The Commandments : A Novel (2021)

by Gudmundsson, Oskar

  ‘I was.’

  ‘Do you recall a lad called Anton?’

  Fríða opened her eyes and looked at Salka.

  ‘Yes. I remember him. I presume you’re talking about the boy who disappeared?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well,’ Fríða said on the in-breath, thoughtfully, gazing out of the window. ‘That was all rather strange. Look at this,’ she said, smiling. ‘She comes every day to see how I am,’ she continued, meaning the wagtail that had perched on the windowsill. It flew away as soon as Salka turned to look more closely.

  ‘Was there anything in particular that you found strange?’ she asked, taking out a notebook.

  There was a long silence.

  ‘I don’t know. It was wonderful to work with the Reverend Gunnleifur and all those good people who were part of the church. But I remember those days at the time of that event, because so much changed after Anton’s disappearance. They came into the church to talk. I saw them take a seat on one of the pews. The boy looked dreadful,’ Fríða said, looking up into space. ‘But that was the last I saw of him, because I had to go and fetch flowers and other things for the service that was taking place in the church later in the day.’

  ‘And were they speaking calmly, or was Anton making trouble?’

  ‘They were both very calm. But when I came back that day … and for days afterwards, I found that Gunnleifur was very absorbed. He wasn’t his usual self at all.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘He was just distant, and he was apt to be easily annoyed, which was most unlike him. It became worse as time passed. I was quite simply frightened of him. And then he asked me go down south to Reykjavík.’

  ‘Why did he do that?’ Salka asked, when she realised that Fríða had stopped her narrative.

  ‘He encouraged me to go and stay with my son who lived there at that time. Up to then he had never taken any interest in whether or not I saw my son. That was a little strange.’

  ‘And did you go south?’

  ‘Yes, I did. There was nothing else for it, as Gunnleifur had bought me a ticket and drove me out to the airport. It was as if there was some urgency to get me to go to Reykjavík.’

  ‘Do you remember when this was?’

  ‘It was on the Tuesday. Two days after Anton was last seen.’

  Salka remembered that Valgeir had interviewed Gunnleifur that Tuesday.

  ‘Did you ever speak to Gunnleifur about this? About what had become of Anton?’

  ‘I tried, but that only made him angry. And he said there was no need for me to talk to the police, even though I had already told him that I wanted to report the disappearance of the candlestick.’

  ‘A candlestick?’

  ‘Yes. The one that couldn’t be found anywhere.’

  ‘The same day Anton disappeared?’

  ‘Yes,’ Fríða said. ‘Gunnleifur gave the impression that Anton had stolen it. I didn’t have any doubts about that, as I knew the poor boy had been in all kinds of trouble.’

  ‘So the police never spoke to you?’ Salka asked, looking up from her notebook.

  Friða’s eyes were closed, and this time she seemed to be asleep.

  Salka waited for a while and stood up, ready to leave the room.

  ‘You have the same beautiful red hair as my mother had,’ Fríða said in a voice that was faint.

  ‘And you have beautiful hair as well,’ Salka said, went to the side of the bed and took her hand. ‘You look lovely.’

  ‘Thank you. I try to look after myself,’ Fríða smiled. ‘It’s a little difficult getting old. I can tell you that here and now, with a clear conscience.’

  In the corridor Salka met the nurse.

  ‘She’s asleep now,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, like I told you, she drops off every now and then. But she’s particularly tired now … she was very upset after the visit she had earlier in the day.’

  31

  Salka checked carefully through Valgeir’s case notes and her suspicion was confirmed. There was no mention there of any missing candlestick.

  She glanced at the clock and saw it was a couple of minutes after five. She had kept Gunnleifur waiting for two hours. She went into the corridor, saw Gísli at the far end and called to him.

  ‘Why didn’t you collect Gunnleifur from the airport, as I asked you to?’ she asked as he came closer.

  ‘Had a bit of trouble,’ he said, sounding awkward.

