‘The drain pipe,’ he said, without catching her eye. ‘I banged my head against the drain.’
Salka watched him. He still wasn’t convincing, and she allowed the seconds to tick past before continuing.
‘Tell me about when you went out with the dog. Or, first explain to me what took you out?’
Skúli looked at her and settled a little into the chair.
‘Húbert’s pregnant…’
‘Hang on… Húbert is a she?’
‘Yeah. Húbert is a she,’ he said with emphasis on the she. ‘She’s carrying pups.’
Salka let it pass with a nod, and as the silence became awkwardly long, Skúli seemed to sense that she was waiting for him to continue.
‘Well, I couldn’t sleep, and Húbert wasn’t happy, so we went for a walk.’
‘What time was this?’
‘Around two-thirty, I reckon.’
‘Why do you reckon that?’
‘I looked at the clock when I went into the kitchen and then it was a quarter past. So sometime soon-ish after that.’
‘And you took the dog for a walk in the middle of the night. Is that normal?’
‘No. It’s unusual. But she was bit needy.’
‘Does Húbert usually get needy? And at night?’
‘That’s two questions. Does she get needy? Yes. That started after she got pregnant. But in the middle of the night? No. Or if she does, I sleep through it. But I think she must have been aware of some movement outside because she barked by the living room window.’
‘And did you notice anyone about?’
‘No.’
Salka placed the map of Grenivík on the desk in front of Skúli.
‘You live here, don’t you?’ she asked, sliding it across to him and pointing to the house at the edge of the open space below the church.
‘Yeah,’ he agreed, leaning back in the chair after peering at the map and pushing it back to her.
‘So you have a good view of the church,’ Salka said, examining the map.
‘I can see it clearly from the living room window.’
‘What made you take Húbert out?’
‘Because she was whining and wanted to go out. She was scratching at the door. Do you have a dog?’
‘No.’
‘There you go. If you had a dog then you’d understand when they need to go outside.’
Salka sighed, almost silently. She slid the map back across to him.
‘Show me where you went with Húbert.’
He leaned forward and pored for a long time over the map.
‘I just went out here onto the grass,’ he said, tapping the spot with a finger.
‘You went out the back door? You usually do that?’
‘Yes. I told you Húbert was scratching at the back door. I opened it and she ran up to the church. She stopped by the steps.’
‘And then?’
‘When I came closer to the church, I saw that the doors were open a little way.’
‘And at what point did you see that?’
‘I would have been about here,’ he said, his finger on a point in front of the church.
Salka picked up a pen and marked the spot with an X.
‘Then what happened?’
‘I went into the church. And that’s where I saw … I saw … Hróbjartur.’
‘Did you go up to him?’
‘No… I don’t remember. I don’t think so. I ran out of the door and home. Called the cops.’
‘You can’t have seen much if you didn’t go into the church?’
‘Well, I might have gone closer. It’s all hazy.’
‘Did you have your phone with you?’
‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘I forgot to take it with me.’
‘Do you have it with you now?’
‘No. It’s at home.’
‘What’s the pass code for your phone?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The number to get into your phone.’
‘That’s none of your business.’
Idiot, Salka thought. She wasn’t going to bother telling him that it didn’t matter, that the forensic team would easily find a way into his phone data.
‘You work for the local authority in Grenivík. What does your job entail?’
‘I’m responsible for all sorts,’ he said with a touch of pomposity. Salka thought she could even detect a shadow of a smile. ‘I look after maintenance and make sure that the buildings are all in good repair. I’m responsible for the school building, the church, the swimming pool, facilities at the camp site, and loads more. Residents often come to me if they have a problem.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like what?’ he asked, as if the question had taken him by surprise and a note of irritation crept into his voice, maybe because Salka hadn’t looked at him for a while.
Salka was satisfied with his response. She knew that she needed to trigger a variety of responses, and the only way to do that was to do things that Skúli wouldn't expect.
‘There’s always someone who has a problem. Blocked pipes, this and that. All sorts of stuff. And I’d like to be on my way now. I have work to do,’ he said, and made as if to rise from the chair.
‘What about the church?’
‘What about it?’ Skúli said, sitting back down.
‘You fix things for the church as well?’
‘Yes. Now and again,’ he said, sounding less secure.
‘So you must have known Hróbjartur?’ she asked, looking at him.
Skúli held her gaze and rubbed his palm with the tip of his thumb.
‘Yes.’
‘Well?’
‘No, not really. I’d run into him now and then, of course, if something needed fixing.’
‘When did you last meet him?’
Skúli thought. He glanced down at his palm, as if the answer could be found there, like a cribbed answer to an exam question.
‘That would have been three days ago. That’s when I saw him walking through the churchyard.’
‘What was he doing?’
‘That I don’t know. Just looking around.’
‘Did you speak to him?’
‘No.’
‘When did you last have a conversation?’
‘Hmm,’ he said, puffing out his cheeks and looking up at the ceiling. ‘Probably last weekend. He asked me to fix one of the pews in the church. One of the seats had come loose. But we didn’t talk much. I didn’t want to… we didn’t talk a lot.’
