The Shadow District

by Arnaldur Indridason

  Flóvent was finding it hard to master his despair. ‘The poor boy,’ he whispered, his voice cracking.

  ‘It was his decision,’ said Thorson. ‘He didn’t have to do it.’

  Flóvent said nothing. He knew Thorson was trying to comfort him, and perhaps one could take the view that the student had been responsible for his own fate, but Flóvent was painfully aware that they had badly misjudged the situation.

  ‘We didn’t handle it right,’ he said. ‘We didn’t handle it right. We should have traced his family. Got him a lawyer straight away …’

  ‘We were going to,’ Thorson reminded him. ‘You told him we were going to fix that this evening. Maybe that’s what upset him. Maybe that’s why he was willing to try something that desperate. Maybe he wanted to speak to his family before we did. Who knows what was going through his mind? He wouldn’t open up to us.’

  ‘No, he was obstinate,’ admitted Flóvent. He grimaced, clutching at his stomach. ‘He was bloody obstinate.’

  ‘Are you OK?’ asked Thorson.

  ‘Yes, it’s nothing. I keep getting these twinges. I expect it’s this case. It … It’s all been rather a strain.’

  Early the next morning Flóvent went to speak to Jónatan’s tutor at the university in the hope that he might be able to provide some information about the student. Thorson didn’t go along. They had agreed that there was no call for the military police to have any further involvement in the case. In fact, this had been apparent for some time, but Thorson had wanted to help out. Now that he had received his embarkation orders, he had only forty-eight hours to prepare for his transfer.

  The news of Jónatan’s death came as a heavy blow to his tutor. The young man had been reserved, he told Flóvent, but a good student. The tutor had twice invited him round to discuss his studies and discovered that they had a shared passion for birdwatching. As a result they had struck up a friendship, in the course of which the tutor had learnt that Jónatan was adopted and had never known his real parents. He was brought up as one of the family on a farm not far from Húsavík, on the north coast, showed promise at school and was sent first to college in Akureyri, then south to Reykjavík to attend the university under the guardianship of some relatives of his adoptive mother: her sister, Sigfrídur, and Sigfrídur’s husband, who was a member of parliament.

  ‘Did he have any contact with the opposite sex, that you’re aware of?’ asked Flóvent.

  ‘No,’ said the tutor. ‘Not that he mentioned. At least not to me. I don’t think he had many friends, to be honest – he was a bit of a loner.’

  Next, Flóvent paid a visit to Jónatan’s relatives. They lived on Laufásvegur, not far from Flóvent’s offices, in a large, detached house, set in a sizeable garden, which contained a small pond. As Flóvent passed it he noticed that the pond was frozen solid. A maid answered the door and showed him into the drawing room. When she enquired after his business, he said he would prefer to explain in person. The girl went to alert her employers and before long a woman of about fifty appeared at the drawing room door and greeted him formally.

  ‘Good day. Were you hoping to see my husband?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am, I should probably speak to him too. Are you by any chance Sigfrídur, ma’am?’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ said the woman. ‘And you are …?’

  ‘Flóvent, ma’am. I’m from the police and I’m here about a student called Jónatan.’

  ‘Oh, what about him?’

  ‘I’m very sorry to have to inform you that he’s passed away. He was hit by an army jeep on Laugavegur yesterday evening and died instantly.’

  The woman stared at him blankly. ‘Jónatan?’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid so, ma’am. It was an accident. He was −’

  ‘What are you saying? Is he dead?’

  At this point a slightly older man entered the room. Flóvent recognised him immediately as the member of parliament.

  ‘This … man has come here with some absurd story about Jónatan being dead,’ the woman said, turning to her husband.

  ‘Jónatan?’ he repeated. ‘What … how is that possible?’

  ‘According to him he was hit by a car.’

  The husband turned to Flóvent. ‘Is this true?’

  ‘I’m afraid so, sir. I’m a detective from the Criminal Investigation Department. He was hit by a car on Laugavegur late yesterday evening. And there’s another matter …’

  He had the couple’s undivided attention now.

  ‘Another matter?’ said the member of parliament.

