‘Was there a rehearsal for the play here?’ he asked. ‘Weren’t you opening tomorrow?’
‘Yes … there was a rehearsal.’
‘Where is everyone, then?’ he demanded.
‘There is … there’s a … dinner break. I just came back and found him … Hrólfur … lying there.’
Ari Thór put the compact digital camera in his pocket and headed back to the auditorium, stopping in the doorway as Tómas appeared. ‘Shouldn’t we call in … well, specialists?’
‘Cops from Reykjavík, you mean? It’s an easily explained accident. The old boy must have …’ Tómas lowered his voice. ‘He must have had a drop too much. Tired, anxious. It’s an accident. We don’t need a specialist team to work that out for us.’
Ari Thór saw that Nína had moved from the lobby, closer to the auditorium, listening carefully to every word the police officers said. She looked aside, as if to hide the fact that she had been eavesdropping, put on a threadbare red coat, picked up a polka-dot umbrella from a hook and went into the auditorium to give the police officers a mournful look. ‘Is there any reason I can’t go home? I’m feeling faint. I’ve never seen a dead body before.’
‘Is the ambulance on its way?’ Tómas asked Ari Thór, and turned to Nína. ‘I’m sorry. We’ll need to speak to you before you leave. Why don’t you sit down and try to take it easy?’
Her smile was tired and she sighed.
Ari Thór told Tómas that the ambulance was on its way. ‘Can they remove the body?’ he asked, nervous about making another faux pas in front of his boss.
‘Yes, I expect so. You’ve taken pictures of everything, haven’t you? There’s nothing suspicious here. Was there anyone else here?’ He asked, the question directed towards Nína.
Apparently miles away, she didn’t answer.
Tómas coughed. ‘Nína, was anyone else here when this happened?’
‘What?’ she stammered, looking wildly around her.
Tómas glared at her, his patience at a low ebb.
‘Was there anyone else here?’ he asked again, his booming voice echoing around the empty ticket hall.
‘Yes …’ She seemed to be thinking. ‘No, I mean … I don’t think so. I was down in the basement at dinner time. There’s a cellar underneath the stage. The steps leading down to it are at the back. I was clearing up – we keep all the old costumes in the basement – and I had a lie-down on the old couch down there. I had already eaten, while they were rehearsing. There wasn’t anybody here at dinner time apart from me and Hrólfur. He was on his own up in the gallery.’
‘And you’re sure there was nobody else here when you came in and found … found the body?’ Tómas asked.
Ari Thór had done his best to confirm that Nína was the only person in the building when he and Tómas had arrived. He had checked the basement and the gallery, where he found only a few old chairs and a couple of tables. There had been an open newspaper on one table.
‘Yes, I’m sure. I didn’t hear anyone.’
‘Do you know if he had been drinking?’ Tómas asked.
‘Yes, he brought a bottle with him, a small hip flask. That’s why I think he didn’t go anywhere during the dinner break. The weather is lousy and he was driving.’
Ari Thór was about to ask Nína a question, when Tómas jumped in ahead of him.
‘That’ll do. You can go home and relax. We’ll have a word with you tomorrow if there are any more questions.’
‘When are the others coming back from dinner?’ Ari Thór asked.
‘Úlfur gave everyone an hour’s break. They’ll be coming back soon, in another ten or fifteen minutes.’
The ambulance crew arrived before Tómas could say anything further. No words were needed and they set to work with quiet efficiency.
‘Ari Thór, can you keep watch outside? There’ll be people arriving and we don’t need a crowd around us. We’ll tell people there has been an accident, that Hrólfur slipped on the stairs and … lost his life.’
18
SIGLUFJÖRDUR. FRIDAY, 9TH JANUARY 2009
The door creaked as Leifur entered the auditorium through the back entrance. He saw Tómas look up quickly, as if taken by surprise.
Leifur mumbled a greeting and looked around. An ambulance crew were taking Hrólfur’s body away on a stretcher.
‘Have you been here the whole time?’ Tómas asked.
‘The whole time?’ Leifur was taken aback. He ran a hand over his close-shorn scalp and the beard that had sprouted in the last few days. ‘No, I’ve just come back from my dinner.’
Tómas waited.
Leifur knew what the next question was going to be before it was asked. ‘There’s a back door here, behind the stage. What happened?’ he asked.
‘There was an accident on the stairs,’ Tómas said, his voice decisive. ‘Hrólfur appears to have taken a tumble … he’s dead.’
He’s dead.
Those were words Leifur was never likely to forget, the words the priest had said to his parents when he arrived that evening, the fifteenth of January, twenty-three years ago. Leifur had been in the living room and probably wasn’t supposed to have heard.
