Towards White

by Zena Shapter

  The bear-man glances up from his phone to see the boy’s reaction, then stops mid-stride to run his fingers through his hair and raise the middle finger of his free hand, sending the boy a message of his own. “Ari!” he calls out, not taking his eyes off the boy until he’s passed him.

  “Já, Jón?” Ari pauses long enough for ‘Jón’ to catch up. When he does Ari slaps him on the back in greeting and they walk towards the front entrance. After a few paces, a laugh bellows out between them.

  I’m not sure what these exchanges tell me and, before I can decide, the rest of the group turns and heads for my staircase. I step out of their way, angle my suitcase on its rollers and head towards the entrance too. At least I try to—something is stopping me from moving. There’s a grip on my arm. I look down to see a hand.

  “Miss Dales?” pants a short man whose receding grey hair leads into a bald patch on the top of his head. Bulbous cheeks sit under metal glasses, much thinner than my reading glasses. His suit is grey yet so lacking in creases it has a silvery sheen. He releases his hold the instant I turn. “Sorry,” he smiles briefly, catching his breath. “I’m Ólaf, Anna’s cousin.” His emphasis on the word ‘cousin’ indicates something I can’t quite pinpoint. “I wanted to check you’d found your way alright. Anna would want me to check.”

  “Oh, yes. I, er…” I glance down the corridor after Ari and Jón.

  “It is okay, my dear. I can see you’re in a rush. I won’t keep you.” He holds up his palms. “You are alright now; you know where you’re going?”

  “Down there.” I point.

  “Want me to show you?”

  “Um.” I hesitate. Ólaf seems nice enough but I don’t need his help right now. “It’s fine,” I say, listening closely to his breathing for a wheeze. “I’m fine.”

  He backs away. “Okay then. Have a nice day.” He gives me a little bow before turning back towards the holding cells. “And say hello to my cousin for me. Tell her I checked on you, okay?” He waves and plods back down the stairs. Although his breathing is strained, it’s also faultless.

  So I turn down the busy corridor after Ari, past the displays of old law books and paraphernalia Anna mentioned, towards the scan pods. Ari leans against the curved black plastic of a pod, while Jón stands before him. They interrupt each other with jovial animation. Engrossed in conversation Ari doesn’t notice me, but Jón does. He stares with tapered eyes that bore straight through me like the glare of an arctic hunter. Creases around his eyes deepen into furrows long familiar to his face, then relax when we make eye contact. He seems to allow himself the pleasure of a private smirk, then folds it into his beige lips and stares past me, as if I don’t matter after all.

  Ari looks up. “Becky,” he says as I reach him. “Did things go well with Doctor Emil? I mean, I hope you are okay after meeting him.”

  “Did you get my phone message?”

  “Um,” he pulls out his phone. “Ah, I have a missed call. Sorry. It was on silent while I was in the Dómstóll. Is everything okay?”

  “Not really.”

  He rolls his lips in sympathy, then gestures at his companion. “This is Officer Jón Ásmundsson, head of Höfkállur’s MUR. He works with Director Úlfar.”

  Jón nods me a greeting, then reaches into his suit pocket and pulls out a smartphone. He clears his throat, giving Ari a look.

  Ari’s expression drops. “I am sorry, Becky, but I have bad news for you—I have found only dead ends.” He says he’s now spoken to the offender he thought could help, Sigmar Thorsteinson and his family, but they knew of no organised groups or activists passionate for the Heimspeki—only a friend, Haraldur-someone, who opposed the Heimspeki with the rest of the Skyggõur. Apparently Haraldur moved to Norway after the referenda. “I’m sorry,” Ari shrugs.

  I bite my lip as I contemplate when to tell Ari about the text threat. I’m itching to show him but my news won’t change if I wait. Ari’s news might change, however, once he knows mine.

  So I listen while he explains that he’s also spoken with Director Úlfar, who’s traced the call I received on the Austurleid to an anonymous prepaid phone. It’s been discarded, print-free, along the highway.

  “My father will still make further enquiries,” he adds, “but says you should simply ignore the call. Officer Jón is very good at his job also.” He turns towards Jón. “He will ask around as well.”

