Outrage

by Arnaldur Indridason

  ‘Perhaps nothing went wrong. Things just happen. You can’t always control them.’

  ‘Maybe we didn’t do enough, didn’t devote enough time to them. One fine day they become complete strangers, all because we didn’t spend enough time with them. We no longer mean anything to them. They learn to take care of themselves, not to need us. Then they move out, and they’re gone. Never talk to you again.’

  ‘That’s only right,’ answered her mother. ‘They have to learn to look after themselves. They must become self-reliant, not dependent on others. Can you imagine what it would be like if you still lived here? It’s bad enough, having your dad around the house all day.’

  ‘So why do I always feel guilty that I don’t do enough for them?’

  ‘I think you’ve done a fine job with them, my dear. Don’t worry yourself about it.’

  The bedroom door opened and Elínborg’s father appeared. ‘Hello, darling,’ he said, pushing back his tousled hair. ‘Have you caught the killer yet?’

  ‘Oh, stop it!’ exclaimed her mother. ‘As if our Elínborg’s out chasing murderers!’

  From her parents’ house Elínborg went back to the station where she worked late into the evening. She did not get home until past ten o’clock. Teddi had taken the children out for burgers, followed by ice cream, so they were in high spirits. She looked in on Valthór to ask how he was. He was watching TV and simultaneously surfing the net, and seemed fully occupied. Aron was with him in his room, watching TV. He hardly answered his mother’s greeting. Distractedly they informed her that Teddi had gone to a meeting.

  Theodóra was in bed. Elínborg peeked into her room. A small reading lamp shone from the bedside table but Theodóra was asleep. Her book had fallen from her hand and lay open on the floor. Silently Elínborg approached the bed, intending to switch the light off. Theodóra was absolutely self-sufficient. She never had to be reminded to tidy her room – unlike her brothers. She tidied it every day, and even made her bed before leaving for school. Her dozens of books were kept in perfect order in a large bookcase, and her little desk was always as neat as a pin.

  Elínborg picked the book up. It was one of her own from childhood. She’d passed it on to her daughter: an adventure story by a well-known British writer whose language was probably a little ornate for modern children. It was one of a long series of books which were great favourites with Theodóra. Elínborg remembered reading them voraciously as a child, and waiting impatiently for each new story. She turned the thick yellowed pages with a smile of remembrance. The spine was damaged and the cover tattered by the many young hands through which it had passed. She noticed that she had written her name in clumsy joined-up script on the title page: Elínborg, class 3G. The thrilling events were illustrated by excellent drawings, and Elínborg paused over one image; she had a feeling that there was something important in the picture. She stared at it for a long time until she identified what had caught her attention. After gazing at the drawing again, she woke her daughter up.

  ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart,’ she apologised, once Theodóra’s eyes were open. ‘Your Gran sends lots of love. Can I ask you something?’

  ‘What?’ asked Theodóra. ‘Why did you wake me up?’

  ‘This book – I don’t remember, it’s such a long time since I read it. Look, this man, in the drawing, who is he?’

  Theodóra screwed up her eyes and peered at the illustration. ‘Why are you asking about him?’ she asked.

  ‘I just want to know.’

  ‘Did you really have to wake me up to find out?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sorry, darling. But you’ll drop straight off to sleep again. Just tell me, who’s the man in the story?’

  ‘Did you go to Grandma’s?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Theodóra squinted at the picture again. ‘Don’t you remember who it is?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ replied her mother.

  ‘That’s Robert,’ explained Theodóra. ‘He’s the villain.’

  ‘Why does he have that thing on his leg?’ asked Elínborg.

  ‘He was born that way,’ said Theodóra. ‘He wears the brace because he was born with a twisted foot.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Elínborg recalled. ‘It was a deformity.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can I borrow your book? I’ll give it back to you by tomorrow evening.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘I want to show it to a lady called Petrína. I think she may have seen a man with a brace on his leg, like that one, walking down her street. What was it that this Robert did in the story?’

