Rupture

by Ragnar Jónasson

  Like the other evenings they had spent together recently, it felt like a first date, but with a warm, familiar feel to it. Ari Thór knew that he was being given a second chance, for which he was deeply thankful. But he also knew that this was a last chance. He had matured since their split and felt that she had done the same. In recent meetings, they had treated each other with more respect than before, but maybe also with less passion. He was still deeply in love with her, but there was perhaps a bit less emotion in their exchanges. He wasn’t sure whether that was a good or a bad thing.

  Ari Thór was off duty for the evening and for the whole of Saturday. He took care to mute his phone so they could enjoy the evening with no interruptions.

  ‘Not a bad interview,’ she said as the item about Siglufjördur came to an end. She rested her hand on his knee. ‘A shame it was just a phone interview. What’s all that about the old photograph?’

  ‘Good question,’ Ari Thór said, and told her the whole story, starting with Hédinn’s visit, the death in Hédinsfjördur and the things that he and Ísrún had managed to uncover between them. Being a storyteller helped him relax and as he had the facts at his fingertips, the narrative flowed easily. The wine helped as well.

  ‘I was wondering if you’d come with me to meet Hédinn tomorrow evening,’ he said, hoping for a positive response. He had already spoken to Delía and she was happy to show Hédinn the film, adding that she regretted never having told him about it. ‘He’ll get to see the film from Hédinsfjördur for the first time,’ he told Kristín.

  ‘You’re inviting me to come and watch a movie with you?’ she asked.

  ‘Sort of.’

  ‘Sounds good. We can go out and have some fun tomorrow night,’ she said and leaned close to whisper. ‘But tonight we’ll have our fun at home.’

  38

  Ísrún tried repeatedly to call Ari Thór. Becoming impatient, she followed the third unanswered call with a text message: CALL ME.

  The man who claimed to know the identity of the youngster in the photograph was called Thorvaldur. She had his number, and desperately wanted to call him and satisfy her curiosity, but she held back. This was Ari Thór’s affair and it would be better to talk to him first to decide which of them should speak to him. But it hardly mattered if they spoke to him now or in the morning, she supposed.

  Her father had paused the film when she stood up to answer the phone. Habit had taken her into her old room to take the call. By the time she returned to the living room with her phone in her hand, he had moved from the sofa to his favourite armchair where he was snoring peacefully. There was no reason to wake him, she smiled to herself. The movie could wait. She was deeply fond of the old man and he had always been good to her – had always had time for her.

  She thought of Emil, who had lost the love of his life without a moment’s warning in that brutal assault. How would she have reacted in his position? What would she do if someone were to knock one evening and beat her father to death with a baseball bat? She shuddered, feeling the rage welling up inside her even at the thought of it. She would want revenge, no doubt about it; but how far would she be prepared to go? Not as far as Emil, surely?

  But then again, was it even possible to imagine herself in the position of a man whose world had crumbled to nothing in a single evening? Emil’s crimes had been unforgivable, and she had congratulated the police for catching him. But maybe it was all too easy to stand aloof and condemn him. Maybe she had been too harsh in her judgement of the man, as she knew she was inclined to be. At the very least, she had to admit to herself that she could sympathise with the fury that had overwhelmed him. And there was no doubt that he had evened out the score with Snorri Ellertsson, and that the abduction would have lasting effects on Róbert.

  A police press release had come in half an hour before the evening news bulletin was due to air, announcing that there had been a search of Emil’s parents’ house, and mentioning his alleged connection with Snorri’s murder. Ísrún had boiled the press release down into a short item that went out as part of the bulletin.

  It had been painful to have to sit on the bombshell that Emil was convinced of Snorri’s involvement in Bylgja’s death, but she had promised her contact that she’d keep it to herself until the morning and dared not go against his instructions. That would be something she’d only get to do once, and even for a piece of news like this, it wasn’t worth it. But, just for a moment, it had occurred to her to do it all the same.