  “Miss Dales,” says Officer Jón, directing the speaker of his phone at me. His deep voice is proportionate to his height yet the staccato clipping of his translator makes it grate. “Director Úlfar has asked me to ensure you have everything you need to ensure the swift recovery of your brother’s body. I also want to say how very sorry I am for your loss.” He takes my hand. His clasp is warm and strong and he holds it silently. I look into his eyes. Now that they’re looking straight into mine, they shine as if imploring me to engage with him, and in that moment he reminds me of Mark—open and honest; intelligent and sincere. “I met your brother a couple of times,” he says. “He was a great kid. If there’s anything I can do to make the process easier and quicker for you, please don’t hesitate to ask.” As his phone finishes its translation, he angles his eyes so I can perceive his sincerity, then releases my hand.

  He met my brother. Who was a great kid.

  I fix stray strands of hair behind an ear while debating what to make of Jón’s words, and whether or not this is the right moment to tell Ari about the text.

  “You look worried again,” Ari says, reaching to pat my arm. “Jón, tell her she need not worry.”

  “I tell my mother this all the time,” Jón chuckles, giving Ari a look. “It makes no difference. She worries about my brother, she worries about me, about the weather, getting old, money, politics…I tell her we’re all fine, that the weather’s fine, that all she need do is keep reading books, doing crossword puzzles and anything else to keep her mind alert, then old age will take care of her. Do you think she listens?” He scoffs. “Of course not. She worries too much. The same is true here. Ms Dales, I do not think there will be any problems with the man who threatened you,” he tries to laugh it off, “because it was not an actual threat.”

  “It sounded like a threat to me,” I say.

  “No, no,” he gives me a reassuring smile. It’s not as wide with teeth as Ari’s, but is full of warmth and concern. He’s trying to reassure not contradict me. “Director Úlfar said the man only said your parents might be caused further pain. Did he threaten to actually harm you?”

  I roll my eyes and look away, knowing what he’s about to say.

  “No, he did not,” Jón continues. “This is good, you see, as it means the man who threatened you is very clever—because if we did have a police force, they wouldn’t be able to act without a direct threat to your well-being, which this man has avoided. So he’s obviously concerned about consequences, and if he’s concerned about consequences he won’t act impulsively. I have to say, I also agree with Ari’s father. If the man had wanted to harm you he would have already. We are a happy town here. He probably wanted only to protect us from…disruption.”

  I turn to look him in the eye. “I have no intention of causing any disruption.”

  “Then I do not think you will hear from him again.” His eyes shine once more with sincerity, reminding me again of Mark.

  I don’t know whether I find the look comforting or creepy this time, so angle my phone towards Ari, tap and scroll through to the text threat. “Ari, please tell Officer Jón what this says.”

  “If you are back in Reykjavik by Friday,” Ari reads aloud, “I will not kill you. Be on the Austurleid tomorrow.” He lets Jón’s phone translate. “Ah. When did you get this?”

  “As I was leaving Doctor Emil’s office.” I watch Jón’s expression. “Actually, you were there, weren’t you?”

  After my phone completes its translation there�
��s a pause as Jón hesitates to respond. Either he doesn’t realise I’m referring to him, or he’s excellent at pretending. “Me? Possibly. I have been checking today’s Litrúm Maps. Ari wanted to be sure the Litrúm-Hús was safe for you. He’s never asked me to do that before.” He gives Ari a look I don’t understand. “It took me a while to figure out what he meant.”

  “Why Friday?” Ari asks me, ignoring Jón. “Why does the text say Friday?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me.”

  Ari shrugs, pursing his lips to indicate he doesn’t know. “Have you spoken to Director Úlfar?”

  “I haven’t done anything yet.”

  “Gott. Show me the text again.” He types the mobile number displayed into his phone.

  “It will probably be another discarded, print-free pay-as-you-go.”

  “We will still check.” He types a quick text of his own and sends it. “I will take you to your accommodation now, but I want you to stay inside tonight, until Director Úlfar and I have made more enquiries.”

