‘That depends,’ said Elínborg. ‘The village does have certain things to offer, even though nothing ever happens here.’
‘No, I suppose not,’ said Lauga. ‘I hear you were out all night.’
‘Really?’
‘Rumour around the village,’ explained Lauga. ‘There are plenty of rumours here. You shouldn’t believe everything you’re told in a place like this. I hope you’re not going to put your faith in rumour.’
‘No, I have no intention of doing so,’ said Elínborg. ‘Is it likely to snow today, do you know?’ she asked, glancing out of the window. She did not like the look of the overcast sky.
‘That’s what the forecast says,’ replied Lauga. ‘There’s likely to be a storm this evening and tonight.’
Elínborg stood up. She was the only customer remaining.
‘It does no one any good to go stirring up the past,’ Lauga went on. ‘It’s all over and done with.’
‘Speaking of the past,’ said Elínborg, ‘you must have known a girl called Adalheidur who lived in the village? She died two years ago.’
Lauga hesitated. ‘I know who she was, yes,’ she said at last.
‘What did she die of?’
‘What did she die of?’ parroted Lauga. ‘I’m not going to talk about that.’
‘Why not?’
‘I just don’t want to.’
‘Can you help me find any of her friends, or family? Someone I could talk to?’
‘I can’t help you with that. I run this restaurant. That’s my job. It’s not my job to tell stories to strangers.’
‘Thank you,’ said Elínborg. She walked to the door and opened it. Lauga was standing in the middle of the restaurant, watching her go, as if she had more to say.
‘You would be doing us all a favour if you just went home to Reykjavík and never came back,’ said Lauga.
‘Who exactly would I be doing a favour by doing that?’
‘All of us,’ answered Lauga. ‘There’s nothing for you here.’
‘We’ll see,’ said Elínborg. ‘Thanks for the meal. You’re an excellent cook.’
On her way back to the churchyard Elínborg decided to make one house call. She went up the steps of Runólfur’s mother’s home and rang the doorbell. She heard a faint ringing from indoors and the door opened. Kristjana remembered her at once and asked her in.
‘Why are you back?’ she asked, sitting in the same chair as before. ‘What do you want here?’
‘I’m looking for answers,’ replied Elínborg.
‘I don’t know that you’ll find any, not here,’ commented Kristjana. ‘This is a rotten place. Such a rotten place. I’d have left long ago if only I’d had the guts.’
‘Isn’t this a good place to live?’
‘A good place to live?’ asked Kristjana. She wiped her lips with a tissue, then set about twisting it in her fingers. ‘Don’t go listening to people’s lies.’
‘What would people be lying about?’ Elínborg recalled what Lauga had said about listening to rumours.
‘Everything,’ replied Kristjana. ‘There are a lot of scum living here, let me tell you. Scum who love to slander respectable people. Have you been hearing things about me? I’m sure they’re drooling over the stories about my poor Runólfur. They enjoy that. But don’t you go believing everything they say.’
‘I’ve only just got here,’ replied Elínborg. Kristjana’s manner was different, more aggressive than at their first meeting. Elínborg did not intend to discuss Kristjana’s husband’s death since she did not know whether the woman was aware of the true nature of the events.
There was, however, another matter that she wanted to ask her about. Elínborg considered her best approach, then plunged in: ‘The only thing I’ve heard,’ she said, ‘is that he had a strict upbringing. That you were pretty strict with your son.’
‘Strict? With Runólfur? Ha! What bloody nonsense. That lad needed a firm hand. Who told you that?’
‘I don’t remember,’ said Elínborg.
‘Strict with Runólfur! Of course they would say that – those scum, bringing up their brats to be hooligans. Hooligans! They broke one of my windows just the other day. No one will admit to it. I reckoned I knew who’d done it, and I got in touch with their parents but they wouldn’t listen. People have got no respect for their elders these days.’
‘So were you strict with him?’ asked Elínborg.
