‘The bag. I won’t spill the beans. You can say I got away. You lost me by the abattoir and I still had the bag. You’ll get a good price for all that.’
‘What, I keep the bag and you get away? Is that what you’re suggesting?’
‘You could say I’d made off with it. No one’ll guess. I won’t squeal. Honest. I won’t say a word.’
‘So I sell the goods and everyone’s a winner?’
‘I don’t mind.’
‘Cut the crap. Let’s go.’ Erlendur gave him another push. ‘And no more nonsense or the report will look even worse.’
‘Please, just take it and let me go. You can return the stuff to the shop. No harm done. A bit of broken glass, that’s all. Anyway, shops like that are insured. The owner won’t have to pay a króna.’
Erlendur couldn’t be bothered to respond any more.
‘What’s the point in arresting me? I’m a complete nobody. Let me go.’
As they approached the police station the burglar was barely moving. Since pushing him was having no effect, Erlendur seized the man’s shoulder and began to drag him along.
‘They’ll kill me,’ the thief cried. ‘You don’t get it. I owe them. They ordered me to do it. Even told me which shop. Said I could repay my debt with the stuff I nicked.’
‘What debt?’
‘Drugs.’
‘That’s a new one on me,’ said Erlendur.
‘What?’
‘Breaking in just to pay for drugs?’
‘They said it was the only way. That’s what they said. And I … what was I supposed to do? They threatened to … they’re totally mental.’
‘Who?’
‘The brothers.’
‘What brothers?’
‘I can’t tell you.’
‘I see.’
‘I’ll tell you if you let me go.’
They had reached the police station at last.
‘Enough.’
‘One of them’s called Ellert,’ said the thief. ‘That’s all I’m saying. I won’t tell you any more unless you let me go.’
‘Ellert?’ repeated Erlendur. ‘You don’t mean Ellert and Vignir?’
It was the thief’s turn to fall silent.
‘Has he got a brother called Vignir?’ asked Erlendur.
‘Do you know them?’ The thief had forgotten about withholding the other brother’s name. ‘You mean you know who they are? What they’re up to? What was I supposed to do? They threatened me.’
Erlendur ignored him. He was trying to remember everything he knew about Ellert and Vignir, and think about what had happened on Kringlumýri.
What if there had been more than one person?
What if there had been more than one person at the pipeline the night Oddný went missing?
Erlendur froze on the steps of the police station; he was staring at the thief. What if he had it all backwards? Suppose it wasn’t Hannibal who had seen Oddný’s death but the other way round? What if she had witnessed Hannibal being attacked and drowned?
He had taken it for granted that Oddný had been the victim of an assault and that Hannibal had died because he had seen too much. But suppose she had seen Hannibal’s murderers? Suppose she was the one who couldn’t be allowed to get away?
Now he came to think of it, hadn’t Bergmundur said something to that effect about the brothers? That he was sure they wanted to bump Hannibal off and had succeeded in the end.
What did Hannibal have on them?
Had they gone to the pipeline to look for him?
Were they the ones who attacked him?
Did they silence Oddný?
‘So are you going to let me go then?’ The thief sounded hopeful as he stood there on the steps in his handcuffs, having played his trump card in a bid for mercy. Erlendur looked so preoccupied that the young man thought he was seriously considering his offer.
‘I can’t let you go.’ Erlendur gathered his wits.
He grabbed his companion and pushed him ahead of him into the station, announcing that the Skólavördustígur burglar had been detained and the stolen goods recovered.
43
The drug squad was extremely interested in the thief’s account. It was still early morning when the detectives sat down with the young man, whose name was Fannar and who had no previous record. It didn’t take them long to persuade him to cooperate. Fannar had never been arrested before, never needed a lawyer and was keen to avoid prison if he possibly could – as he said himself. They took advantage of his inexperience and almost childlike naivety. In fact, the interview went so smoothly that by the time the detectives paused for lunch he had told them all he knew about the brothers, Ellert and Vignir; how to go about scoring drugs from them and why he owed them money. They were particularly interested to hear that the brothers had ordered the robbery. The Reykjavík police had not encountered this method of debt collection before.
