‘We’ve heard that excuse as well,’ said Flóvent. ‘Anything to deflect the blame. Just as you shirked all the blame over what happened to Rikki.’
‘Excuse? What are you talking about?’ asked Felix.
‘We’ve heard your tales about spying. That your time as a salesman was just a cover. That you sent the Germans regular reports about the military build-up here. Reports on shipping. The number of troops. The locations of military facilities around the country. The developments in Hvalfjördur. We heard that your uncle, Hans Lunden, put you in touch with the German secret service. That you’re working for them.’
‘Did you hear that from Brynhildur as well?’ asked Felix. ‘So she believes me, then?’
Flóvent shook his head. ‘I think she’s trying to help you,’ he said. ‘She told us you’d found out that you were no more than a pawn. An errand boy. But she also knows just how manipulative you are. She doesn’t know what to think any more. And if Brynhildur doesn’t believe everything you say, why on earth should we?’
At that moment they heard a sound from the hall, as if someone was trying, with great difficulty, to shift a heavy object across the floor. Felix’s face remained impassive, but Flóvent went out to investigate. He got a shock when, through the darkness, he made out a man in a thick dressing gown dragging himself painfully towards the study on a pair of crutches. It was Rudolf Lunden.
51
Rudolf warded Flóvent off when he tried to lend a helping hand. He was astounded to see the policeman in his house and demanded to know what he was doing there. Flóvent said he was talking to his son. Rudolf heaved himself forward on his crutches.
‘What did you say?’
‘Your son, Felix. He’s in your study. He came here to speak to you.’
Rudolf stared at him blankly as if he couldn’t take in what he was saying. Then he waved Flóvent away again and struggled into his study, subjecting his son to a look of such fury that his eyes seemed to shoot sparks. Hobbling to the wheelchair, he collapsed into it, threw down his crutches and turned the chair to face Felix who stood motionless behind his father’s desk.
‘What are you doing here?’ Rudolf asked, his voice thick with rage. ‘What the devil do you want?’
‘I came to see you,’ said Felix steadily, as if he were accustomed to dealing with his father’s temper and no longer let it upset him. ‘I wanted to tell you –’
‘No, I have nothing to say to you,’ interrupted Rudolf. ‘Nothing! Just go with him,’ he ordered, jerking his head towards Flóvent. ‘Go with him and face your charges and try to act like a man for once.’
‘I wanted to tell you that I didn’t kill Eyvindur,’ said Felix. ‘It wasn’t me. I wanted you to know. To hear it from me.’
‘There is no point in listening to a word you say. There has never been any point. Get out of here. Both of you – get out of here this instant!’
Rudolf made to propel his chair back out into the hall, but Felix came round the desk and blocked his way. Flóvent hung back, taking no part in their quarrel. His eye fell on a telephone, and he began to edge his way towards it with the idea of ringing for assistance. Felix was focused on his father. He took hold of the arms of the wheelchair and shook it so hard he almost lifted it off the floor.
‘Listen to me!’ he yelled. ‘For once in your life, listen to me. Then it’s over.’
Rudolf’s jaw dropped. He gaped at his son, stunned.
‘I haven’t killed anyone,’ said Felix. ‘It’s important for me that you know that. They’ll try to pin it on me, and they’ll tell all kinds of lies about me, but I wasn’t the one who shot Eyvindur. I want you to know that.’
Rudolf was glowering up at Felix now, the gleam of fury back in his eyes. ‘Get out!’ he shouted.
Felix was still gripping the arms of the chair, towering over his father.
‘The man who shot Eyvindur was sent by the intelligence department at the Leper Hospital. He was sent by the occupation force. I’m convinced of that. He was meant to kill me. That’s obvious. He’s after me because I went too far. I know it’s my fault – I made a mistake and brought down an assassin on my head.’
Felix had succeeded in rendering his father speechless.