The family knew that Leifur’s brother Árni was going out of town with a few friends, driving along the dangerous narrow road from Siglufjördur to a neighbouring town. They’d left in the early afternoon and were expected back that night. Leifur remembered that his mother had begged Árni not to go. Conditions were dreadful, with black ice on the roads and limited visibility. But Árni wouldn’t listen, determined to use his brand-new driving licence. There was a knock at the door late that evening and Leifur recalled that his father had answered it. The priest, accompanied by the police, told Leifur’s father that there had been an accident on the road, a car had rolled over. Árni’s friend, who had been in the passenger seat, was in intensive care and was expected to make a recovery.
‘But Árni is dead,’ the priest had said.
Leifur returned from his thoughts and now looked at Tómas.
‘Eh? What did you say? Hrólfur’s … dead?’ Leifur asked.
‘Yes. It looks like an accident.’
‘He had been drinking,’ Leifur said. ‘So …’
‘It’s all right, my boy. There’s no doubt he’d had a drop. Were you out during dinner time?’
‘I was.’ Leifur said. ‘Don’t know what happened.’
‘He just fell,’ Tómas said sternly. ‘You’d be best off going home. There won’t be a rehearsal here this evening. We might be in touch later for details if necessary.’
Leifur nodded and left by the same door he had come through.
Ari Thór closed the doors to the theatre behind him and stood outside, as if he were on guard there. The air was damp after the rain and it sent a chill through him.
‘What are the police doing here?’ said a man as he approached the building. He didn’t seem too worried though. A woman in her twenties walked with him. ‘And an ambulance? Did something happen?’
‘You’re in the Dramatic Society?’
‘Yes. I’m Karl. This is Anna.’
Ari Thór gave his name and the news.
‘Dead? Really?’ Karl said, shocked.
Ari Thór nodded. ‘We need to investigate the scene,’ he explained. ‘It would be best if you were to go home. We’ll be in touch later if we need to speak to you.’
Anna appeared to be taken aback. Karl put his arm around her shoulders, to her obvious surprise. Two older men joined the group.
‘What the hell’s going on here?’ The shorter of the two demanded. ‘And who might you be?’
‘My name’s Ari Thór. I’m a police officer,’ he said, as if the uniform hadn’t already made that clear.
‘Of course. The Reverend. My name’s Úlfur, I’m the director at the Dramatic Society. What the hell is going on? Why’s there an ambulance here?’
‘There’s been an accident.’
‘Accident?’
&n
bsp; ‘Hrólfur fell on the stairs.’
‘The old fool’s had a drop too much again.’ Úlfur sounded more annoyed than shocked.
‘He’s dead,’ Ari Thór said.
Úlfur looked dumbstruck.
The ambulance crew came through the doors with the stretcher.
‘How terrible, the poor old man,’ the second elderly man said.
‘Your name?’ asked Ari Thór.
‘Pálmi,’ he replied. ‘I’m … I’m the writer. I wrote the play.’ It was clear he couldn’t hide his pride, in spite of the circumstances.
Úlfur was about to enter the building, but Ari Thór stopped him, barring his way with an outstretched arm.
‘Considering what has happened, we’re asking people to go home. We’re investigating the scene.’
‘Scene?’ Úlfur stepped forward, batting away Ari Thór’s arm. ‘Is Tómas in there? Let me talk to him!’ His fury was building with every word. ‘You can’t just close my theatre the day before opening night!’
Ari Thór thought quickly. There were two options: stand firm and risk a loud argument, or call Tómas. He had already been rebuked by Tómas, so it didn’t take him long to decide to send the problem upstairs. Tómas clearly wanted to run things his own way.
‘Wait a moment,’ he said, trying to give the impression of authority. He peered in through the door and called out for Tómas, who soon appeared in the doorway.
‘Hello,’ Tómas said to Úlfur and then looked at the other man. ‘Good evening, Pálmi.’ He nodded to Anna and Karl, who had taken a step back. ‘Ari Thór has told you what happened?’
‘This is a terrible shock,’ Úlfur said gravely, calmed by Tómas’s presence. ‘Can’t we talk inside?’
‘I think we’ll take off,’ Karl said, still with his arm around Anna. Tómas nodded and they hurried away.
‘Yes, come in,’ Tómas said to Úlfur and Pálmi, ‘but for heaven’s sake don’t go near the steps. We still need to examine them before we can say for certain what happened, although it looks straightforward enough to me.’
‘Really? So what do you reckon happened?’ Pálmi asked, as soon as he and Úlfur were inside the door. Ari Thór followed them in, trailing behind as Tómas took over.
‘The poor old fellow fell down the stairs,’ Tómas said with an air of finality.
‘What’s that you have there?’ Ari Thór asked, his question directed at Pálmi, who was holding a shopping bag.
‘The latest version of the script. A couple of copies.’ He seemed surprised by the interest.
‘Hrólfur and I made a few final changes earlier. Pálmi sorted them on the computer at his place and printed out new ones,’ Úlfur explained. ‘We’re opening tomorrow night.’