Fannar’s life had been a sad mess since his early teens: he had started drinking heavily, had dropped out of school, then started taking drugs – dope, mainly – and had fallen in with a bad crowd who kept him supplied. His parents had done everything in their power to make him quit, but his habit had only grown worse and he had plunged ever deeper into the abyss. From time to time they had succeeded in locking him in the house, getting him to a doctor or into a home for delinquents, once even managed to get him admitted to Kleppur, the mental hospital, but it was all futile. Instead of coming to his senses, Fannar took harder, more expensive drugs, and was in serious trouble by the time Erlendur tackled him outside the abattoir.
CID immediately ordered close surveillance for the brothers and over the next few days gathered sufficient information for their arrest. They had been smuggling pills and powder, resin, amphetamines and the increasingly popular marijuana on cargo ships. They would bag them up and they’d be ready to sell. Originally the brothers had worked as crew members on the ships, smuggling small quantities of alcohol, but the drugs proved far more lucrative and took up less space on board. The brothers had established contacts in both Hamburg and Boston, and now had no fewer than five men working for them on various ships. The drugs were stashed either in an old baiting shed at Grandi, to the west of Reykjavík harbour, or at a property in the Vogar district, where they ran a carpentry workshop. Both premises were rented from landlords who had no involvement with smuggling or drug dealing and were stunned when the police knocked on their doors to inform them that their tenants were dealers. The brothers had covered their tracks so well that the police had been totally unaware of their existence.
Some of this they gleaned from Fannar’s statement, the rest from police contacts in Reykjavík’s rather half-baked underworld. Among other things, the investigation revealed that the brothers had recently received a shipment from Boston. When the police arrived with back-up from Customs and Excise, the haul was found as yet untouched in the baiting shed. The brothers had been under surveillance for only three days before the arrests took place. They seemed to have become remarkably lax about security. The police decided their moment had come when the brothers went to check up on their goods. They did not resist arrest. They mostly seemed astonished at getting caught, though they did try to assert that the contents of the shed did not belong to them; they only rented it.
It would be an exaggeration to claim that the arrest of Ellert and Vignir uncovered a complex network of dealers and suppliers, since the brothers had worked more or less independently, apart from two or three other contacts in Iceland and the men on the ships. Although they had made a huge profit from their imports, they were careful to show no sign of it, continuing to work as carpenters, scrupulously filling in their tax returns, and avoiding buying new cars or anything else that might suggest they were wealthier than they appeared. Not one króna of their illegal earnings was paid into their bank accounts. This had caused them something of a headache. In the few years they had been in business, they had amassed a vast quantity of banknotes which they k
ept in plastic bags and boxes, some stored in the bait shed and workshop, the rest at home. Their profits had partly financed the house they moved into on Fálkagata.
As the police gathered more information about Ellert and Vignir, there was one thing that struck them. The men employed unusually brutal methods to call in their debts. Although they had never been charged, various cases of assault could be attributed to them now that their identity was known. They also had someone only too happy to do their dirty work. This individual was well known to the police; it was none other than Ellidi, the thug Erlendur had encountered in Austurvöllur Square when searching for people who knew Hannibal. Ellidi was brought in for questioning and remanded in custody as a result.
In the end a total of eight men were arrested after Fannar named the brothers. Prior to the arrests, it was thought inadvisable, in the interests of the investigation, for Fannar to be on the streets, so the police had applied for permission to detain him for breaking into the jeweller’s. The only person he was allowed to see was the solicitor he had finally got around to hiring.
When Erlendur looked in on him in the cells at Hverfisgata, Fannar was in a terrible state, exhausted from being pumped for information about the brothers all the time, unable to sleep or eat. He now deeply regretted the burglary and the fact that he had snitched on Ellert and Vignir.