‘I’ve been sending the Germans information ever since I came home from Denmark. I had to do it. When Hans suggested it … I didn’t think twice. And Uncle Hans’s recommendation was all it took. They trusted me implicitly. They provided me with a secret code and a small radio transmitter that they’d hidden here before the war. I sent them pretty low-level stuff about the occupying army’s movements. They advised me to become a salesman, that way I could travel round the country, gathering information, without rousing suspicion. One evening, after I sent them a report, there was a message waiting for me at home. An unmarked message that someone had pushed through my door. I was told to go to a certain spot at a pre-arranged time and there would be a message waiting for me there. I did as I was told and found an envelope. It contained a typewritten sheet about the construction of a port for large ships in Hvalfjördur and the laying of a submarine barrier across the fjord. All very simple. All very clear. I passed on the information.
‘I was supposed to return to this same spot regularly and check if there were any new messages from my contact. Sometimes there was an envelope, sometimes nothing. I grew curious. I started watching the place in the hope of seeing who dropped off the messages. Of course, I didn’t tell anyone. It was a private initiative. And one day I saw him and shadowed him back to where he worked. He went to the Leper Hospital, which could only mean one thing: British intelligence.’
‘So he was working for the British?’ asked Flóvent.
‘I assumed either the Germans had planted him there or he’d decided to go over to the Nazis.’ Felix had relaxed his hold on the wheelchair. ‘I must have rattled someone when I followed my contact, because next thing I know I stumble across Eyvindur lying in a pool of blood. I knew I’d lost my key, but I didn’t realise Eyvindur had it until I saw him lying there. I’ve no idea what he wanted from me. It was probably something to do with those experiments of yours. Maybe he just thought I was being malicious. He called me a Nazi whenever I bumped into him in the West Fjords. I insulted him – told him about the experiments. Perhaps he was looking for incriminating evidence or was planning to rob me. I have no idea. All I know is that the moment he opened the door with my key he was a dead man. I fled. I knew Eyvindur didn’t matter to them. I was the one they were after. I’d gone too far. That bullet was intended for me.’
Felix loomed over his father, who was still glaring up at him without saying a word. Flóvent had picked up the telephone receiver and dialled the number of the police station on Pósthússtræti and was now waiting for someone to answer.
‘It was typical of Eyvindur to blunder into a situation like that,’ Felix continued. ‘I don’t know … I heard his girlfriend had ditched him for a British soldier. Perhaps Eyvindur thought he could win her back if he got his hands on some money. Perhaps that’s why he sent you the letter and broke into my place.’
‘Who was the man?’ Rudolf interrupted, suddenly finding his voice. ‘The man who was feeding you information?’
Someone finally picked up the phone at the police station, and Flóvent requested assistance at Rudolf’s house, saying it was urgent and telling the duty officer to get a move on. After replacing the receiver, he walked across the room, closed the study door and positioned himself in front of it.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Felix.
‘Did you begin to suspect that you weren’t on the same side?’
Felix didn’t reply.
‘What did you do, Felix?’ asked Rudolf.
‘Nothing.’
‘What did you do?’
Felix didn’t answer.
‘I know you. You couldn’t resist the temptation to contact him, could you? What did you say? What did you say to him? Why did he have to get rid of you?’
‘Answer me! What did you say to the man?’
Felix faltered, as if unsure how to go on. As if he had lost track of what he had already said and how it would fit with what he intended to say next. He hesitated, confused, as his father demanded answers. Demanded that he reply to his accusation. Demanded that he drop the charade, the lies, the half-truths. Stopped trying to pull the wool over his eyes.
‘What did you say to him?’ Rudolf shouted at his son. ‘Why did you make contact? Why were you set on finding out who he was?’
‘Why are you so outraged?’ Felix countered. ‘Tell me. Why do you hate me so much?’
‘What did you say to him, Felix?’
‘It was you yourself … Have you forgotten that it was you who taught me to snoop … you who made me spy on the other boys and report back to you, pose as their friend, tell you all I knew … It was you –’
‘I bear no responsibility for what you have done.’