‘What didn’t you want to do?’
When Skúli failed to reply, Salka repeated the question.
‘May he rest in peace, and all that, but I’ve no more to say. I told you I wanted a lawyer, and now I’ve spoken too much and for too long. And if anything’s happened to Húbert, then that’s down to you,’ he said, pointing a finger at her.
This was the second time that Salka felt a dislike for him, there was something in his eyes that just didn’t feel right.
Salka was about to continue when a loud voice and a babble of noise carried into the interview room from the office next door. She hesitated, but as the volume grew, she stood up and opened the door.
Along the corridor, in front of the open door of Valgeir’s office, a broad-shouldered woman was wagging an accusing finger through the doorway, while Gísli stood open-mouthed to one side.
‘Now you listen to me, Valgeir, and let the lad out,’ she barked, glaring in through the open doorway. ‘What on earth is all this fuss about? The lad has nothing whatever to do with all this.’
‘My dear Alda,’ Valgeir protested, appearing in the doorway and placing an arm around her shoulder, which she unhesitatingly slapped away. ‘It’s just procedure, Alda.’
‘Don’t give me any of that my dear Alda crap. No arguments, and you stay right where you are!’ she snarled, her eyes on Valgeir, but her words intended for Gísli who had taken a step in her direction. ‘He’s your brother’s son, Valgeir. I’m telling
you right now to hand my boy over!’ she ordered, noticing Salka standing in the doorway and taking rapid steps towards her. Now the wagging finger had a new recipient.
Salka stepped out, shutting the door behind her, after instructing Skúli to stay exactly where he was. Now Alda faced her, and there was no hiding the anger that shone from her dark blue eyes. She was a powerfully built woman, wearing a dark green cardigan over a burgundy roll-neck sweater. Salka wasn’t surprised to see beads of sweat on the woman’s ruddy face. Her mousy hair stuck out from under the multi-coloured woollen hat and the perspiration ran down from under it and over her forehead.
‘You’re that Salka, aren’t you?’ Alda said, coming closer, and wiping away the pearls of sweat that threatened to run into her eyes. ‘Gísli called me and said my Skúli’s been arrested, and you’re the one behind all this.’
That, Salka thought, noticing the tremor that passed through the woman’s jaw as she ground her teeth.
‘I didn’t say…’ Gísli broke in as he stepped closer.
He must have taken a shower at the station, as Salka noticed a strong whiff of aftershave from him.
‘Be quiet!’ Alda said, glaring at him, while Salka struggled not to laugh. ‘Is he in there?’
‘Good morning, Alda,’ Salka said with a smile and offered a hand. ‘That’s right, I’m that Salka. I guess you’re Skúli’s mother.’
Alda had instinctively grasped Salka’s hand, snatching it back as soon as she realised what she had done.
‘That’s absolutely right. And now he’s coming home with me,’ she announced, in a more measured tone but with the same unmistakeable emphasis to her words.
‘We need to speak to…’ Salka said, pausing as she noticed the young female officer she had seen earlier that morning approaching, a sheet of paper in her hand. ‘Just a moment, Alda,’ she said as she stepped past her, exchanged a few words with her colleague and returned to resume the conversation with Alda. ‘Skúli is going to be here a little while longer but you’re welcome to wait.’
‘Wait?’ Alda demanded.
‘You can wait here at the station. I can’t say how long he’ll be here. But this is a search warrant,’ Salka said, holding up the sheet of paper that Alda practically snatched from between her fingers. ‘We need to take a look at your house.’
‘I don’t think so. Now, go and fetch my Skúli and we’re going home.’
Her finger pointed along the corridor, and if Salka wasn’t mistaken, northwards to Grenivík.
13
As she and Gísli arrived in Grenivík, Salka slowed down, and drove past the turnoff for the tarmac road that led down to the church. Quite a few cars were parked on the open ground in front of the old school that had been an imposing building in its day. Salka could make out at least two vehicles in the colours of TV stations. Camera teams and reporters had taken up positions in front of the police tape that had been strung across the road leading to the church. The police officers on duty there had been told to pay them no attention unless they got pushy and tried to get closer – which had already happened. The church was in a fairly open space, so it could be approached from three sides. Reinforcements had been called in to close off access.
They parked in front of Alda and Skúli’s house. Alda had given in, agreed to wait at the police station and handed over her house keys. In Akureyri the fog had finally lifted and the message reached Salka that the forensic team were finally airborne.
She inspected the detached house that had been built on conventional lines. It was an understated, white-walled house with a low roof of red corrugated iron. The grass was freshly mown and the hedge around it had been neatly clipped.
‘Good morning to you,’ said a voice behind them, and Salka turned to find that it belonged to an elderly man.
‘Good morning,’ Salka replied, taking in the man who stood on the pavement.
‘You’re from the police, are you?’
‘We are.’
‘I saw your car by the church this morning. I live in the next house along,’ he said, nodding in its direction.
‘I see,’ she said, going over to him. ‘And when was that?’
‘When you drove up to it just before seven.’
‘Had you been up long by then?’