‘I should have kept my mouth shut. They’ll find out who grassed them up and then … shit! I don’t know what I was thinking. What was I thinking?’
‘I doubt you’re even on their radar,’ Erlendur said to reassure him. ‘They would have been exposed sooner or later.’
‘Yes, but it’s happened now, and they’ll find out it was me.’
‘Try not to worry about it.’
‘Do you think I’ll be allowed to go home when it’s over?’
‘To be honest, I can’t tell you,’ said Erlendur. ‘Probably. You’ll be charged with burglary, but I don’t know if you’ll have to do time for that.’
‘One of the cops said I’d avoid the nick if I helped them.’
‘You shouldn’t believe everything you’re told.’
‘Shit, I never should have blabbed.’
‘You don’t happen to know if the brothers were acquainted with a man called Hannibal?’ asked Erlendur.
‘Hannibal. No. Who’s he?’
‘They never mentioned the name?’
‘They never mentioned anything except how much I owed them,’ said Fannar. ‘I only met them the once. Didn’t usually score direct from them. All they told me was how big my debt was and how I could pay it off.’
‘By breaking into the shop?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where do you suppose they got the idea from?’
‘Saw it on TV, some series they’re always watching. Thought it was cool.’
‘What series was that?’
‘Can’t remember … bloke in a wheelchair … Don’t watch TV myself.’
‘Ironside?’
‘That’s the one.’
44
The brothers were briefly detained at Hverfisgata while the request to remand them in custody was being processed. They were silent, their faces grim, as they were led down the corridor and locked in. A homeless man who had begged to be admitted early that morning was the only other occupant of the cells. He had whimpered that he was worn out, hadn’t had a proper night’s kip in a bed with a roof over his head for God knows how long. The duty sergeant told him to try the Fever Hospital but he said they had turned him away. After some argument the sergeant gave in and let him sleep in one of the cells.
Erlendur knew that once Ellert and Vignir had been transferred to the prison at Sídumúli he wouldn’t be able to get anywhere near them. If they decided not to cooperate and denied everything, they could end up languishing in solitary confinement for weeks. Erlendur didn’t have the patience to wait that long. He happened to be at the station when he heard that Vignir was already on his way to Sídumúli, so, realising he needed to act quickly, he slipped down to Ellert’s cell.
Ellert couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw Erlendur in his police uniform. He recognised him immediately. Erlendur had told them nothing about himself, only that he had known Hannibal.
‘You!’ exclaimed Ellert. ‘You’re never a cop!’
‘I’m in Traffic.’
‘Traffic?’
‘I’m not involved with your case,’ said Erlendur. ‘I hear you and your brother were picked up for drug trafficking but that’s nothing to do with me. My only interest is in Hannibal – seeing as your case is under investigation anyway.’
‘Our case? There is no case.’
‘No, right. As I said, my only concern is Hannibal.’
‘I don’t follow. What’s he got to do with it?’
‘This changes things,’ said Erlendur. ‘Don’t you think?’
‘Things?’ said Ellert. ‘What things? Why the hell do you keep going on about Hannibal? And who made up this shit about us selling dope? That’s what I’d like to know. Who the fuck is trying to frame us for that? Is it you? Did you make up that bollocks about Hannibal just to snoop round our house?’
‘No.’
‘So who’s been spreading this shit about us?’
‘I know nothing about the investigation beyond the fact that you’re being charged with drug trafficking. And I don’t have a clue what people have been saying about you. I wasn’t snooping, either. I wasn’t there on official business; my only concern was Hannibal. Did he know what you were up to?’
‘We weren’t up to anything,’ said Ellert. ‘Now you’ve really lost me.’
‘Did he threaten you? Was that why you set fire to his cellar – to scare him off? Is that what it was all about?’
‘I’ve nothing more to say to you.’
‘I repeat: did you set his cellar on fire?’