  She had a one-to-one interview with the Prime Minister lined up for the next day, just as the Emil–Snorri story would become public knowledge. Admittedly, the interview was supposed to be about changes to the cabinet, but there was always a chance she could extract a reaction from Marteinn.

  Ísrún padded to the door and out to her car to collect Nikulás’s box. Looking through the old papers would give her something to occupy herself with while she waited for Ari Thór to reply.

  Back in her old room, she shut the door behind her. Her bed was where it had always been, but this had become a guest bedroom and a storage space for the books there was no longer room for in the living room.

  Leafing through a dead stranger’s documents gave her a chill of discomfort; it was as if she were taking a look at something that was no business of hers, or peering through someone’s window. She put the savings books aside, as there was nothing to be learned from them. The letters were more interesting, though. Only the letter Nikulás had told her about had come from Gudmundur. Otherwise the letters appeared to be mainly from a friend who lived somewhere in the Westfjords and rarely came to Reykjavík. There was a warmth to his correspondence with Maríus – a genuine concern for him and frequent questions about the state of his and Jórunn’s finances.

  ‘I’ve enclosed a little something,’ one letter ended. ‘To help see you through the winter. You can pay me back when you can.’

  There was nothing in the box that Maríus had written himself. There were lots of cuttings, every one of them about cars: advertisements for cars and pictures of limousines. Ísrún drew the conclusion that Maríus must have had a special interest, but one that he must have had to indulge from a distance. It was unlikely that he could have been able to afford any of them.

  She lay back on her old bed and closed her eyes.

  In this place all the problems of the world retreated into the distance. Her illness not only vanished, it seemed as if it had never even existed. The future became an unwritten book with a wealth of options open to her. She felt warm and secure as she fell into a deep sleep.

  39

  Ari Thór eased himself gently out of bed, leaving Kristín asleep.

  It was almost midnight and he had remembered that he had left his phone on a shelf downstairs. Although he wasn’t expecting any calls, he was reluctant to go to sleep without it nearby.

  He went downstairs, taking care on the step that always creaked and hoping he hadn’t woken Kristín. Picking the phone up, he was surprised to see three missed calls from Ísrún and a text message clearly stating that he should call right away.

  He called her back, even though it was late; this had to be important.

  Ísrún woke from a peaceful sleep to the sound of the phone buzzing. She shook herself awake and hoped Ari Thór would not realise that she had been asleep.

  ‘Hello, thanks for calling back,’ she said, unable to disguise the fatigue in her voice.

  ‘No problem,’ he replied. ‘Anything new?’

  ‘We’re on the trail,’ Ísrún said with satisfaction.

  ‘Really? After the news? Any response?’

  ‘You could say that. Someone called the news desk saying he knew who the young guy in the picture is.’

  ‘What? Really?’ Ari Thór asked in astonishment. ‘Is the teenager in the picture still alive, then? What’s his name?’

  ‘I don’t know, I’m afraid, I didn’t take the call. I was just given a message. The man who phoned in is called Thorvaldur. I
thought it might be best if you speak to him yourself. Do you have a pen and paper handy?’

  ‘Just a moment,’ he said and was back with the phone to his ear as Ísrún read out the number for him. ‘Thank you. I’ll call him in the morning. It’s probably too late now, isn’t it?’

  ‘I reckon so,’ Ísrún said, unable to keep the sarcasm out of her tone. ‘Let me know what happens, you’ve no idea how curious I am about this.’

  ‘Don’t worry. We’re a team now; it was fantastic that you could get the photo onto the news tonight, and it really made a difference that you could go and see old Nikulás.’

  ‘Which reminds me …’ she said, looking down at the box on the floor. ‘Nikulás lent me a box of Maríus’s papers: cuttings, bankbooks and the like. There’s a letter from Gudmundur suggesting that he and Gudfinna should adopt the boy that Maríus and Jórunn had in 1950. That never happened, but Nikulás seems to think that it shows Gudmundur’s goodwill towards the young couple.’

