‘And Jórunn wanted that child to be adopted elsewhere?’ Delía asked.
‘That’s right; she wanted him adopted by strangers so that she would not meet him later on. She had her own way that time, when she did not want her sister to adopt her child. Gudmundur and Gudfinna must have presumably continued to try for a child of their own without success. There was no fertility treatment at the time and they didn’t have many other options,’ he said, glancing at the doctor by his side for confirmation.
Kristín nodded her agreement.
‘Maybe they went to a doctor and were told that the problem was with Gudfinna’s fertility rather than Gudmundur’s. Maybe that’s when the idea came to Gudmundur; maybe before he invited Maríus and Jórunn to Siglufjördur. They were short of money, and Maríus was a character who was easily led. Maybe their financial situation worsened and Gudmundur saw an opportunity – helping them to move to Siglufjördur and finding work for Maríus, so that they were indebted to him. Then he was able to make them an offer they couldn’t refuse. He asked Jórunn to bear a child for him and Gudfinna.’
‘I don’t believe it,’ Hédinn said furiously.
‘Jórunn and Maríus were to be paid handsomely, as the deposit into Maríus’s account shows – the payment that wasn’t to be made until after Hédinn’s birth. Presumably the details were all agreed in advance, in case Jórunn changed her mind once the child had been born. But nobody could know the truth; nobody could see that it was in fact Jórunn who was pregnant and then breastfeeding for several months. Gudmundur’s solution was to move to an abandoned fjord, on the pretext of making an attempt to make a living from farming there. Plenty of people thought it was a mad idea, but it provided ideal cover.’
‘You must be out of your mind!’ Hédinn said, his voice rising almost to a shout.
‘So that’s why I wasn’t welcome when I went over there to take pictures?’ Delía asked.
‘I can well believe that that was the reason,’ Ari Thór replied. ‘But when it came to it, they needed more hands, and took on a young lad from Húsavík as a workman. But that turned out to be a mistake. I suspect that he noticed when Jórunn was breastfeeding the baby, which he must have thought was strange as Gudfinna was supposed to be the child’s mother. Gudmundur can’t have been happy about him seeing that.’
‘But who …?’ Delía stammered, and Ari Thór knew immediately where her question was heading. ‘… But who was the child’s father? Who was Hédinn’s dad?’
Ari Thór directed his answer to Hédinn. ‘I believe that Gudmundur was your father,’ he said.
‘And how did that work?’ Delía asked awkwardly.
‘I doubt it was complicated. He probably got his sister-in-law pregnant the old-fashioned way, which was presumably part of the arrangement,’ he said. ‘Then they must have waited; she turned out to be pregnant, and finally the birth. Maybe they had hoped they could manage the birth by themselves. But in the end, they called for a midwife, probably because they didn’t want to take any chances.’
‘Which is why they asked for the midwife from Ólafsfjördur,’ Delía said. ‘Here in Siglufjördur everyone knows everyone else, and they wouldn’t have been able to fool the midwife here.’
‘Exactly,’ Ari Thór said. ‘Gudmundur presumably introduced Jórunn as Gudfinna and hoped to get away with the deception, plus the sisters were very alike, at least they are in the photograph that set all this off.’
He unfolded a photocopy of the photograph from his notebook.
‘You can see that the principal difference between them is that one of the sisters is slimmer, and that’s Gudfinna – the one who was supposed to have just given birth to a child. It’s a detail, but just one more item that helps complete the puzzle. Incidentally, I went back to see Björg again and showed her the picture but, understandably, after all these years, she wasn’t able to confirm which of the two woman had been the child’s mother.’
‘That’s quite a tale,’ Delía said, clearly overcome with emotion. ‘So this was one of the reasons there were no pictures of Jórunn published when she died?’
‘Precisely,’ Ari Thór said cheerfully. ‘They didn’t want to take the risk that the midwife might recognise her later on, and realise that the dead woman was actually the mother of the little boy she had delivered, not the sister.’