Kristjana glanced sharply at her. ‘Are you blaming me for what he was?’
‘I don’t know what he was,’ replied Elínborg. ‘Maybe you can tell me.’
Kristjana sat in silence, wiped her mouth with her tissue, and went on twisting it in her hands. ‘Don’t believe everything you’re told in the village,’ she said. ‘Have you found his killer?’
‘No, I’m afraid we haven’t,’ said Elínborg.
‘Some people were arrested – I saw it on the news.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Did you come here to tell me that?’
‘No, actually I didn’t. I want to ask you if you think anyone from around here might have hurt your son.’
‘You asked me that last time – whether he had any enemies here. I don’t think so. But if he really was the monster you seem to think, then I can’t be sure.’
‘I asked you about women in his life as well,’ said Elínborg cautiously.
‘Yes, well, I don’t know anything about any women,’ Kristjana replied.
‘There’s one woman I’d like to ask you about. She lived here. Her name was Adalheidur.’
‘Adalheidur?’
‘Yes.’
‘I remember her, but I didn’t know her personally. Her brother runs the garage.’
‘The garage?’
‘Yes.’
‘You mean she was Valdimar’s sister?’
‘That’s right. Or half-sister, really. Their mother was nothing but a tart – she used to go with all the seamen back in the old days. They had some name for her, I don’t remember what it was. Something rude. She had those two brats – out of wedlock, of course. Two little bastards. And she drank, too. Died young – relatively young, but burnt out. She was a good worker, though. I used to work with her in the fish factory – a hard-working lass.’
‘Did your son know her? Did he know Adalheidur?’
‘Runólfur? Well, they were about the same age – they were at school together. I only ever saw her when she came to the factory with her mum – always with a runny nose. She wasn’t a healthy kid, rather weak and feeble.’
‘Did Runólfur have a relationship with her?’
‘What do you mean – a relationship?’
Elínborg hesitated. ‘Were they more than just acquaintances? Was there … was there some other relationship between them?’
‘No, nothing like that. Why do you ask? Runólfur never brought girls here.’
‘Did he know any other girls in the village?’
‘No, not really.’
‘I gather that Adalheidur died a couple of years ago?’
‘She topped herself,’ said Kristjana blankly, running her fingers through her grey hair. Elínborg wondered if she had been dark-haired when she was young. With her brown eyes, it was not unlikely.
‘Who? Adalheidur?’
‘Yes. They found her on the shore, down below the churchyard,’ said Kristjana tonelessly. ‘She’d drowned herself in the sea.’
‘She killed herself?’
‘Yes, certainly looked that way.’
‘Do you know why?’
‘Why? Why the girl did herself in? No idea. I suppose she was unhappy, poor thing. Must have been unhappy, since she did it.’
31
In daylight Elínborg was able to form a clearer sense of the location of the churchyard, which lay to the north of the village, next to the sea. It was enclosed by a low stone wall that was sorely in need of repair and had even collapsed in places, and was partially obscured by the tall, withered wint
er grass. A picturesque little wooden church, painted white and with a red roof, stood at the end of the churchyard.
The small gate was ajar.
Elínborg found the cross she was looking for easily. Around her were low, mossy gravestones, lying flat on the cold ground, their inscriptions worn and indecipherable, while other stones stood upright amidst the grass, resisting the elements. In among the old memorial stones were simple wooden crosses, like the one that marked Adalheidur’s resting place.
The cross was quite without ornament, identified only with a plain black plaque bearing Adalheidur’s name, the dates of her birth and death, and the inscription Rest in Peace. Elínborg noticed that Adalheidur’s birthday was the date on which Runólfur had been killed.
She raised her eyes. The sky was overcast, but it was a windless day and the sea was mirror-smooth. She looked out along the fjord towards the ocean, to the distant horizon, and felt a sense of peace within herself. The spell was broken by the shrill call of a redwing, which perched briefly on the church tower before flying off into the mountains.