  ‘That’s interesting,’ Ari Thór said. ‘I have to admit that I’m wondering about Gudmundur. He’s described as being either good-natured and helpful, or else arrogant and awkward. I’m finding it difficult to figure him out. He seems to have been a complex character. Or am I just reading the evidence wrongly?’

  ‘They must have been an interesting group in Hédinsfjördur,’ she said, not answering the question. ‘Nikulás said that Gudfinna liked to get her own way and had been bossy by nature, even envious; the kind of woman who got what she wanted. Maríus appears to have been a simple soul, easily led and pushed around.’

  ‘Jórunn must have had a hard time of it,’ Ari Thór said. ‘She had to give up her baby and then move north to such an isolated place. Then she got lost in the winter’s darkness and died. Hédinn told me about something his father had said, which could concern Jórunn and her son.’ And Ari Thór recounted Hédinn’s father’s disturbing tale.

  ‘That’s very interesting,’ Ísrún said when he’d finished. ‘But I find it hard to believe that Jórunn could have murdered her own child. However you look at it, though, Jórunn must have found it hard to bear seeing her sister having a child of her own. That may have added to her depression.’

  ‘More than likely.’

  ‘So there’s a question,’ Ísrún said, enjoying the speculation. ‘What sort of person was this young lad, and what effect did his presence have on such an isolated group of people?’

  ‘Let’s hope we find out tomorrow,’ Ari Thór said and Ísrún could sense his excitement.

  She wondered for a moment if they were both just seeing this as a fascinating game; a mystery with a solution that would affect neither of them, just a pleasant diversion during the depths of winter. Had they forgotten that the people they were discussing had been real men and women who experienced joy and sorrow? Now, half a century later, free of any responsibility, she and Ari Thór were digging through these people’s lives – and even their personal papers – to work out if one of them had committed a murder. The thought made her squirm a little.

  ‘I’m waiting for some information from the local midwife as well,’ Ari Thór added. ‘She may be able to shed some light on the conditions over there.’

  ‘She’s still alive?’ Ísrún asked in surprise. ‘The midwife who delivered Hédinn?’

  ‘No, nothing as good as that. The woman who is the current Siglufjördur midwife is going to go through the old paperwork; we’ll see what she comes up with.’

  ‘You’re sure the midwife came from Siglufjördur?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Why do you think that the midwife would have come from Siglufjördur and not from Ólafsfjördur?’

  ‘They were from Siglufjördur themselves, so I reckon that’s more likely, and it’s a longer journey from Ólafsfjördur. But you have a point, I suppose. I’ll check tomorrow.’

  ‘We’re both going to be busy, and I need to get some sleep,’ she said, stealing a glance at the clock. ‘I have a shift tomorrow, yet again.’

  ‘At least you get some variety,’ Ari Thór replied, with a touch of bitterness. ‘No two days are the same.’

  ‘That’s true enough,’ she said thoughtfully, wondering if the young man was bored in his north-coast town. ‘But people burn out quickly in this job,’ she added, as if trying to give him some encouragement. ‘And a journalist’s job security is as good as zero. I envy you having that. You’ll be able to stay on the force until you retire,’ she said with a laugh, expecting to get a similar response from him. Instead there was silence.

  ‘Anyway,’ she said. ‘I have to go. There’s another murder to deal with tomorrow. Snorri Ellertsson’s.’

  ‘I saw it on the news. Hasn’t that been resolved, now?’ Ari Thór asked. ‘Wasn’t it the child abductor who murdered him – for the same reasons he took the child? My guess is that it was some kind of revenge; perhaps Snorri was involved in the assault on the man’s wife, too.’

  Ísrún had mentioned the resolution of the kidnapping during the news bulletin, which had included the theory that Emil had been seeking revenge for the death of his wife. No reason for Snorri’s murder had yet been made public, but Ari Thór had clearly put two and two together. Ísrún thought carefully before replying. She took the decision to trust him.