‘And who the hell murdered Jórunn?’ Hédinn demanded, his voice laden with anguish.
‘Gudfinna, of course,’ Ari Thór replied.
‘What the hell do you mean?’ he snapped. ‘You said just now that neither my mother nor father had anything to do with her death …’ His voice faded away as he realised the implications of what he had just said.
Delía was quick to put the theory into words.
‘You mean that Gudfinna was Hédinn’s aunt, not his mother.’
‘I can’t listen to this any longer. Am I supposed to believe that my mother wasn’t my mother at all?’
Ari Thór wondered for a moment whether or not to stop his narrative then and there, but decided to take a few minutes to give them the final pieces of the puzzle.
‘What did your father say, Hédinn? That you had an aunt who had taken a life? I’ve wondered about those words and he was certainly referring to Gudfinna: your aunt who murdered your mother.’
‘I told you that in confidence, damn you,’ Hédinn said.
Delía got to her feet. ‘It’s late. That’s enough, I think,’ she decided.
But Hédinn had other ideas. ‘And why did she murder Jórunn? Tell me that?’
‘Of course, I can’t say for certain, but there is reason to believe that the balance of Gudfinna’s mind may well have been disturbed. We could say the same about both of them, in fact. Jórunn had carried a child for her sister, and saw that child every single day.’
‘And Gudfinna had no choice but to live with the woman who had slept with her husband,’ Delía added.
‘It may well be that jealousy tipped the balance; or fear that Jórunn would take the child once they had left Hédinsfjördur. It’s possible that Jórunn had threatened to do just that. At any rate, the isolation appears to have affected them both badly. Gudmundur’s actions appear to support the theory that he was protecting someone close to him – such as his wife, a woman who had committed murder. He found an apartment in Reykjavík for Maríus, putting distance between them and buying his silence to some extent. Maríus appears to have believed that his wife committed suicide, according to his brother’s recollections. Perhaps that’s why he appears to have kept quiet and gone along with the lie that it was an accident. It had been a difficult time for Jórunn, so Gudmundur may have found it easy to convince Maríus that it was suicide. In fact, it may well be that nobody but Gudmundur and Gudfinna knew the truth; but all three of them, Maríus included, conspired to lie to the police, saying that Jórunn had told them that she had taken the poison by mistake. Gudmundur and Gudfinna did this to hide the truth, while Maríus may have done it to hide what he thought was the truth.’
‘And Gudmundur arranged for Anton to leave the country,’ Delía added.
‘The boy was probably fully aware that Gudfinna had been in a bad way that winter, and that there was a poisonous atmosphere between the sisters. Anton could have made people suspicious,’ Ari Thór said. ‘Maybe he knew the statement in the police report – that rat poison was kept in the kitchen in a similar jar to the one sugar was kept in – was a complete lie.’
He fell silent and looked around. He felt the kitchen was a darker place than it had been; then he noticed that one of the two candles in the window had burned out.
Nobody spoke, so he continued, filling the emptiness.
‘The photograph tells its own tale,’ he said, smoothing out the photocopy on the kitchen table. ‘There’s no joy in the faces of Gudmundur, Jórunn or Gudfinna, and it’s noticeable how far apart the sisters are from each other. One of them is at either side of the group, neither of them holding the little boy.�
�
Kristín got to her feet. She had clearly had enough.
Ari Thór also stood up, but had not quite finished.
‘It was an adventure that was never going to end well, and in fact it ended terribly. Maríus presumably accepted the apartment so that he had a roof over his head. But he never touched Gudmundur’s blood money – the cash they had been promised for their part of the bargain and which had cost Jórunn her life. The only positive aspect of the whole thing was Hédinn’s birth,’ he said and tried unsuccessfully to send Hédinn a smile.
Hédinn glared back at him.
After an awkward pause, Ari Thór said, ‘I’m afraid Kristín and I have to be on our way. She needs to get back to Akureyri before the weather gets any worse,’ he lied.