Elínborg realised that she was no longer alone. She glanced up towards the road, and saw the girl in the blue down parka standing there watching her. They stood there for some time without speaking, looking at each other, before the girl set off down towards the churchyard and clambered over the wall.
‘It’s pretty here,’ said Elínborg.
‘Yes,’ the girl agreed. ‘It’s the prettiest place in the village.’
‘They certainly knew what they were doing when they chose this spot for the churchyard,’ said Elínborg. ‘By the way, thanks very much for leaving me here alone last night,’ she added.
‘I’m sorry,’ said the girl. ‘I didn’t know what to do. I still don’t know what I’m doing. When you came back here …’
‘Did you know I’d return?’
‘I wasn’t surprised. I expected you. And I’ve been waiting.’
‘Please tell me what’s worrying you. I can see there’s something you want to tell me.’
‘I saw that you called on Kristjana.’
‘You villagers don’t miss much.’
‘I wasn’t spying on you. I just noticed. She knows all about what happened. Did she tell you?’
‘What did happen?’
‘Everyone knows about it.’
‘About what? And who are you? What’s your name, for a start?’
‘My name’s Vala.’
‘Why all this pussyfooting around, Vala?’
‘I think most people here know what happened, but they’ll never say. And I don’t want to tell, either – I don’t want to get him in trouble. So … I don’t know whether I even ought to be talking to you at all. It’s just that the silence is unbearable. I can’t take it any more.’
‘Why don’t you tell me everything? Then we’ll see. What are you scared of?’
‘No one here talks about it,’ said Vala, ‘and I don’t want to get anyone into trouble.’
‘About what? Get who into trouble?’
‘Everyone keeps their mouth shut and pretends nothing happened – that nothing ever happens here. That everything in the garden’s rosy.’
‘And isn’t it?’
‘No, it isn’t.’
‘So what is it like? Why did you bring me down here last night?’
The girl made no reply.
‘What do you want me to do?’ asked Elínborg.
‘I’m no snitch. I don’t want to tell tales about people. And I don’t want to speak ill of the dead.’
‘No one needs to know what we talk about,’ Elínborg assured her.
Suddenly, Vala changed tack. ‘Have you been in the police for long?’
‘Yes, quite a long time.’
‘It must be a horrible job.’
‘No. Sometimes it is, like when you’re sent to a secretive little place like this. But there are better days. For instance, when I meet a girl like you and I think I can do something for her. Who was it that died who you don’t want to tell tales about?’
‘I never finished secondary school,’ the girl said, evading the question. ‘Maybe I’ll go back and get my qualifications one day, and go to university. I’d like to study something.’
‘Who was Adalheidur?’ asked Elínborg, indicating the simple white cross on the grave.
‘I was just a little girl when it happened.’
‘When what happened?’
‘I was probably about eight at the time, but I never heard anything about it until I was twelve or thirteen. There were all sorts of rumours floating around and I remember they seemed very sad but exciting too, in a weird way. They said she’d gone mad. She was supposed to have got some illness, some mental thing. She only worked part-time, and cooked and cleaned for her brother. She was mysterious, kept herself to herself. She didn’t speak to people, cut herself off from what went on in the village, lost touch with everything and everyone. She had almost no contact with anyone but her brother. He took wonderful care of her after she got ill. Or I thought she was ill, anyway. That’s what they said, when I was a little girl. They said poor Addý wasn’t well. She seemed like a grown woman to me – she was twelve years older. Her birthday’s nearly the same as mine – there’s five days’ difference. She was the same age I am now when it happened.’
‘Did you know her at all?’
‘Yes, we worked together at the fish factory. She was a lot older, of course, like I said, and not easy to get to know – reserved. I was told she’d always been that way, slightly odd. She’d been a loner who kept out of other people’s way, and they left her alone, too. They said she’d been fragile and sensitive. Not someone you would notice. That made her easy prey, I suppose.’