  ‘I’m sorry to have to break it to you but Jónatan was in police custody at the time of the accident,’ said Flóvent. ‘He didn’t want anyone to know, so he refused to supply us with the names of any relatives or friends, and turned down the services of a lawyer. He was being detained in connection with the murder of a girl called Rósamunda, who was recently found strangled behind the National Theatre. I’m afraid to say he broke free of us outside the prison and fled down to Laugavegur, straight into the path of an oncoming jeep.’

  The couple seemed stunned by this. He gave them a moment to assimilate the news. They exchanged glances, then turned their attention back to him, their faces registering utter disbelief.

  Flóvent had already been called to a meeting with his superiors, and he had provided a blow-by-blow account of all that had occurred between the discovery of Rósamunda’s body and the moment Jónatan ran in front of the jeep. He had received a stern dressing-down for allowing Jónatan to slip out of his grasp, but in spite of this they had proved broadly sympathetic and agreed that he could remain in charge of the inquiry for the time being.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ groaned the woman, groping for a chair. Flóvent quickly helped her to sit down.

  ‘Murder?’ exclaimed the MP.

  Flóvent nodded. ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘Surely there must be some mistake? How could you have arrived at such a conclusion?’

  ‘The evidence is fairly overwhelming, sir,’ said Flóvent. ‘He was about to show us the place in the Shadow District where he met her … or rather, where he subjected her to an assault. We were on our way there when he eluded our grasp and ran in front of the jeep. We were powerless to stop him. He tore himself free and fled.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you have been guarding him more closely?’ asked the MP.

  ‘Yes, of course, sir,’ Flóvent admitted. ‘But he was being cooperative, so we were keen to demonstrate a degree of trust in him. That’s why we didn’t use handcuffs. We simply couldn’t have foreseen that he would resort to such a desperate act. It was an accident. Deeply regrettable, it goes without saying, but an accident nonetheless.’

  ‘What then? Was he taken to hospital or …?’

  ‘No, sir. He was killed instantly, and his body is now in the National Hospital mortuary. You can −’

  At that moment the door opened and a young man entered the room.

  ‘There you are,’ he said, then immediately sensed from the tension in the air that something serious was afoot. ‘What’s –?’

  ‘Hólmbert, dear,’ said the woman, rising and going over to him. ‘This policeman says Jónatan’s dead.’

  ‘Jónatan – dead?’ echoed the young man.

  ‘The poor boy was run over by a car,’ said the woman. ‘It’s simply ghastly. And there’s more – he was in police custody at the time and this officer is claiming that Jónatan killed that girl – the one who was found behind the theatre. Isn’t that madness? Isn’t it absolutely preposterous?’

  ‘He was a suspect,’ corrected Flóvent.

  ‘Jónatan?’ gasped the young man incredulously.

  ‘Isn’t it utter madness?’ said the woman again. ‘I’ve never heard such outrageous nonsense. That he met her in the Shadow District and … and mistreated her …’

  The young man looked at Flóvent. ‘Is that true?’

  Flóvent nodded.

  ‘I … don’t believe it.’

 
‘Did you know him well, sir?’ asked Flóvent.

  The young man seemed distracted, and Flóvent had to repeat the question.

  ‘I … we were pals,’ he said. ‘Is he really dead? Jónatan, dead! And you actually believe that he …?’

  ‘Assaulted the girl? Yes, I’m afraid so,’ said Flóvent. ‘Unfortunately the evidence is compelling. He was about to take us to the scene of the crime when he escaped and met with this tragic accident.’

  43

  They stood silently in the drawing room as the unbelievable news Flóvent had brought them started to sink in: Jónatan, a young man they knew well, was not only dead but actually suspected of Rósamunda’s murder, and several months earlier he had allegedly assaulted her somewhere in the Shadow District. The MP and his wife seemed shattered by the news, while their son Hólmbert seemed unable to take it in. After giving them a little time to recover their composure, Flóvent began tentatively asking questions. They answered readily, volunteering information, until the woman suddenly announced that she could bear it no longer and asked her husband to take her outside.

  ‘I haven’t seen Jónatan for quite a while,’ she said. ‘But he used to come round occasionally, and he was a good boy, I can assure you of that, whatever else you may think of him.’