Hédinn moved aside from where he stood in the kitchen doorway to let them past.
‘It’s up to you to decide whether or not to believe this theory or not. But I’m convinced that this was what happened,’ Ari Thór said as his final offering.
He wasn’t feeling too well, and asked himself why he wasn’t delighted to have solved the mystery. Should he have let things lie? he asked himself as they stepped out into the rain. He had done his best to shine a light on the past, but by doing so he could have made things worse. Now Hédinn would have to live with the knowledge that the woman who had brought him up may have murdered his real mother, without ever being able to be entirely sure of the circumstances of the case. There could be an opportunity for him to find his half-brother, though, if Jórunn and Maríus’s son could be found, and assuming the man was still living.
Ari Thór and Kristín hurried to the shelter of the car, leaving Hédinn and Delía behind in silence.
49
Ísrún’s prediction that the scandal would force Lára to resign but would have no discernible effect on the Prime Minister was proved correct. He stayed firmly where he was, his usual urbane and trustworthy self. He had agreed to a single television interview on the subject – with another station, which didn’t take Ísrún by surprise. She was hardly likely to be one of Marteinn’s favourites after she had exposed the scandal.
Marteinn had come out of the interview well, having roundly condemned the actions of those who had started the rumours, without being overly critical of Lára. With a smile he had convincingly denied any involvement.
Two weeks had passed. Journalists and bloggers had already moved on, as had the general public. The story had disappeared from view.
Ísrún had, however, heard tell that Lára and Marteinn were dating, but nothing was confirmed. They were apparently managing to stay out of the spotlight. Lára would surely continue to stay by Marteinn’s side, and she would certainly face no legal consequences for her actions; no one would be putting her behind bars for having started a rumour.
One week had passed since Ísrún had been called by her doctor.
‘Hello, Ísrún,’ he said warmly and her guts immediately knotted in anxiety. She was still waiting for the results of the MRI scan.
‘Hello,’ she replied, her mouth so dry that she could hardly form the word.
‘I have some pictures,’ the doctor said. ‘It all looks good.’
She gasped for air. It was as if her heart had stopped beating for a moment. Had she heard right?
‘What?’ was all she could manage to say.
‘It looks good,’ the doctor repeated. ‘Nothing to be seen; no tumour formation. It’s all going in the right direction, Ísrún.’
They continued the conversation for a few minutes. Ísrún felt a kind of euphoria she could not describe. Although she knew her condition was unpredictable, this was certainly good news.
In the following days she wondered again whether or not to discuss this with her family and colleagues.
Her father, Orri, had finally given in and contacted Anna, who was still in the Faroes. Ísrún had heard from both of them, each interpreting their conversation in their own ways. At least the gap between them was narrower than it had been. She was sure they would be back together before the summer, so she felt it was best not to rock the boat with news of a medical condition that finally looked to be improving. She decided to keep it to herself for the moment.
The situation was the same at work. What would she gain by letting them know about it? It wasn’t something she was anxious to share with anyone. She was in fierce competition for the choice of the best assignments and knew that it wouldn’t be long before the news editor’s job would be within her reach.
These were still minor considerations compared to the news from the doctor, though. She felt like she was walking on air.
‘I’m very optimistic,’ the doctor had said.
And this time she was inclined to believe him.
Róbert had tried calling Sunna quite a few times, but she never returned his calls. Then, one day, the number wasn’t even working any more. Of course he knew he would never win her back, but it was worth a try. He wasn’t a bad man, not really; or so he kept telling himself. It was just the drugs; he had been completely out of his mind on drugs.
After the reason behind the kidnapping had become public knowledge – the fact that Emil believed Róbert to be his girlfriend’s killer – the court of public opinion had found him guilty. He had been called in for formal questioning once more, for the sake of formality, but the evidence just wasn’t there. He would be free, in legal terms, but he would never be free of the images of the blood; of the poor girl, Bylgja, dying after he had struck her.