  “Okay.” I don’t see any harm in agreeing. I can’t imagine even wanting to go anywhere tonight, especially after the call I’ll have to make to my parents. “But there’s no need to take me. A friend of Mark’s is picking me up. Sorry, I just arranged it.”

  “A friend? Who?”

  “Anna?” Jón guesses.

  I frown. “How did you…?”

  “She and your brother were very close.” His tone flattens and for the first time his expression tightens. He rubs his temples. “She has been upset. If she’s outside, I will go and see her.”

  As Jón’s phone translates, Ari notices him massaging his head. “Jón, you should go home. They’re getting worse, aren’t they?”

  Jón scrunches his eyes shut. When he opens them again, they glisten. “It’s okay,” he says, jerking his head from side to side to crack his neck.

  “Go home,” Ari says again.

  Jón smiles, though this time it’s strained. “It’s not a migraine yet.”

  “Ha!” Ari scoffs at him. “You work too hard to lie well, Jón.”

  “Fresh air will help. And I think you will need me here for the rest of today.” Jón waves me a farewell and disappears inside a scan pod.

  Ari stares into space for a moment, as if thinking about Jón’s last comment. He nods to himself as if making a decision.

  “I should go too,” I prompt. Anna is waiting.

  Ari nods again, this time to me, and indicates I should enter a scan pod. Once we’ve both emerged from the other side he seems to have control of his thoughts again. “Becky, if you receive any more texts or phone calls, call me immediately, okay? I will not have it on silent again.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Jón is right. This man will not hurt you. But why take the chance? So, if you decide you to go out tonight or tomorrow morning, call me.”

  “I have to stay in tonight for Mark’s briefcase, but said I’d meet Doctor Emil at the morgue tomorrow at nine.”

  “Director Úlfar has made it very clear that I am to look after you, so I will take you to the morgue. I will also call you as soon as I know more about the phone number.”

  We move across the foyer and emerge from the Litrúm-Hús to see a pink dusk draping over Höfkállur’s distant mountains. Its colour isn’t as deep and rich as the sunsets I enjoyed last week in the Cayman Islands—its beauty lies more in the delicacy with which it falls across the sky like a chiffon scarf. I remember Mark telling me the light faded early in Iceland. “What time are we going to the glacier tomorrow?” I ask Ari.

  “You still want to go?”

  “Of course.” It’s the only point on which my imaginary voices and lawyer brain both agree.

  Ari looks at me as if I’m crazy, yet shakes his head and smiles to himself.

  As we descend the Litrúm-Hús steps, he tells me what I need to bring and what to expect of Jötunnsjökull. Looking out for Anna I only half-listen. The road beneath me dips towards the pellucid waters of the harbour and there, at the kerb, stands a woman with the flowing white hair of an elfin queen, wearing a billowing floral dress topped with a jumper. Jón’s large hands are on her petite shoulders. She’s looking up at him, her head on an angle, a fading smile on her lips. Behind them is what I assume is Anna’s car.

  It takes me a second to realise, but when I do I momentarily lose my grip on my suitcase. Anna’s car is a grey four-wheel drive.

  “Let me take that,” Ari says, reaching for my suitcase before I drop it altogether.

  I let him. Of course there must be many other grey four-wheel drives in Höfkállur. The sight unnerves me, that’s all.

  Clearly unworried, Ari continues chatting as we descend the steps, and soon his innate calm soothes me like a snake charmer settling a cobra. I also fall back on my logic: Anna was Mark’s close friend. I can trust her. Hers isn’t the car I’m looking for.

  The rumble of traffic draws my attention to the road behind her, full of black, white, and navy four-wheel drives. As if to prove a point, a grey four-wheel drive roars around the side of the Litrúm-Hús. I watch it pass behind Anna, then notice her face. Watching me over Jón’s shoulder, her expression implores me to hurry, her eyes intent. For the past four months Mark has lived with this woman—she can tell me what he’s been doing, where he’s been going and why. I speed down the steps.

  Jón leans in to mumble something to Anna before backing away to light up a cigarette. Anna watches him, then opens her passenger door and pushes a greeting into her rosy-cheeked face for me.

