was standing open. It all came flooding back: how the door had been flung open and a figure had leapt out and hit him over the head. He ran a hand gently over his sore skull, realising, as he did so, that the sticky stuff was blood.
‘He hates his father.’
Flóvent spun round, and without the support of the examination table almost fell flat on the floor again. Straining his eyes in the direction of the waiting room, he saw, as if through a mist, a woman rising from a chair and coming towards him. He could barely make out her face in the gloom but knew at once who it must be.
‘Brynhildur? Brynhildur Hólm?’
‘You must have followed me. I didn’t notice until too late that I’d led you here.’
‘It wasn’t hard to follow you … ma’am. Then I remembered that Rudolf Lunden used to have a surgery on this street.’
‘There’s no need to call me “ma’am”, is there? We heard you coming up the stairs but didn’t think you’d break in. You were supposed to chase me out of the back door and down the fire escape, but you can’t have seen me. I had no idea he was going to attack you like that. He thinks he’s in danger. But you should be safe now.’
‘Felix?’
‘He was gone by the time I came back,’ said the woman, stepping out of the shadows into the faint light. She spoke in a weary monotone; her face was drawn. She still had on the long black coat and stout black lace-up shoes that she had been wearing earlier.
‘Where is he?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You’re lying,’ said Flóvent, trying to shake off his wooziness.
‘You don’t have to believe me if you don’t want to. But I am worried about him. Felix is in a bad way. He’s frightened and confused, says he can’t trust anyone.’
‘Why should I believe a word you say?’
‘Have it your way. I thought I’d try talking to you, seeing as you’re here. Felix should never have attacked you. I want you to know that I condemn that sort of violence. I knew you wouldn’t have any trouble catching … What I mean is I have no interest in playing cat and mouse, so we might as well talk now. Are you all right? How are you feeling?’
‘You’re an accessory to his crime,’ said Flóvent. ‘But then you know that.’
‘Accessory?’
‘He shot Eyvindur.’
‘No, he didn’t. He says he didn’t.’
‘And you believe him?’
‘Yes, I do. I see no reason to doubt Felix. I can understand that others might, but I don’t.’
‘If he’s innocent, why doesn’t he turn himself in? Why play the fugitive? He must be guilty of the murder. It’s the only reasonable explanation.’
‘He refuses to say a word. All I can think of is that something’s happened that he’d rather his father didn’t know about. Felix thinks I’ll go straight to him with the story. Their relationship’s a little tricky.’
Flóvent pointed at the black bag. ‘You’ve been taking care of him.’
‘I didn’t know what else to do. He asked for help. I couldn’t turn my back on him. Enough people have done that already.’
‘Forgive me if I don’t believe a word you say.’
‘Look, he rang scared out of his wits, and begged me to help him. He said he had nowhere else to turn. Something dreadful had happened. He wouldn’t confide in me at first, but in the end he told me about the body in his flat. I’ve tried to get him to explain what it is he’s afraid of but he refuses. Says the less I know, the better it’ll be for me. I don’t understand what he means but he’s been talking that way ever since the night Eyvindur was killed.’
‘I know they were at school together and used to be friends,’ said Flóvent. ‘Was that why he killed Eyvindur? Did it have something to do with the past?’
Brynhildur Hólm regarded Flóvent for a moment without speaking, then said patiently: ‘Listen to me: he says he didn’t shoot Eyvindur.’
‘Yes, you’ve already told me that.’
‘Of course I urged him to talk to the police. I’ve been begging him to do that ever since he went into hiding. But he says it’s not safe. He needs to wait. I don’t know what he’s waiting for. I can’t get any sense out of him.’
Brynhildur hadn’t heard from Felix for several months, then late one evening the ringing of the phone shattered the silence in the pebble-dash house. Rudolf had gone to bed. She was the only one awake, and she knew at once that something serious had happened to him. Felix was in such a state he could hardly string a sentence together. Once she had managed to calm him down a little, he had started babbling something about the basement flat he rented. That he’d arrived home to find Eyvindur lying on the floor in a pool of blood. Felix lost his head, had a sort of nervous breakdown – he didn’t know how else to describe it. He was convinced the police wouldn’t believe him; they’d arrest him and something would happen to him while he was in custody. He implored her not to tell his father what had happened until he himself could find out what was going on. Brynhildur believed what he said, so when Felix begged her to meet him, she immediately thought of the old surgery. She knew where the keys were kept and told him to meet her outside the building. He’d been holed up there ever since. She had tried to make him understand that things couldn’t go on like this; the police would come looking for him, and hiding from them would make things harder for him in the long run. When the police mistakenly thought he was the man who had been shot, Felix was relieved: it would give him a breathing space to consider his options. But his options had turned out to be limited. Brynhildur didn’t believe he had been in contact with anyone else or dared to leave the surgery at all.