  ‘Talk to Hólmbert,’ said the MP as he escorted his wife out of the room. ‘He knew Jónatan best. Hólmbert, old man,’ he added to his son, ‘you’ll tell him all you know in case it can help the police get to the bottom of this dreadful affair.’

  Hólmbert nodded distractedly, apparently still digesting the news. He took out a packet of cigarettes and lit one with a preoccupied air, then offered the packet to Flóvent, who declined.

  ‘I’m absolutely flabbergasted,’ he said. ‘Jónatan? Who would have believed it?’

  ‘It’s particularly hard when it involves someone you thought you knew well,’ said Flóvent.

  Hólmbert looked at him. ‘Perhaps it’s …’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Perhaps it’s inappropriate of me to bring this up in the circumstances but …’

  ‘Bring up what, sir?’

  ‘At least, I didn’t like to say anything while my mother was present.’ Hólmbert went over to the door to check that it was definitely shut. ‘But to be honest I was on the verge of contacting the police about Jónatan.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Flóvent. ‘Why was that?’

  ‘He … it must have been about three days ago. He asked if we could meet up because he had something on his mind. I ran into him at the university – I’m reading law there, though actually it bores me silly. Anyway, he seemed rather weighed down by something, so I said all right. I went round to his digs that evening and immediately got the feeling he was very anxious, and when I asked what was wrong he started talking about the girl you mentioned. Rósamunda, wasn’t it? I’d read about her in the papers, of course. I found him strangely evasive, as if he had a bad conscience.’

  ‘What exactly did he say, sir?’

  ‘Not much. Just that he’d met her at a university dance a few months ago and they’d gone for a walk out to Seltjarnarnes, then intended to go to her place afterwards. He was reluctant to say much more. He’d recognised her from a shop where he’d taken some clothes to be mended.’

  ‘The Stitch?’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t remember the name.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t very coherent but my understanding was that he’d tried to … to take advantage of her. She’d seemed willing at first, then … then begged him to stop. But he didn’t.’

  ‘And he told you the girl in question was Rósamunda?’

  Hólmbert nodded. ‘There was a struggle which left her in a bit of a mess, so he told her to say she’d had a run-in with the huldufólk. That was Jónatan’s area – he was obsessed with the elves and that kind of thing. He said he’d make her rue the day if she went to the police.’

  ‘And he told you all this?’

  ‘Well, I drew it out of him. I’d never have believed he was capable of such a thing. He was quite distraught – after the event. If it’s true, then naturally his behaviour was reprehensible.’

  ‘Was Jónatan aware that she’d been carrying his child and had an abortion?’

  ‘I very much doubt that,’ said Hólmbert. ‘At all events, he didn’t breathe a word about it.’

  ‘Did he openly admit to having killed her?’

  ‘He more or less came right out and said so.’

  ‘Whatever for?’

  ‘I think she’d threatened to report him. I was getting ready to pass all of this on to the police but couldn’t bring myself to do it straight away because … I knew Jónatan quite well. It was painful, and I could hardly believe it.’

  ‘He’s a relation of your mother’s?’

  ‘I suppose that was part of it,’ said Hólmbert, looking a little shamefaced. ‘Of course I urged Jónatan to come clean of his own accord because frankly I found the whole thing deeply shocking. And, as I said, I could tell he was suffering. I haven’t breathed a word of this to another soul, by the way; not even to my family.’

  ‘Not even to your father?’

  ‘No. Not to a soul.’

  ‘Did Jónatan happen to mention another girl, called Hrund?’

  Hólmbert frowned pensively, then shook his head. He had a thin face, fair, prematurely receding hair, and a small mouth with lips so thin they formed a single line above his chin. His nose was narrow and finely sculpted and his whole appearance conveyed an air of sensitivity.

  ‘She lived in Öxarfjördur,’ said Flóvent. ‘Jónatan was working on the roads there when she disappeared.’

  ‘No, he only mentioned the one girl.’

  ‘What made him do it, do you think?’