  ‘He’s horrible,’ said Theodóra, yawning. ‘They’re all scared of him, the children, and he tries to kill them. He’s the malefactor.’

  15

  Petrína did not recognise Elínborg. She stood at the half-open door of her flat, looking sceptically at Elínborg as she tried to explain who she was and what she wanted. She reminded Petrína that she had called on her a few days ago to ask about a man in the street outside her home.

  ‘What man?’ asked Petrína. ‘From the power company? They haven’t been here.’

  ‘They haven’t come round yet?’

  ‘They haven’t turned up, those men,’ said Petrína, and took a deep breath. ‘They’re not interested in me,’ she added sadly.

  ‘I’ll ring them for you. Can I come in for a minute and talk to you about the man you saw the other day?’

  Petrína gazed at her. ‘All right, come in,’ she said.

  Elínborg followed her inside and closed the door behind her. She entered the same fug of cigarette smoke as before. She glanced towards the room lined in aluminium foil, but the door was closed. The two rods that Petrína had used to detect the electromagnetic field in the flat lay on the living-room floor, as if she had flung them down there. Elínborg regretted that she had been so dismissive of the old lady’s story; in a case where clues were few and far between, days had been wasted. The lame man whom Petrína had spotted from her window might be an important witness: perhaps he had seen something significant, heard something, noticed someone. It was possible that the ‘aerial’ Petrína had described on his leg was simply some form of brace, fitted due to an accident or a physical disability. Petrína was so obsessed with her massive electromagnetic waves and uranium that she had interpreted it in her own fashion.

  Petrína looked more weary than at their first encounter. She was less vehement than before, as if her zeal had faded in the past few days and she had given up the battle with the electromagnetic waves. Perhaps she was worn out by waiting for the men from the power company, who Elínborg suspected would never visit the poor woman. She remembered that she had intended to call Social Services to check on Petrína’s situation but had not yet got around to it. The woman appeared intensely vulnerable, with nowhere to turn for protection against the invisible waves that threatened to engulf her. Elínborg noticed that she had now wrapped her television in aluminium foil. Then she saw another, smaller, foil-wrapped package on the kitchen counter: a radio, she deduced.

  ‘I’d like to show you a picture in a book of mine,’ said Elínborg, producing Theodóra’s adventure story.

  ‘A picture in a book?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is the book for me?’

  ‘No, I’m afraid not,’ said Elínborg.

  ‘Yes, no, you’re afraid not?’ Petrína was offended. ‘No, of course you can’t be bringing me anything. Who do I think I am?’

  ‘I’m sorry, it’s my daughter’s …’

  ‘You’re the policewoman?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Elínborg. ‘So you do remember me.’

  ‘You promised to hurry them up, at the power company.’

  ‘I will. I’m afraid I forgot,’ Elínborg said, embarrassed at letting Petrína down. ‘I’ll ring them as soon as we’ve finished.’

  Elínborg opened the book and flicked through the pages until she found the picture of the villainous Robert. One of his legs was fi
tted with a strange device from the knee down to the ankle. The brace comprised two metal bars that were fixed to his shoe and fastened with leather straps.

  ‘You told me that you saw a man walk past the house during the night, at a time when a serious crime was being committed in the next street. You were at the window, waiting for the men from the power company.’

  ‘They never turned up.’

  ‘I know. You said the man walked with a limp and had something on one leg, like an aerial, and it transmitted massive waves.’

  ‘Oh, yes, massive waves,’ agreed Petrína, with a smile that revealed small nicotine-stained teeth.

  ‘Was the fitting on his leg anything like this?’ asked Elínborg, passing her the open book.

  Petrína put down her half-smoked cigarette, took the book, and carefully examined the illustration. ‘What book is this?’ she asked at last.