  ‘What sort of trouble?’

  ‘Girlfriend trouble. I had to meet her and asked my colleague to fill in for me.’

  ‘Fine. But you should have said something to me,’ Salka said, her tone serious. ‘Everything all right now?’

  ‘With what?’

  ‘You and your girlfriend.’

  ‘Yes. I think so.’

  ‘Good. And what are you up to right now?’ she asked, going up to him.

  ‘I was going to get myself a coffee. I didn’t get a chance earlier and…’

  ‘Well, that can wait. I’m going to talk to Gunnleifur. I want you to sit in on this.’

  ‘Gunnleifur? Really?’ Gísli hesitated and he saw the look of surprise on Salka’s face. ‘I mean, I’ve never been part of an interrogation.’

  ‘You don’t need to say a word. We need to apply some pressure and we can do that by there being two of us. You just need to sit, watch and listen,’ she said, laying an arm across his shoulders. ‘So, come on. It’s no problem. There’s no delicate porcelain for you to smash.’

  ‘Good afternoon,’ Salka said as they stepped into the interview room and sat opposite Gunnleifur. ‘You two probably haven’t met,’ she said as she prepared the recording. ‘This is my colleague Gísli.’

  Gísli nodded at Gunnleifur, but it was hard to discern whether he returned the greeting, his movements were minimal.

  ‘Are you ready?’ Salka asked, looking at Gunnleifur. ‘Can I get you anything to drink?’

  ‘No. Thank you. I have had more than enough time to prepare myself,’ he said reproachfully.

  ‘It’s unfortunate that it has been necessary to bring you in again. But there are a few aspects of this that weren’t clear when we met earlier.’

  There was no response other than him crossing his legs and adjusting the raincoat folded over his thighs.

  ‘For example, that Anton went with you inside the church.’

  Gunnleifur glared at Salka. She joined in the battle of wills, staring back at him in silence, and making sure that she allowed herself a glimmer of a smile. She reckoned that would serve to irritate him.

  ‘That is correct,’ he said at last.

  Salka wasn’t ready to look away and maintained her gaze for a long time.

  Finally, she opened the folder in front of her and leafed through it.

  ‘I have corroborating witness statements from several individuals who all say that they saw you together inside the church.’

  ‘Who are these individuals?’

  ‘That doesn’t matter at this stage. But these are individuals who saw the two of you walk inside.’

  ‘I’m speechless,’ Gunnleifur said in disgust. ‘This is nonsense that…’

  ‘Has no basis in reality?’ Salka said, finishing the question for him. ‘I know. But what about Fríða?’ she asked, and saw his prominent Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed, and then cleared his throat.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Gunnleifur. She was your deacon for many years at the Glerá church.’

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘What did you have to say to her when you visited her this morning?’

  ‘Nothing out of the ordinary. I pop in to see her occasionally. She worked with me for a long time and we are the best of friends.’

  ‘The best of friends,’ Salka said, as if to herself. ‘It’s a wonderful thing to have good friends, but what you say isn’t correct.’ Gunnleifur was about to speak, but she continued. ‘According to the nurse at Hlíð, he’s never seen you
before in all the time he has worked there. That’s quite apart from the fact that you had to ask as you went into the place if Fríða lived there.’

  Gunnleifur leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms defensively. He glared at her with loathing in his eyes.

  ‘Fríða saw the two of you talking inside the church. You sat on a pew together and chatted. What did you have to discuss?’ Salka asked, keeping her eyes on him.

  He said nothing, but she noticed that he was watching Gísli.

  ‘Don’t you think it might be best to come clean and tell the truth?’ she said, leaning forward over the table. He made no reply and she continued. ‘What about the candelabra?’

  His Adam’s apple worked again up and down, but his gaze remained on Gísli.

  ‘Have we met?’ Gunnleifur said, the question meant for Gísli.

  Salka could see in her peripheral vision that he shifted awkwardly.