Vala took a deep breath. Elínborg sensed the girl’s distress. ‘Then, when I was older, I heard other things about Addý and what had been done to her. Some people found out about it but said nothing. Maybe they found it hard to believe. Or embarrassing. Or shameful. It took years before the whole village knew. I think everyone is aware of the truth now. I’ve no idea how the rumours started, because Addý herself never said a word. She never made any accusation. Maybe he boasted about it when he was drinking. Maybe he was proud of what he did. I doubt that he had any regrets, somehow.’
Vala fell silent. Elínborg waited patiently for her to continue.
‘Addý never told anyone the truth. Except her brother, probably, in the end. I think he must have heard the rumours by then, too. She was living with a shame of her own making. I’ve read a lot about women like her. Most of them, if not all, need special therapy. Apparently they blame themselves. They live with their anger and cut themselves off.’
‘What happened?’
‘He raped Addý.’ Vala gazed at the cross. ‘The word spread gradually that she’d been raped, and who the man was, but she never said anything and no one was ever charged. No one was tried. And no one lifted a finger to help her,’ said Vala.
‘Who did it?’ asked Elínborg. ‘Who raped her?’
‘I’m sure Kristjana knows about it. Knows perfectly well what her son did. She lives in a state of denial. She has a rough time here. The kids make fun of her, break her windows.’
‘You’re talking about Runólfur?’
‘Yes. He raped Addý – and she never got over it. They found her in the sea down here, just below the churchyard. She’d floated down here, to her place of rest.’
‘What about Runólfur?’
‘Everyone here knows who killed him.’
Elínborg gazed at Vala for a long time. In her mind she saw an elderly man swerve over calmly into the oncoming traffic – and smile at the heavy lorry bearing down on him.
32
Back at the guest house Elínborg did a few hours’ work in her room, which she had converted into an ad hoc office. She made a number of phone calls to Reykjavík to gather more information. She spoke to Sigurdur Óli and they planned their next move. Police officers would be sent t
o the village but it would take time for them to reach her. Sigurdur Óli urged Elínborg to take no further action until backup was in place. She told him not to worry. Konrád and Nína were still in custody, and Elínborg was not surprised to learn that Konrád had changed his story once again: he now denied killing Runólfur and maintained that his daughter Nína was also innocent.
Darkness was falling when Elínborg left the guest house, crossed the main road and walked down towards the harbour – the same route she had taken on her first visit. The garage was at the northern end of the village and she headed in that direction. She thought about the snow that was forecast, and hoped she would not be snowed in here. She looked up at the sign over the door; now she knew for certain that a shotgun had once been fired at it. Vala had told her that years ago, when he was still drinking, Valdimar had taken a potshot at his own sign.
Elínborg stepped into the reception area. Everything was as before, and Elínborg reflected that it had probably not changed since the day when the garage had opened for business. On the wall behind the counter hung a pin-up calendar displaying a photo of a scantily clad girl. It showed the year 1998. Days, weeks, years had no meaning here. Time seemed to stand still. Everything in sight – the counter, the old leather armchair, the desktop calculator, the order book – was coated in a thin layer of sooty grime from engines, spares parts, lubricants and tyres.
Elínborg called into the garage, but received no answer. She advanced cautiously into the workshop, where the Ferguson tractor stood in exactly the same place. As on Elínborg’s last visit, there were no other vehicles inside. Against the wall were two open tool-lockers.
‘I heard you were back,’ said a voice.
Slowly, Elínborg turned around. ‘You must have been expecting me,’ she said.
Valdimar was standing behind her, wearing a checked shirt and ragged jeans. In his hand he held a set of overalls, which he started to put on. ‘So you’re on your own, are you?’ he asked.
Valdimar must have been well aware that Elínborg was alone. Yet there was no veiled threat in his question, which seemed calculated to engender trust rather than fear.
Outrage Page 23