  ‘It’s an adventure story that my daughter’s reading,’ replied Elínborg, gagging on the cigarette smoke. ‘That’s why I can’t give it to you. I’m sorry. Is that like the aerial you saw on the man’s leg, here outside the house?’

  Petrína took her time considering the question. ‘It’s not exactly the same,’ she concluded finally. ‘He had a sort of clamp here, one that reached up over the knee.’

  ‘Did you have a clear view of it?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘So it wasn’t an aerial?’ asked Elínborg.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure it was like an aerial. Is this an old book?’

  ‘Could it have been a plaster cast on his leg?’

  ‘No, absolutely not. Plaster cast? Who said so?’

  ‘Did it look as if he might have a club foot?’

  ‘Club foot? Nonsense!’

  ‘Did it look as if he’d had an accident, and the brace had been fitted for that?’

  ‘That leg was much bigger,’ said Petrína. ‘Definitely bigger. Probably to receive the signals. I heard them.’

  ‘You heard the signals?’

  ‘Yes,’ answered Petrína firmly. She took a long drag on her cigarette.

  ‘You didn’t say anything about that when we talked before.’

  ‘You didn’t ask.’

  ‘What did you hear?’

  ‘None of your business. You think I’m daft.’

  ‘No, I don’t. I never said that. I don’t think you’re daft at all,’ asserted Elínborg, striving to sound sincere.

  ‘You never rang the power company. You said you would. You think I’m a silly old woman, talking nonsense about electric waves.’

  ‘I’ve been polite to you. I wouldn’t dream of being so disrespectful. Many people worry about electromagnetic waves – and microwaves, mobile phones and so on.’

  ‘Mobile phones will boil your brain. Boil it like an egg, until it’s all hard and useless,’ said Petrína, thumping her skull with a fist. ‘They whisper at you. Whisper all sorts of evil stuff.’

  ‘Oh, yes, they’re the worst,’ Elínborg agreed hastily. She grabbed Petrína’s hand to stop her banging at her head.

  ‘I couldn’t hear it properly, because he was in a hurry, although he wasn’t able to walk fast. He walked by here, limping on his aerial like a scalded cat. It was …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It was as if he was running for his life, that man.’

  ‘And what did you hear?’

  ‘Hear? I couldn’t hear anything he said.’

  ‘You said you heard some signal from him.’

  ‘That may well be, but I didn’t hear anything he said on the telephone. I just heard a humming. That was the waves. I didn’t hear anything he said. I couldn’t. He was in such a hurry. Running as fast as he could. I didn’t hear anything.’

  Elínborg contemplated the woman, trying to make sense of what she had said.

  ‘What?’ asked the old lady when Elínborg continued to stare at her in silence. ‘Don’t you believe me? I didn’t hear anything he said.’

  ‘He had a mobile phone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Was he talking on the phone?

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you know what time this was?’

  ‘It was night-time.’

  ‘Can you be any more precise?’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Did he seem agitated when he was talking on his mobile?’ Elínborg asked, weighing every word.

  ‘Oh, yes, it was obvious. The man was in a tearing hurry. I noticed it clearly, but I’m sure he couldn’t go as fast as he wanted – because of his leg.’

  ‘Do you know where the crime took place, in the next street down? Do you know which house it was?’

  ‘Of course I do. It was number 18. I read it in the paper.’

  ‘Was he heading that way?

  ‘He was. He certainly was. With his leg, and his mobile phone.’

  ‘Did you see him get out of a car? Did you see him come back the same way? Did you see him again?’

  ‘No, no, and no. This book your daughter’s reading – is it good?’

  Elínborg did not hear her question. She was thinking about escape routes from number 18. She recalled a path that led into the adjoining garden, then down into the next street. ‘Do you have any idea how old he was?’ she asked.

  ‘No, no idea. I don’t know the man. Do you think I know him? I don’t know him at all. I don’t know how old he was.’

  ‘You said he was wearing a woolly hat?’

