Winterlude

by Quentin Bates

  ‘It’s a while since I’ve been in here,’ Ingi said, Reynir’s bag on his shoulder as he slammed the van’s door in the car park.

  ‘You didn’t learn to run away as fast as I did,’ Helgi said.

  ‘Nope. I was always the idiot who stood his ground and didn’t know when to stop. Listen, before we go inside . . .’

  Helgi turned and saw that Ingi’s face was lined with concern.

  ‘What is it? Look, Reynir will be fine. He’s as tough as they come.’

  ‘I don’t blame you in the least. You had a job to do, and, well, you’ve done it.’

  ‘Thanks. I don’t expect that Kjartan or Össur or your mum will see it like that.’

  ‘Mum and Össur, of course they won’t. They’ve hardly ever been further than Blönduós or the Hook. You can’t expect them to.’ He took a deep breath and shifted the bag from one shoulder to the other. ‘The thing is . . .’

  ‘Helgi!’

  He turned round to see Anna Björg coming down the steps and striding towards him.

  ‘Excuse me, Ingi. I’ll be right with you.’

  ‘We have a problem here,’ she muttered, her eyes flicking to Ingi as he went up the steps into the police station, the bag on his shoulder weighing heavy. ‘I know Reynir has admitted to the murder, but Mæja has confirmed his alibi and it’s convincing.’

  ‘But Hjörtur wasn’t doing a shift that night. Wasn’t that the problem?’

  ‘It was. He wasn’t at work. He went to Akureyri and stayed there overnight to have a minor operation on Monday morning. The offending toenail’s been dealt with and he came back on Monday. The man wasn’t at home on Sunday and there’s no reason to doubt Reynir’s alibi. He couldn’t have murdered Borgar within the time frame we have and still have been tucked up in Hjörtur’s bed with Mæja. Give me an hour or two and I can probably find some nosey neighbour who saw Reynir sneaking in through Mæja’s back door.’

  ‘You’re certain?’ Helgi scowled and swore furiously. ‘But all the evidence points to him. Not just the cracked alibi. There’s the footage, the fingerprints,’ he said in exasperation as a new idea dawned on him. ‘Oh, no. Please, no,’ he said as his heart sank, his eyes on the door leading into the County Sheriff’s offices and the police station inside.

  ‘The thing is, what?’

  ‘You’ve got the wrong man.’

  Helgi took a step towards him. ‘What?’

  ‘Reynir’s not your man. He was screwing Hjörtur’s missus all weekend as usual. I went to Reykjavík in that before he came back from Blönduós on Sunday morning,’ he said in a flat voice, pointing at Reynir’s Land Cruiser where it had been parked behind the police station ready to be examined.

  ‘Ingi, you’re not talking sense here.’

  ‘That’s the way it was. I had a talk with Árni Geir this afternoon . . .’

  ‘The lawyer?’

  ‘Yep. He came out to the farm and told us that Reynir had been charged. Look, Helgi, normally Reynir would meet Elmar somewhere between here and the tarmac on a Friday or a Saturday. On Saturday the boy wanted to go to some party, so I said I’d go south in Reynir’s truck and do his deliveries as Reynir doesn’t much like going south of the tunnel. I did the deliveries to the clubs and then I went out to Hafnarfjördur. Elmar had told me Borgar was at his old unit and there he was. I hit him once in the face with my hand and once with a length of pipe that Reynir had in the back of the Land Cruiser. Like a fool, I threw it in a corner instead of taking it with me.’

  Helgi stared. ‘Ingi . . .’

  ‘You’ll find my prints all over the Land Cruiser. You won’t find them on the pipe or in Borgar’s unit. I wore gloves while I was there and you’ll find the gloves in the back of the car with the rest of Reynir’s junk.’

  ‘Ingi, why? Come on, you’re not serious.’

  Ingi shrugged. ‘It was always going to be one of us. You know we’ve always helped each other out. Nobody messes with the Tunga people.’

  ‘But Reynir confessed. He admitted he’d murdered Borgar. Why are you telling me this?’

  ‘Ach. It just seems like the right thing, y’know?’ he said as Helgi fought back an urge to grab the front of Ingi’s coat and shake him. ‘I guess Reynir must have twigged that it was me and he’d rather do the time than see me inside.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘This isn’t on the record or anything, is it, Helgi? This is between us, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah, of course.’

  ‘Reynir feels he owes me. You remember that time I came out to stay with you at Hraunbær when Kjartan and Reynir turned up on a bender with that old drunk who disappeared?’

  ‘Go on . . .’ Helgi said, his blood beginning to run cold.

  ‘It was Reynir who found the man. He’d set fire to the barn, splashed Dad’s moonshine everywhere and lit it. Luckily Reynir caught it just in time to be able to get a hose on it and put the fire out before it reached the hay. But that old guy . . .’

  ‘Bassi. That was his name.’

  ‘That’s right. Bassi. He was already dead. He hadn’t sobered up and I guess the smoke killed him. Reynir was a wreck and he’s been a bag of nerves ever since. That’s how Reynir got to be the way he is.’

  ‘All right. So what does Reynir owe you that he’d do a prison term for you?’

  Ingi shook his head and spread his palms wide. ‘He doesn’t, but he doesn’t see it like that. Dad and I put Bassi over the back of a horse and buried him down at the bottom of the north pasture. That’s where he is.’

  Helgi wanted to hold his head in his hands. ‘Ingi, it’s not too late. Reynir has made a confession and it’ll stick. You don’t have to go down this road,’ he said desperately.

  ‘Ach, hell. A good lawyer will screw up your case against Reynir and you know it,’ he said with a wintry smile. ‘Come on, do your stuff and I’ll come quietly.’

  ‘But why, Ingi? If you’re certain, we’ll go inside and I’ll arrest you.’ Helgi shook his head in despair. ‘But it goes against the grain. Just tell me why you did it?’

  Because if I hadn’t, then Kjartan would have killed the man.’

  ‘You did this to keep Kjartan out of trouble?’

  Ingi nodded. ‘That’s about it. Kjartan’s had enough anguish already and he doesn’t need to have his life screwed up any more. So I did it. Mind you,’ he said with a short, humourless laugh, ‘that bastard Borgar deserved it.’