  ‘No. I don’t think so,’ he said, his voice low and uncertain.

  Salka wondered if she had done the right thing by asking him to be present during the interview. He was far from ready for this.

  ‘What about the candlestick, Gunnleifur?’ Salka repeated.

  ‘What candlestick?’ he replied calmly.

  ‘The one Fríða said disappeared the same day as Anton was last seen. She wanted to take the matter to the police, but you didn’t want her to talk to us. Why was that?’

  He made no reply.

  ‘I may as well carry on, since you don’t seem inclined to answer questions. Why did you rush Fríða down south to Reykjavík?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘You know exactly what I’m talking about.’

  ‘No. I don’t know what you are on about. Fríða remembers next to nothing and she doesn’t know what she’s babbling on about. She’s very elderly and her memory is failing. You saw her,’ he said with conviction. ‘I fail to understand how a person in your position can regard her as in any way reliable.’

  ‘I understand what you mean. But I think you are as aware as I am that elderly people can sometimes struggle to remember what they were doing yesterday. But events that took place as much as fifty years ago are still as clear as day to them. They are able to recollect incidents in fine detail.’

  ‘Well, that may well be,’ Gunnleifur said, and paused in thought. ‘But many of those incidents can become confused as the years pass. I know this from my own experience as older parishioners have come to me and recalled painful episodes in their lives, even going back to childhood. Their accounts can be highly convincing, but there have been occasions when I have been aware of the facts of those cases. Memories can become distorted, but for them those remain absolute truth.’

  Salka knew that there was little to be gained from contradicting this. The man was right. She had experienced the same for herself when her father had recalled events from her childhood. Most of these were largely correct – but not entirely so.

  She couldn’t resist the temptation.

  ‘And your memory hasn’t been distorted?’

  Gunnleifur said nothing. He smiled, and his eyes went to Gísli.

  ‘You deny having sent Fríða to Reykjavík?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘And the candlestick?’

  ‘I have no idea what you are talking about. Are you sure we haven’t met?’ he said, again addressing Gísli. ‘There’s something familiar about you.’

  Gísli said nothing.

  ‘And what about you going inside the church with Anton?’

  ‘An outright lie,’ he said, raising his voice and fidgeting, as if brushing specks of dust from his coat.

  ‘This isn’t just Fríða’s account,’ Salka said, taking note of his theatrical tricks.

  ‘What the h…’ he said and fell silent. He sighed and glared accusingly at Salka as if she alone bore the blame for having almost made him swear out loud. ‘Who else is saying this?’ he asked after shifting in his seat.

  ‘You had a confirmation class that day. Fourteen youngsters. I’ve spoken to some of them,’ she said. He glared back at her in silence. ‘They saw you go inside with Anton.’

  ‘I don’t believe this,’ he said in a low voice.

  ‘Are you contradicting them as well?’

  ‘If I recall correctly, I sent them all home. I didn’t want them to see the state Anton was in. Least of all be witness to his manner of speaking, which was improper and hostile in the extreme.’

  ‘Was he angry?’

  ‘He was upset.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘I have no idea. He was dead drunk. That boy had always been trouble.’

  ‘I have no reason to disbelieve the accounts of these people, Gunnleifur. It’s entirely reliable and there are no flawed memories. You accompanied Anton into the church. It’s high time that you told the truth.’

  ‘I think it’s high time that I spoke to a lawyer.’

  There was a knock, and Óttar put his head around the door. Apologising, he asked Salka for a quick word.

  ‘Wait here, Gunnleifur,’ she said, gesturing for Gísli to follow as she left the room and shut the door behind her.

  ‘Skúli has been found,’ Óttar said heavily.

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘No. Unfortunately it’s not good. He’s dead, found floating in the dock at Grenivík.’

  32

  Devastated by the news about Skúli, Salka went back to the hotel apartment. She made a start clearing up and making the bed.