  Hólmbert stubbed out his cigarette. ‘As far as I could work out, it was the promiscuity that got to him. The Situation. He loathed it – the way women and girls were making sluts of themselves, running after the soldiers and the way the soldiers used them. He thought it was disgraceful. That came as no surprise to me because he’d often ranted about it. About how debauched and squalid the Situation was. It really got to him.’

  ‘And Rósamunda was forced to pay the price?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know if it was exactly like that, but those were his views,’ said Hólmbert. ‘Look, I’d be grateful if you could leave my name out of this. I feel rather a heel for telling you, as if I … Of course, I should have alerted you earlier. But we were good pals, you see, Jónatan and I.’

  At that moment the door opened and the member of parliament reappeared and closed it carefully behind him.

  ‘Please forgive me,’ he said to Flóvent. ‘Has Hólmbert been able to provide any assistance? It’s shattering news you’ve brought us. I’ve already made arrangements to get in touch with his parents. In the circumstances I imagine they’d rather this whole affair was kept quiet. That the poor boy’s funeral should be conducted in private. There’s nothing standing in the way of that, is there?’

  ‘I don’t believe so,’ said Flóvent. ‘They’re free to collect his body for burial whenever they like, although the inquiry’s still in progress.’

  ‘Still in progress? Why’s that?’

  ‘Because we still need to interview his parents, piece the story together, verify the odd detail here and there. Your son has already been extremely helpful in that regard.’

  ‘I do appreciate that you’re only doing your job, officer, but don’t you think his parents will suffer enough without your interrogating them about this whole unfortunate business? From what you’ve told us, it sounds like an open and shut case. If you like, I could have a word with your superiors about winding it up.’

  ‘Well, sir, with all due respect, that −’

  ‘This matter impinges more or less directly on my family,’ continued the MP, his voice taking on an authoritative edge. ‘I do hope you understand my position. It’s unfortunate a
nd could become very awkward if we don’t take steps to limit the damage. The boy was here in Reykjavík under our protection, thanks to my wife’s generosity and the family connection, but I’d be sorry if we were all dragged through the mud because of him. Merely because we offered him a helping hand. Naturally we feel a great deal of pity for the poor boy and the way he was led astray, and, it goes without saying, for the unfortunate girl, but that’s not the issue. The issue is how to prevent the damage from spreading any further than it already has. The situation is regrettable enough as it is. Do you follow me?’

  The MP and his wife had used their time well, Flóvent reflected; he suspected that this had been their real reason for leaving the room.

  ‘You can count on me to act with discretion, sir,’ he said, ‘and you’re welcome to talk to my superiors, should you so wish. I appreciate that this is going to be an ordeal for all concerned, and I’ll bear that in mind.’

  ‘That’s all I wanted to hear,’ said the MP. ‘This is an extremely sensitive matter. Best to draw a tactful veil over it in the circumstances.’

  44

  Konrád sat in his kitchen in Árbær, sipping red wine and contemplating his visit to Magnús in Borgarnes. Helena Eyjólfsdóttir was crooning ‘The City Is Sleeping’ on the stereo, and as the old hit played on, he could feel a sense of calm spreading through his body. He was dog-tired from the drive, from struggling to make sense of what he had unearthed, but at the same time he felt satisfied with the progress he had made. Sensed that he was tantalisingly close to a breakthrough. Tomorrow he would go and see the other brother, Hólmbert, in defiance of Magnús’s warning that it would be a waste of time. He was convinced that Thorson had tried to make contact with Hólmbert, that it was one of the last things he had done. And Konrád wanted to know if he had succeeded.

  He reviewed the evidence so far: Rósamunda had been assaulted, possibly at the member of parliament’s house, and refused to run any more errands there for her boss. The member of parliament in question had been on a visit up north at the time of Hrund’s disappearance. Both girls were around the same age and both had blamed, or been ordered to blame, the huldufólk for their assaults. Was it conceivable that the MP himself had been involved? Was that the conclusion Thorson had reached? If so, why had the significance only belatedly struck him now, rather than at the time, in 1944? And what had precipitated his recent enquiries relating to the case? He had apparently been badly shaken when he learnt of Rósamunda’s refusal to set foot in the MP’s house. Some aspect of the original investigation must have triggered that reaction. He must have had a revelation.