  ‘That’s the way it looks, but please, not a word to anyone. Can we keep this between ourselves? I’m running a story on it in the morning. You can imagine the shock waves if it turns out that Ellert Snorrason’s son beat a young woman to death.’

  There was a moment’s silence.

  ‘I was imagining what happens if it turns out he didn’t do it,’ Ari Thór said, ‘if he actually had nothing to do with the murder…’

  40

  As Ari Thór’s conversation with Ísrún ended, he noticed that there were also messages from Tómas on his phone. They were more courteous that Ísrún’s message, but the gist was the same.

  Tómas was on duty so Ari Thór called him right away.

  ‘Ah, dear boy. I hope I’m not disturbing you. You weren’t asleep, were you?’

  ‘No, not at all. Is anything wrong?’

  He could hear Tómas hesitating, before his voice dropped to a grave bass.

  ‘News from the hospital that I need to pass on to you dear boy,’ he said.

  Ari Thór sensed instantly what this was likely to be.

  ‘Old Sandra passed away this evening. Poor old girl. Her time had come.’

  Ari Thór didn’t reply. He stood still and felt the energy seep out of him. The sight of the police car in the driveway that rainy afternoon fourteen years before came flashing back to him. The police were there to give the youngster the bad news that his mother had died in a car crash.

  ‘I hope you’re not too upset. She had a good, long life.’

  ‘Thanks for letting me know,’ Ari Thór said shortly. ‘I’ll come in and see you tomorrow.’

  ‘You just take it easy tomorrow, and I’ll see you on Sunday,’ Tómas told him. ‘Good night.’

  Ari Thór was frozen to the spot.

  He had wept when his mother died and had been unable to control the flood of tears. Now he had the urge to weep, but refused to give way to it.

  His sorrow was mixed with deep regret. Why hadn’t he made the effort to pay the old lady a visit?

  As he padded up the stairs, his thoughts took him back to the cold autumn day of his mother’s funeral.

  He lay down next to Kristín, but he struggled to fall to sleep.

  What a weakling he had been – wanting to avoid a difficult farewell. He was ashamed of himself and knew that this was something he would regret for the rest of his life.

  41

  At home in her little apartment, Ari Thór’s words stayed in Ísrún’s mind as she tried to get to sleep.

  She turned over and over in bed, and was finally able to find some peace.

  When she woke the following morning, however, she found that a new idea had for
med in her mind.

  What if Snorri had not been involved in the assault on that unfortunate woman? What if he had been innocent? If this was the case, why had Emil been convinced he was involved in some way in the assault?

  Could this have been some kind of vicious political double-dealing, courtesy of Snorri’s father’s opponents? Her mind buzzed with ideas.

  She was the first one into the newsroom, and as soon as she arrived, she tried to get through to her police contact, although she knew that she was pushing hard at the boundaries of their relationship. It was a shame really; now she only used him as a source of information, but at one time, briefly, they had been a couple.

  They had met a few times and he hadn’t hidden his interest in her. Then, one evening, she decided to take things a step further – to sleep with him once and see where that would take them. He was a good man: warm and trustworthy – not to mention good-looking. She had invited him to her place, but when it came to the crunch, she couldn’t go through with it. She made a poor excuse and asked him to be on his way. She felt uncomfortable alone with him and didn’t want to allow him to come too close. She knew very well why this was: she still hadn’t recovered from being assaulted and raped a few years earlier. She would probably never fully get over that experience.

  Now she needed him one more time, she told his answering service – to answer a single question: where had Emil’s information that Snorri had been behind the assault come from?

  Her police contact called her back a few minutes later. Ísrún had been right in her suspicion that he was becoming tired of her demands, but he said that of course he could ‘understand her ambition’. She smiled to herself, conscious of why he was being so co-operative.

  ‘There were rumours along those lines going around the party a while ago,’ he said.