‘You can decide whether or not you believe me,’ she said, once she had finished her tale, ‘but I don’t think Felix has killed anyone. I don’t think he could, don’t believe he’s capable of it.’
‘Who does he think shot Eyvindur, then?’
‘Felix says he doesn’t know.’
‘A soldier?’
‘Well, of course Felix was upset and fled the scene straight away, but he got the impression that whoever did it
had acted with ruthless efficiency, like a soldier or a trained assassin. The killer hadn’t hesitated. That’s why he’s inclined to believe it was a foreigner rather than an Icelander, though he says he can’t be sure.’
‘Why’s he scared that something will happen to him?’ asked Flóvent. ‘What’s he frightened of?’
‘Isn’t it obvious?’
‘No.’
‘Felix is convinced that Eyvindur was killed by mistake. He’s sure that he himself was the target and that the people who want him dead are still after him. That’s the whole point. That’s the problem. They’re still after him and he believes they want him dead.’
31
Brynhildur had kept her promise not to tell anyone where Felix was hiding, not even his father. She had meant to tell Rudolf before he heard the news from the police, but she didn’t get a chance. Only after Flóvent’s visit had she come clean. She admitted that she was sheltering Felix at the old surgery and explained why his son wouldn’t go to the authorities. Rudolf was absolutely livid that she had failed to tell him straight away and insisted that Felix should turn himself in.
The whole episode had proved a great strain on the doctor, who had a weak heart, and being forcibly dragged in for questioning by the police had been the final straw. That night he’d developed pains in his chest and had been rushed to hospital. When Flóvent followed Brynhildur earlier she had been on her way to tell Felix that things couldn’t go on like this.
‘You expect me to believe that?’ said Flóvent.
‘Yes, I’m telling you the truth.’
‘What about Felix? Has it not occurred to you that Felix might have fabricated the whole story to con you into helping him? That it’s very gullible of you to swallow this stuff about him being the victim?’
‘Of course it has. And I accused him of exactly that. Said I found his story preposterous. I threatened to go to the police if he didn’t tell me what was really going on. I’ve no interest in taking the rap … as an accomplice or accessory to the crime or whatever you call it, for him or anyone else.’
Flóvent was now able to stand without leaning against the table for support. He still felt a little dizzy, though, so he dropped into the chair by the desk. Brynhildur remained where she was, her back ramrod straight, not giving an inch, as if she would stand by her word whatever the consequences.
‘Where’s Felix now?’ Flóvent asked.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘He was gone by the time I came back. I’ve no idea where to.’
Flóvent couldn’t suppress a smile. ‘It’s time to stop protecting him,’ he said.
‘I … I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt,’ she countered. ‘When he said his life was in danger. I think you would have done the same in the circumstances. A man had been shot dead in his flat and that man should have been him.’
‘Did you also believe him when he told you about the cyanide pill we found in his suitcase?’
‘Cyanide pill?’
‘So Rudolf didn’t tell you either?’
‘What cyanide pill?’
‘I informed Rudolf that we’d found a capsule in Felix’s suitcase and sent it for analysis. According to military intelligence, it’s a suicide pill, manufactured in Germany. Are you telling me that you weren’t aware of its existence? That neither of them let you into their confidence?’
Brynhildur didn’t reply.
‘What was it for?’ asked Flóvent. ‘Why was he carrying it around with him? When did he intend to take it?’
‘I don’t know anything about a pill,’ said Brynhildur after a pause. ‘Felix hasn’t told me the whole story, I do realise that. I told you – he doesn’t want to drag me into it.’
‘I wonder what else Felix has failed to tell you. What else Rudolf has decided you don’t need to know. What else you aren’t sharing with me. Why don’t you stop lying and tell me the simple truth? Where is Felix? And don’t claim you don’t know. He comes running to you as soon as anything goes wrong. You’re like … like a mother to him. Where are you hiding him now? Tell me!’
‘I don’t know where Felix is,’ said Brynhildur. ‘And I don’t know anything about a pill.’
‘German spies carry pills like that. Was Felix sending information to Germany?’
Brynhildur didn’t answer.
‘Is he just waiting to leave the country? Is that why he’s not turning himself in? Are the Germans coming to pick him up?’
‘I don’t understand what you’re talking about. Leave the country? Where would he go?’
‘To Germany?’
Brynhildur stared at Flóvent without speaking, standing quite still, her expression unreadable. He felt his strength gradually returning and pulled the school anniversary pamphlet from his pocket.