  ‘Is it a good story?’ Petrína asked again. She did not answer Elínborg’s question, but handed the book back. She was tired of this. She wanted to talk about something else, do something else.

  ‘Yes, it’s very good,’ answered Elínborg.

  ‘Would you mind reading me a bit of it?’ asked Petrína, with an imploring look.

  ‘Reading?’

  ‘Would you mind? Just a few pages. It needn’t be much.’

  Elínborg hesitated. While her police career had involved countless experiences, she had never been asked a favour more humbly.

  ‘I’ll read to you,’ she said. ‘Of course I will.’

  ‘Thank you, my dear.’

  Elínborg opened the book at the first page and started reading about the children’s adventures, and their dealings with the crippled Robert who had a brace on his leg and a terrible secret on his conscience, and tried to destroy them all.

  Before Elínborg had been reading for five minutes Petrína was asleep in her chair, apparently at peace and free of all anxieties about electromagnetic waves and massive amounts of uranium.

  When Elínborg returned to her car she rang the power company and was put through to a woman who specialised in home appliances and electromagnetic fields. It was not uncommon for her to receive phone calls from customers concerned about electromagnetism in their homes, she remarked. She was familiar with Petrína and her problems; she said she had visited her several times and had suggested rewiring the flat. The expert admitted that, as a matter of fact, the readings she had taken did not indicate high levels of electromagnetic waves in the flat. In her view, Petrína was ‘a sweet dotty old thing’.

  When Elínborg contacted Social Services she learned that Petrína was one of many people living alone whom they kept an eye on. A social worker visited her regularly, and although Petrína was eccentric in her ways she was quite lucid and largely able to take care of herself.

  Elínborg was about to make a third call, to her home, when the mobile rang in her hand. It was Sigurdur Óli.

  ‘I don’t like the look of this creep Edvard,’ he said. ‘Have you got time to pop into the station?’

  ‘What’s this about?’

  ‘See you in a minute.’

  16

  It took Elínborg only a few minutes to drive from Thingholt down to police headquarters, where Sigurdur Óli was waiting for her with a colleague from CID, a veteran detective named Finnur. The two men had been chatting in the cafeteria when the murder investigation came up. Sigurdur Óli mentioned Edvard, who claim
ed to have bought the Rohypnol for his friend Runólfur.

  ‘So?’ asked Elínborg, as she took a seat at their table. ‘What’s this about Edvard?’

  ‘If he’s been dealing in Rohypnol, we’re certainly interested,’ said Finnur, ‘whether it was for himself or someone else.’

  ‘Why? Have you got anything on him?’

  ‘You knew all about the case – you were with us at the start of the investigation,’ he said, with a look at Elínborg. ‘Erlendur was always interested. Though we never did succeed in finding the girl. She was nineteen, disappeared from her home, out west in Akranes. The local police called us in.’

  ‘Akranes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Elínborg glanced at Finnur, then at Sigurdur Óli. ‘Hang on … are you talking about Lilja? That missing-person case in Akranes?’

  Finnur nodded.

  ‘It turns out that Edvard knew her,’ said Sigurdur Óli. ‘He was teaching at Akranes Comprehensive College at the time she disappeared. Finnur interviewed him. He remembered Edvard as soon as I mentioned his name, but he didn’t know he’d been buying a date-rape drug on the black market.’

  ‘If he got in touch with Valur he must have done his homework, because Valur keeps a very low profile,’ Finnur observed. ‘He’s very cautious, trusts nobody. The word is he’s not dealing any more, but we reckon he’s fencing stolen goods and still selling all sorts of dope. I don’t see some ordinary bloke walking in off the street and buying dope from Valur – prescription medicine or anything else. There’s more to it than that.’

  ‘Valur said he’d never seen him before.’ said Elínborg.

  ‘You can’t trust a word Valur says,’ replied Finnur. ‘They could have been best mates, met every day.’

  ‘But the description fits. He described Edvard to us.’