  After questioning Gunnleifur, she had gone to the legal department and asked that he be held in custody on the grounds that he had lied, tried to exert influence over a witness and refused to speak. After some resistance, since the prosecutor wasn’t convinced that there were sufficient grounds, he agreed for Gunnleifur to be remanded in custody for forty-eight hours.

  Salka was relieved, as she was not only convinced that Gunnleifur had played some part in Anton’s disappearance, but she was also certain that he was in real danger. At least he would be safe in custody.

  She was finishing the washing up when her phone pinged an alert. The message was from Magnús, letting her know that dinner would be ready at seven and asking gently if she was coming. She wondered if a message in such a neutral tone was deliberate on his part. She was startled when she glanced at the clock and saw that she had less than an hour.

  She sighed and started to tap in a reply, apologising that she wouldn’t be able to make it. Then she hesitated. She recognised the symptoms – when you feel the spark, the warmth that flows through every part of your body. She remembered how it had been when she first met Eysteinn. She felt that such feelings were tied to him, and how they broke out whenever she thought of him. She could also hear the inner voice telling her that there was no point hanging on to those emotions, that she’d have to let them go. She had every right to breathe new life into new passions and to go in new directions.

  She continued to tap in her message, then hesitated once more. Skúli came to mind. She wasn’t in the best frame of mind to enjoy food and drink after receiving the news of what had befallen him. She put the phone aside and thought of Alda.

  One of the local fishermen had noticed a body floating face-down between the quay and a boat. Gísli had been at the hospital when the body and then Alda had arrived. He had called Salka, telling her that Skúli had a deep wound to the back of his head. He had added that Alda needed support. Salka was about to call Óttar when there was a knock at the door.

  It took her a moment to realise who it was after she opened the door.

  ‘Hæ … come in,’ she said, and Eysteinn stepped inside. ‘I wasn’t expecting you. But it’s good to see you,’ she said with a smile.

  ‘And you. I’m here on business,’ he said in a flat voice, and sat at the kitchen table. ‘I stopped at your parents’ place. I thought you’d be there, but there was nobody home. They told me at the station that you were here,’ he said, lookin
g around.

  ‘You could have called,’ she said cheerfully.

  ‘Yeah. I know. How’s your dad?’

  ‘Hard to tell. He’s withdrawn and doesn’t say much. But the treatment will hopefully start soon. Would you like coffee or anything?’

  ‘No, thanks. This is a flying visit. I’m getting the evening flight, I have to be in London tomorrow.’

  ‘Everything going well?’

  ‘Yes. Fine.’

  ‘You’re not heading home?’ she said, pretending to fetch something from the bathroom and taking the opportunity to glance in the mirror and straighten her hair.

  ‘No. There’s even more work than ever over there. I’m not stopping. I was going to ask…’

  ‘Sure you don’t want something to drink? I was going to treat myself to a glass of red.’

  ‘No … Salka, I was going to ask if we can deal with this paperwork. You received all this the other day, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes. I did,’ she said, taking a seat at the table and looking at him. She longed to adjust the knot of his slightly skewed tie, to stroke his smooth cheek, to breathe in the aroma of aftershave. She wanted to kiss his eyelids as she had done so many times in the past. ‘I meant to call you,’ she said, and felt her hands tremble. ‘I’ve been so wrapped up in the investigation, and…’ she said and fell silent.

  ‘The investigation into the priest?’

  ‘Yes. And the deacon.’

  ‘I've been thinking of you. It’s a dreadful case. It was even mentioned on the BBC news. How’s it been going?’

  She smiled at the words thinking of you.

  ‘It’s complex. I don’t know…’ she said, and her thoughts unconsciously went elsewhere. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I asked if you had the paperwork.’

  She could hear the undertone of irritation in his voice.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, and stood up. She fetched the envelope, placed it on the table and sat down again.

  They both stared at the envelope.

  She realised how nervous she was as she noticed herself tapping a rapid beat on the table with her index finger.

  ‘Isn’t this something that can wait, Eysteinn?’ she said at last.