  “Okay, so, rest tonight,” Ari is saying as we descend the last few steps. “Tomorrow afternoon I will get you from The Himinn.” He moves as if to kiss me on the cheek, settles for a handshake when he notices Jón staring. “Bless,” he mutters, “for now.”

  “Bless, Ari.”

  Anna springs the boot for my suitcase but Jón’s the one to heave it inside, clenching his cigarette between his lips so hard its filter disappears among the dark hair of his goatee. He watches me climb into Anna’s car, offering me reassuring smiles whenever our eyes meet. I should consider him charming and considerate. Of course the middle finger he raised at that boy in the corridor earlier was anything but, so the contradiction bothers me.

  He moves towards Anna, saying something in Icelandic that makes her turn and gaze up at him, hands on hips. He takes her face in his big hands, talking until she covers his hands with her own. After looking into each other’s eyes Jón mumbles a final comment to her, which sounds distinctly like ‘I love you’, then kisses her.

  Embarrassed to witness such intimacy Ari and I both look away. When I slam the passenger door shut, I remember Mark telling me that Anna had a boyfriend.

  “He’s a right knob, though,” Mark said a few months ago, when I was asking him about Anna. “I can’t put my finger on why, but he is.”

  Now I’m here I understand the quandary. Jón is still staring at Anna, his eyes intense, his face serious. It might be romantic if there weren’t other people around, waiting for them to finish. They say a few more words to each other, then Anna walks around to the driver’s seat, smiling to herself and biting her bottom lip like a teenage girl with a crush. I expect to see Jón watching her; instead he’s shifted his gaze to me.

  I cough in surprise, then realise the reflex has nothing to do with emotion—the inside of Anna’s car stinks of stale cigarettes and the odour only worsens when she starts the engine and Jón leans in through her driver’s window. He expels a lungful of smoke before kissing her goodbye.

  As he taps the roof of the car twice, she bats away his smoke and flashes her topaz eyes reassuringly at me. But all the questions I have for her—about Mark and Jón, Mark’s thesis and life here in Höfkállur—pale into insignificance when she pulls away from the kerb and Jón takes a breath in between puffs of his cigar
ette, inhaling with a familiar wheeze. I thought it would take longer to find the man who threatened me on the Austurleid, but I have no doubt—it’s him.

  Chapter 7

  Before I can get my phone out to call Ari, Anna has turned down a wide street lined with large detached houses. I know this is the way to her guesthouse, The Himinn, because Ari pointed this street out to me earlier. Yet I am far from feeling good about the situation. Anna is clearly in a relationship with a maniac who wants to kill me. The reassuring looks she’s been giving me, and the fact she is Mark’s friend, make me want to believe she has nothing to do with Jón’s threats. But logic argues otherwise.

  So I find Ari’s number in my phone while making a comment or two about the weather…until I realise the same could be true of Ari. He seems reliable enough. I should call and tell him my revelation. But he’s also Jón’s friend. Telling him might make matters worse. Really I don’t know any of these people.

  Anna asks after my journey to Höfkállur and I answer vaguely, thinking. What are my options? Right now, in Anna’s car, I simply need to cut to it—ask her a question that will tell me, in under ten seconds, whether or not I can trust her.

  “So, tell me more about the time you spent with my brother.” I inflect my voice with sexual undertones. “You knew him quite well, I understand?”

  She scowls, confused. “Um, no. I mean, yes, of course. But not that way. I have a boyfriend!” She glances at me a few times, then realises why I asked. Her expression softens. “No, Becky. Mark and I were not lovers. I know I look good for my age,” she flicks shining white hair from her forehead to feign vanity, “but even my figure couldn’t have enticed that boy.”

  I wait for her to spell it out.

  “Besides our age difference, Mark was gay. He told me.”

  “He did?”

  “He did.”

  I sigh in relief. Still coming to terms with his sexuality, Mark only disclosed his orientation to people who mattered to him. In one of his last messages, he mentioned having finally told Anna. Now I know the woman beside me is who she claims to be. She was Mark’s friend. She could be mine.