‘Oh no, you’ve always had right on your side, haven’t you?’ Felix said, raising his voice in turn. ‘I’ve never been able to do anything … never been able to please you. Whatever I do, however hard I try. I tried to win your … to win your … I told you about the boys and Rikki and you … you’ve never … I disgust you … but it was you who … you who used me … you used me…’
‘Why did you make contact, Felix?’ Rudolf went on relentlessly. ‘Were you planning to blackmail him? Did you threaten to expose him? Was it money you wanted or were you merely trying to seem important?’
Flóvent caught the flash of headlights as the police turned into the drive.
‘You didn’t need to say anything,’ said Rudolf.
Felix shook his head. ‘Don’t think –’
‘You did not say anything, did you?’ whispered Rudolf.
Felix was silent.
‘You alarmed him simply by making contact with him, didn’t you? He must have felt threatened. Afraid that you would blow his cover. He sent a man to your flat who lay in wait for you and killed Eyvindur instead.’
‘I don’t know…’ said Felix. ‘I … the whole thing went disastrously wrong…’
‘Who is it?’ asked Flóvent, interrupting. ‘Who is this contact?’
‘Of course it was childish of me,’ said Felix. ‘The thing is … the thing is I’d started to suspect that he wasn’t … that maybe he’d given himself away and they were using him – the intelligence people – using him to send selected information, some of it deliberately false, like the business with the submarine barrier at Hvítanes. It wasn’t exactly where they said it was. I checked it out. And there were other examples – little inaccuracies that could be important. So I started wondering what was really going on. I thought I was just a pawn and he was running me – that we were on the same side, at least. I wanted to warn him about the little inaccuracies, so I started watching him to see if I could make contact. It didn’t take him long to work it out. I thought he’d kill me. He was furious and said the game was up and that I was putting both our lives at risk. We’d have to stop what we were doing.’
Felix paused. He stared at his father.
‘His reaction … It was only then that I realised how badly I’d miscalculated. What a … Of course it wasn’t him they were using to send misinformation. It was me. I … all of a sudden I realised, and he saw. Saw that I’d worked out the truth. I was such a bloody fool. That’s why they didn’t touch you, why they let me move around as I pleased. The last report I sent was about Churchill. That he wasn’t stopping over here. Which means he must be coming in fact, because they’ve been feeding me lies all along.’
‘Felix…’
‘They must have decided to dispose of me before I could send my next report and warn the Germans that all the information I’d sent before had been worthless. Their response was so swift. So … rushed. It’s the only explanation I can think of. I didn’t dare go near the radio transmitter – I was sure they were watching it…’
Someone banged on the front door. Flóvent was about to go out and open it, but hung back. A second car had pulled up outside.
‘Someone must have betrayed me to the British, and they decided to use me to disseminate false information. Someone within the German secret service who’s working for the British must have given me away, told them I was spying for the Germans in Iceland. The British are afraid I’ll blow his cover. But I have no idea of his identity. All I know is that he must exist.’
‘Felix,’ said Rudolf, ‘don’t –’
‘I won’t let them catch me.’
‘Don’t do anything foolish, Felix. You cannot get away. Try to be sensible.’
‘They’ll send me to Britain,’ said Felix. ‘They’ll hang me. I’m done for.’
He gazed imploringly at his father and Flóvent saw that he was close to collapse.
‘I want you to know that it wasn’t me who killed Eyvindur,’ he repeated, bending down to whisper something to his father or perhaps to say goodbye. Flóvent didn’t know which. Rudolf raised his arms in rejection, his face full of angry contempt. Felix immediately straightened up again, saying something in a low voice. Flóvent couldn’t catch the words. He turned his back on the father and son and headed towards the hall to let his colleagues in. Two had already found their way in by the back door, and he was just gesturing to them to go and open the front door for the rest when he heard an anguished cry from Rudolf.
‘Felix! Felix! What are you doing?’