‘No, I was only just up,’ he said, taking a handkerchief from a back pocket and applying it to his nose. ‘May I ask what’s going on?’ he asked with a smile.
‘It’s difficult to say at the moment,’ Salka said, and returned the man’s smile.
‘This is a small place, as you can see,’ he said slowly, and the smile disappeared from his face. ‘Somebody mentioned a body in the church.’
‘I’m not able to comment right now. Sorry,’ she said, about to turn away.
‘No,’ he said thoughtfully, glancing downwards. ‘There’s not much goes on around here that makes the news. I don’t recall ever seeing a whole pack of newsmen here before, and I’ve lived here all my life.’ He laughed, and the handkerchief was returned to his nose before being pressed into service to polish his glasses, while he squinted at the clear sky above. ‘There’s a rumour going round that something terrible has happened. What do you want with Alda … and Skúli?’
Salka noticed a movement at the edge of her field of vision. The man’s white-haired wife had emerged from the house next door and Salka could see her eyes wide open as she stretched to raise her chin above the hedge. When she glanced that way, she could see faces in the windows of houses across the street, all of which dodged behind the curtains as she met their gaze.
‘As I mentioned, there’s nothing I can say at this moment,’ she said courteously and turned to walk towards the house.
‘No, of course,’ she heard the man say behind her, as if speaking to himself.
Gísli had waited silently by the front door, and the dog started barking inside before he had even opened it. Gísli swung the door open and they went inside. A black and white collie stood in the middle of the living room and fell silent as it saw them. As far as Salka could see, its sense of smell was being put to full use. She wondered what the dog would make of Gísli, as it had probably been aware of his aftershave the moment the car door had opened.
‘So you must be Húbert?’ Salka said, dropping to her haunches.
The dog looked at her suspiciously, and then lay down, which Salka interpreted as meaning she wanted to be scratched. She stroked the dog’s belly and head.
‘They say that these are the smartest dogs in the world,’ Gísli said.
‘You seem to know something about dogs,’ Salka said, getting to her feet.
‘I was brought up in a dogs’ home. Which is to say that there were dogs in the household I grew up in,’ he explained when he heard Salka stifle a laugh.
‘Here, put these on,’ she said, handing him light blue latex gloves and matching shoe covers. ‘We’d best take care not to touch too much in here. I don’t want to upset the forensics guys.’
In the living room Salka looked out of the window, gazing over the open ground at the church she guessed to be around a hundred metres away. She cast an eye around the neat living room with its bland furnishings, a few porcelain ornaments and plastic plants here and there. A hulking leather sofa and a TV chair had been placed in front of the television. There was nothing out of the ordinary other than the cuckoo clock on the wall. Salka inspected it and was startled when little doors in the clock face opened and shut in turn and a bar shot out and in again. The cuckoo itself was missing, even though it squawked thirteen times, indicating that it had to be one o’clock.
Checking the other rooms, Salka found Skúli’s bedroom. It was in complete contrast to the tidiness in the rest of the house. The floor was awash with clothes. The bed was unmade and Salka felt that the sour, heavy air was thick enough to cut with a knife. She clicked the light switch by the door several times, then realised that the lightbulb was dead. She gingerly made her way across the room and drew the blackout cu
rtain. She wanted to open a window but decided against it, preferring to touch as little as possible. A desk was strewn with junk, and a laptop. She switched on the computer and saw that a password was needed to get any further, and the same went for the phone that lay on the bedside table. Alongside the phone were the backing strips from sticking plasters and she thought of what Skúli had told her, that he had banged his head badly.
‘There’s something wrong with her,’ Gísli called from the living room.
‘Who?’
‘Húbert … Who calls a bitch Húbert?’
‘Skúli does,’ Salka said, returning to the living room. ‘What makes you think there’s something wrong?’
‘She doesn’t want to stand up,’ Gísli said, trying to lift the dog to its feet, but Húbert remained lying on her side.
‘Look, there’s blood,’ Salka said and reached down to lift Húbert’s tail.
‘The poor thing’s not well,’ Gísli said after taking a careful look.
‘Is she miscarrying? Is that what you’d say? A miscarriage?’ Salka asked.
‘Yes, more than likely. But she shouldn’t be bleeding. Something’s happened to her. You can see how sore she is when I touch her belly,’ he said and Húbert whined as he pressed gently on her middle.
Salka stood up. She looked out of the living room window at the church and thought of Skúli. He must have known about the dog’s condition.
‘Why the hell didn’t Skúli say anything?’ she muttered.
‘This hasn’t happened by itself. Something’s happened to her. He… she could have been hit by a car, or…’
‘Or what?’
‘Or someone could have kicked her,’ he said as he stood up. ‘We’ll have to take her with us.’
Salka’s phone rang and she answered without looking at the screen.
‘Hello, Salka. Óttar here.’
Salka hesitated. She had the sinking feeling that she should recognise the person on the other end of the phone, but she couldn’t. The distinctive voice did sound familiar, which helped her dredge through her memory for a face to go with it.
‘Ah. Hello, Óttar. What’s new?’
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