‘For Christ’s sake, the bloody tramp started it himself!’ snapped Ellert. ‘How many times do I have to tell you? We saved him. What don’t you understand? We shouldn’t have bothered. Should’ve left the stupid bastard to burn. Then at least we wouldn’t have you to deal with.’
‘I reckon you got rid of him,’ said Erlendur. ‘He suspected you. He was thrown out of his home and held you responsible for that. I reckon he knew what you were up to and threatened to expose you. You had a lot to lose. One tramp more or less didn’t matter. So one evening you and your brother went up to the pipeline where he was sleeping and attacked him. He fled to the flooded diggings where you two caught up with him.’
‘What the fuck?’ exclaimed Ellert. ‘We had no idea where he went after he was chucked out of Frímann’s place. And that wasn’t our fault – he managed that all by himself. The stupid bastard set the house on fire! It had nothing to do with us. And he never threatened us.’ As an afterthought he added: ‘Not that I know why he would have wanted to in the first place.’
‘Ever heard of a woman called Oddný?’ asked Erlendur, changing tack.
‘You what?’
‘She went out partying the night Hannibal died. To Thórskaffi. Decided to walk home because the weather was good and she wanted to clear her head. She never made it.’
‘What … what are you on about now?’
‘Chances are that Oddný walked past Hannibal’s camp that night,’ Erlendur continued. ‘Perhaps you recognise the name?’
‘Oddný? Never heard of her.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Sure? I’m positive!’
‘Is it possible that she saw you two?’ asked Erlendur. ‘Or perhaps it was just one of you? Was it Vignir? Or maybe you sent a sidekick to do your dirty work for you. Was that it? Did you send someone else to drown Hannibal?’
‘Oh, drop the bullshit. I don’t have a clue what you’re on about. Get out of here and leave me alone, you stupid prick.’
He stood up and advanced towards Erlendur. He was more of a mess than the last time Erlendur had seen him; after a night in the cell his
eyes were bleary, his hair dishevelled. Erlendur was careful not to betray his unease. All along he had spoken in even, almost soothing tones, never raising his voice, never changing his expression.
‘She tried to run away,’ he continued, unperturbed, ‘but she didn’t get far. She was only about ten, fifteen minutes’ walk from her home in Fossvogur. Maybe she started running in that direction when she saw you. You went after her. Perhaps she didn’t get any further than Kringlumýri before you caught up with her. At least, there were no witnesses.’
Ellert regarded him in silence.
‘What happened then?’ asked Erlendur.
The other man did not reply.
‘I know she was in the pipeline at some point,’ said Erlendur. ‘Did you take her there? Did you drag her? Or did she hide there until you found her?’
‘Is this some new kind of trick psychology?’ asked Ellert. ‘Trumping up charges for a serious crime I’ve never even heard of to get me to confess to some minor shit? Is that what this is all about? Is that how it works? Think I’m going to piss my pants just because you talk a load of bollocks?’
‘Did she hide in the pipeline?’ asked Erlendur, ignoring him.
‘You just carry on bullshitting,’ said Ellert.
‘Did you find her there?’
Ellert moved closer until their faces were nearly touching.
‘What do you want with me if you’re not even involved in the case? Why don’t you just fuck off?’
‘Wouldn’t it have been enough to threaten Oddný? Did you have to kill her?’
For a second he thought Ellert was going to go for him but then the other man backed away. His face twisted in a smile and he returned to the bed, where he sat down and stared at the floor in silence.
* * *
As Erlendur walked down the corridor he heard an ugly cough from the other occupied cell. Seeing that the door was open a crack, Erlendur decided to check if the man was all right. He pushed it wider and saw the tramp lying on the bed, fully clothed, reminiscent of Hannibal the year before. There was a throat-catching stench of urine. The tramp was wearing a filthy overcoat, his woolly hat lay on the floor at the head of the bed and one of his waders had fallen off, revealing three pairs of holey socks, one on top of the other, in as many colours: black, red and green. On the table lay a pair of battered horn-rimmed glasses, held together with Sellotape.
Reykjavik Nights Page 19