Thinking Felix had attacked his father, Flóvent spun round to come to Rudolf’s aid, only to see Felix clasping his own neck and sinking to the floor.
‘Water!’ shouted Rudolf. ‘Fetch water! For God’s sake, get some water down his throat! Felix! Felix! Spit it out. Give him water. Felix! Don’t do this. Felix!’
He tried to rise from his wheelchair but fell back into it, watching helplessly as his son writhed on the floor.
A rattle came from Felix’s throat and foam appeared at the corners of his mouth and began to run down his cheeks. He was groaning in agony. His eyes rolled, his head jerked back and forth and his ribcage reared up in violent convulsions that gradually subsided until he slumped down lifeless, and his groans gave way to silence. He lay still, staring up at his father with glazed eyes.
52
The jeep skidded on the gravel outside Vera’s laundry and came to a halt in a cloud of dust, a hair’s breadth from the wall. Thorson grabbed his gun and leapt out. He had never used it except for target practice and had always wondered when he would first have to fire it in earnest.
Holding the gun down by his side, he ran for the door behind the house. When he rounded the corner, he saw white washing hanging from the lines, billowing gently in the breeze. The door to the laundry was open as before and in the dim light that spilled out Thorson noticed that the washing wasn’t all clean, although it had been hung out to dry.
‘Vera!’ he called, pausing by the lines. ‘Vera, are you there?’
There was no answer.
‘Billy!’ he shouted. ‘Billy Wiggins!’
He gripped his gun more tightly and was about to start inching his way towards the house, unsure what might await him there, when his gaze fell on the rows of white sheets hanging on the lines. There was no question about it: they were soiled. Either the washing machine had failed to remove the stains or something had brushed up against the sheets after they were pegged out to dry.
Thorson edged closer and, taking hold of one of the sheets, saw that it was covered in dark smears. He ventured further into the rows of sheets and saw that something had definitely brushed up against them. He had already begun to fear the worst by the time he stumbled on Vera lying on the ground.
Tearing the washing aside, he saw that she had fallen against a shee
t and brought it down with her as she fell. She lay there in a tangle of bloodied white linen. Blood trickled from her head. She appeared to have another wound in her arm and a third in her chest. Clearly, she had tried to flee but had got caught up in the washing until, in the end, she had sunk lifeless to the ground.
Thorson heard a noise behind him and turned to see Billy Wiggins emerging unsteadily from the laundry and staring in his direction with a gun in his hand. Thorson was unprepared. Their eyes met, and for a moment it looked as though Wiggins was going to raise his weapon, but then he flung it away in surrender.
‘I didn’t mean…’ he faltered, gazing towards the spot where Vera lay. ‘It was … she … I didn’t mean…’
53
The meeting between Thorson and his commanding officer, Colonel Franklin Webster, was brief. Thorson had been sworn to secrecy. First, they dealt with the incident involving Billy Wiggins.
‘Extremely regrettable,’ said Colonel Webster.
There were many other words Thorson could have used to describe Vera’s fate, but he chose not to comment.
‘I understand it was motivated by jealousy,’ said the colonel. ‘A crime of passion.’
‘Apparently she had started seeing an American,’ said Thorson.
‘Extremely regrettable,’ repeated Webster, and Thorson told him that Sergeant Wiggins had been arrested and was now awaiting deportation to Britain.
‘Yes, of course,’ said Webster, seeing no reason to waste any more time on the matter. ‘Anyway, I have had several meetings with our friends at the Leper Hospital,’ he continued, ‘and although they’ve been accommodating, they’re not giving much away. Of course we have to respect the fact that they can’t go public about their operations. They had no choice but to dispose of the man. They had their reasons and although things went very wrong, there’s no need to pursue it any further. It seems like the man chosen to carry out the execution was one of Ballantine’s team. He’s no longer in the country. His negligence is Ballantine’s problem. Hopefully Graham’ll learn from this.’
The Shadow Killer Page 28