‘What’s that?’ she asked as he handed it to her.
‘Perhaps you can tell me.’
Brynhildur went over to the window and held up the picture to the light from the street. There was a long pause before she turned to look at Flóvent. ‘Where did you get this?’
‘It was among Eyvindur’s things,’ Flóvent replied. ‘Ebeneser said the photo was taken at the school. I gather he and Rudolf had a row recently about some boys. Who were these boys they were arguing about? And why are you in that picture with Felix and Eyvindur?’
‘Have you talked to Ebeneser?’
‘Yes.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Nothing. Rudolf won’t discuss it either. Eyvindur’s uncle tells me that he and Felix were boyhood friends. Yet they came from very different homes. Eyvindur’s father was … he was a vicious thug and persistent offender. His mother was an alcoholic. I wouldn’t have thought Felix would be allowed to associate with a boy from that sort of background. But all I got out of my visit to Rudolf was something about heritage. That the ancestral heritage was supposed to be here in Iceland. Do you have any idea what he meant? What he could have been referring to?’
Brynhildur was staring at the photograph.
‘Why were they quarrelling about the boys?’ asked Flóvent, returning to the attack. ‘Who were these boys?’
She raised her eyes, then handed the pamphlet back to him. Flóvent couldn’t tell what she was thinking.
‘Where did you hear that?’ she asked finally. ‘Who told you they’d quarrelled?’
‘That’s beside the point,’ said Flóvent. ‘Do you know what they were quarrelling about?’
‘You’ll have to ask them,’ said Brynhildur. ‘The picture was taken in the school grounds on the occasion of some anniversary or other. Eyvindur and Felix were at school together – as you’ve already said. But that’s all I know. It was a long time ago. One forgets so quickly.’
‘There are two other boys with them.’
‘Yes, I don’t remember their names.’
‘And the man with you and Ebeneser?’
‘I don’t recognise him. He must have been one of the teachers, I suppose.’
‘All right, let’s leave that for now. Clearly there’s something here that none of you are willing to discuss. You all turn evasive, feign ignorance.’
‘Yes, well, you can think what you like.’
‘Is that why Eyvindur’s forehead was marked with a swastika? Is it something to do with this picture?’
‘Swastika? What swastika?’
‘You didn’t know? Felix – or the unknown killer, if he’s to be believed – dipped a finger in Eyvindur’s blood and drew a swastika on his forehead. Can you imagine why? Or what it’s supposed to mean?’
Brynhildur was visibly shocked. ‘That’s horrible. I didn’t know.’
‘Didn’t Felix tell you? I wouldn’t have thought he’d forget a detail like that.’
‘Perhaps he didn’t notice,’ said Brynhildur. ‘Perhaps he couldn’t bring himself to take a closer look at the body. I don’t know. He didn’t say a word about it.’
‘Why would someone draw a swastika on Eyvindur’s forehead? What mes
sage were they trying to send?’
‘I simply don’t believe that Felix did it,’ said Brynhildur staunchly.
‘The swastika must be linked to Nazism, surely?’
‘I don’t know … It would appear so.’
‘Tell me about Hans Lunden.’
‘Hans?’
‘Yes, Dr Hans Lunden. How do you know each other? What business did you both have with Werner Gerlach at the consulate shortly before the war?’
‘Business? I went there once – I was invited to dinner. But I wasn’t a regular guest. Hans Lunden is Rudolf’s brother. It was, well, before the war and … Where did you get this information, if I might ask?’
‘What brought Hans Lunden to Iceland? What business did you both have at the consulate?’
‘He came to see his brother as far as I’m aware. Rudolf would know more about that than I would. You should ask him. The dinner was given in Hans’s honour. He’s a well-known physician in Germany. Or scientist, rather. I was invited to accompany them.’
‘Tell me about you and Rudolf.’
‘What is there to tell?’
‘What’s the nature of your relationship?’
‘We … we get on well. If you’re implying that our relationship goes beyond that of a housekeeper and employer, you’re mistaken.’
‘In other words, you simply work for him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Not for anyone else?’
‘No. Honestly, what is this all about? I don’t appreciate the tenor of these questions. I don’t appreciate it at all.’
‘What did you mean when you said that Felix hated his father?’ asked Flóvent, changing tack. He got the impression that he wasn’t going to get much more out of her tonight. He would have to take Brynhildur into custody for further questioning.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Earlier, when I’d just recovered my senses, you said he hated his father. I presume you meant Felix?’
‘Their relationship has been … strained … for a long time,’ said Brynhildur. ‘I think strained is the right word.’
‘Why is that?’
‘You’ll have to ask them,’ said Brynhildur evasively.
The Shadow Killer Page 16