He had now left Iceland, given up on his studies, given up on everything. His parents acted as if they believed him, but he saw that they now knew the truth as well.
Now he had to try to make a fresh start abroad, but that was easier said than done.
The nightmares just kept coming.
Night after night after night.
50
Ari Thór and Kristín sat in the kitchen of the old house in Eyrargata. Ari Thór sipped his tea and gazed absently out of the window towards the mountains. He had just taken a shower after going for a run that morning instead of going to the pool; now he felt renewed in mind and body. There was a hint of rain in the air, making it perfect running weather. And it seemed that spring was on its way.
Kristín had been a regular visitor to Siglufjördur once the quarantine restrictions had been lifted, and Ari Thór had made several trips to see her in Akureyri.
Now he had won her back, he had no intention of making any more wrong moves.
‘Beautiful day?’ she said.
‘Very.’
‘Maybe it’s possible to get used to Siglufjördur after all,’ she said with the tinkling laugh that he loved so much.
‘There’s plenty of room in this house for you,’ he replied.
‘Careful, Ari Thór. We’ll see. Now the tunnel is there it’s no problem to live in Akureyri and work in Siglufjördur. Maybe you could move into my place?’
‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘But there’s no certainty I’ll get the job.’
‘Of course you’ll get the job,’ she said with a smile. ‘Tómas recommended you. And I have every faith in you.’
There was a comfortable rapport between them. Maybe it had done them good to take a break from each other, even though it hadn’t been the result of the most pleasant of circumstances. Now, though, Ari Thór felt confident that their relationship would be a success.
Then the phone rang.
‘Hello, Ari Thór.’
It was the girl from Blönduós. He was sure that she was calling with the results of the paternity test. He felt his heart pound and realised he was not entirely sure which result he was hoping for.
‘Listen … I had a call about … the results of the test. You’re not the father. I’m really sorry I had to put you through this,’ she said in a subdued voice.
Ari Thór was taken by surprise and did not know how to react.
‘No problem,’ he said without thinking.
‘You must be reli
eved,’ she said.
‘What? Well, yes. Your old boyfriend, is he the father?’
‘He is. He was always going to be the most likely candidate. Our relationship has been rather sticky … I was sort of hoping it was going to be you.’
Ari Thór was again unsure how to take this or how to reply. All he knew was that he was desperate to end the call.
‘I’m sorry, I have to run,’ he lied. ‘Good luck with everything. I’m sure it’ll work out for the three of you.’
‘Thanks. Maybe we’ll see each other some time,’ she said awkwardly.
Ari Thór returned her sentiment with no sincerity and finished the call as quickly as he could.
Kristín was beside him and he put his arms around her.
‘So you’re not the boy’s father?’ she said warmly.
‘No, I’m not. That’s good; it makes life a little easier,’ he said, conscious of how unconvincing he sounded and how his words were mixed with regret.
‘True enough,’ she said affectionately, clearly not taken in and not likely to let him get away with the pretence that he was happy with the result.
She didn’t ask if he had been looking forward to meeting the boy and having the chance to teach him the ways of the world – ensuring that he wouldn’t grow up without a father, as Ari Thór had done himself.
The unasked questions hung in the air, needing neither to be asked nor answered. Instead Kristín suggested what he had been waiting for.
‘Then we’d better work on making you a dad, hadn’t we?’
Acknowledgements
Rupture is dedicated to the memory of my grandparents in Siglufjördur – Þ. Ragnar Jónasson and Guðrún Reykdal – who have now passed away, but lived there for decades in a house which is the inspiration behind Ari Thór’s house. My grandfather was town treasurer of Siglufjördur, but he was always writing, and published five books on the history of Siglufjördur after his retirement. My grandmother collected and published folklore. Both of them encouraged me from an early age to keep writing, as did my parents, Jónas Ragnarsson and Katrín Guðjónsdóttir.
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