‘I don’t think that’s going to be possible,’ Tómas replied firmly.
‘We … we can’t let Hrólfur’s death ruin this for us!’ Úlfur said passionately; but then immediately appeared to regret the outburst.
‘That’s no concern of mine,’ Tómas said evenly, taking care to remain courteous. ‘You might be able to have the hall back tomorrow, but it would be best if you postpone your opening night for a few days.’
Úlfur’s expression swiftly darkened, his eyes bulging. ‘That’s impossible!’ he exploded. Ari Thór had the feeling that this was a man who was used to getting his own way.
Glancing back and forth between the men, Ari Thór decided that this was a situation that Tómas could handle without his help. Hurrying outside, he positioned himself by the front entrance. He expected Ugla to arrive shortly – he was sure that she would have been at the rehearsal, and he felt a curious need to tell her what had happened personally. He didn’t need to worry about what was going on inside, certain that Tómas, Úlfur and Pálmi would have no interest in his opinions. They’d undoubtedly known each other for years, and could argue and then go their separate ways with any differences settled. Ari Thór was conscious of being from out of town and wet behind the ears – the new copper who wasn’t expected to stay long in Siglufjördur. He was only here to build up a little experience, while Tómas was here for the long haul.
‘Hey, what are you doing here?’ Ugla asked, shaking Ari Thór from his thoughts. He hadn’t seen her coming.
He stopped and thought for a moment, unsure of himself, but not certain why. ‘Something came up,’ he said at last. ‘An accident … an accident on the stairs.’
The darkness he had noticed before in her eyes suddenly reappeared. Her face asked the question.
‘Old Hrólfur fell,’ he said seriously.
‘How is he?’ she asked immediately, her face ashen.
‘He’s dead. The ambulance has just taken him away.’
Ugla stood still for a moment, wrapped in silence, and then a few tears began to creep down her cheeks. She stepped closer and put her arms around him. Ari Thór hesitated, and then held her in an embrace.
After a moment she relaxed her hold and dried her eyes.
‘I can’t believe it,’ she said with a sob in her voice, struggling to contain her emotion. ‘I just can’t believe it.’ She briskly wiped the tears away, and tried to smile. ‘He was so sweet.’ She paused for a moment, as if uncertain what to do.
‘I think it’s best if I go home. I can’t let people see me like this,’ she said at last and turned quickly away.
‘Yes, of course,’ said Ari Thór, after her, then stood in a confused daze as she disappeared into the darkness.
Úlfur appeared in the doorway; a truce with Tómas must have been reached. Pálmi was close behind him, his scowl thunderous. They said nothing to Ari Thór as they passed, and he slid back inside without looking in their direction.
‘Back to the station?’ he asked.
Tómas glanced at his watch.
‘I’ll finish the preliminary report. You can go home if you like. I’ll see you tomorrow. I need to put in a few extra hours anyway,’ Tómas said. He sounded oddly relieved to carry on.
Anyone would think he didn’t want to go home to his family, thought Ari Thór, with some surprise, as he made his way out to the street and headed home.
19
SIGLUFJÖRDUR. SUNDAY, 9TH JANUARY 2009, EARLY HOURS
Ari Thór woke with a start, drenched with sweat and wondering where he was. Feeling like a prisoner in his own body, he struggled for breath. He sat up and peered around him, snatching short, sharp breaths and trying to drag them deep into his lungs. He glanced wildly around, sure that the walls were closing in on him; he longed to shout out loud, but knew that would be pointless. It was the same crushing feeling that had overwhelmed him at the police station on Christmas Eve. Pulling himself to his feet, he stared out of the window into the ink-black night. A glance at his watch, glowing faintly in the darkness, told him it was the middle of the night, and he could see that it had started to snow. He was in in his bedroom in Siglufjördur, he remembered. Reaching for the window, he opened it and breathed in a deep lungful of fresh air, clean and ice cold, but he continued to shake, his thoughts tumbling around his head. He had to lose this feeling of being overpowered, out of control. He looked over to his bed, the sheets tangled and damp. It was unlikely he was going to get any more sleep. Maybe he needed to get out – out of the house and into the night. As soon as the thought entered his head, he dismissed it. That wouldn’t be enough. No peace of mind would be found standing in the street with his eyes on the heavens, the snow filling his mind – knowing that every flake that fell increased the likelihood of his being snowbound in this strange place. A prisoner.
The floorboards downstairs creaked.
Suddenly he understood why he had woken so abruptly.
There was someone in the house.
He wasn’t alone.
His heart pumped a deafening beat. His fear confused him; he knew he had to think fast, had to stop thinking about the snow that had been stifling him a moment before. But he was unable to move.
He shook his head, and crept as silently a
s he could into the passage to the stairs, still aware of movement down below, faint sounds that indicated that whoever was there was not keen to attract attention.
Now more alert, Ari Thór swore silently.
Why the hell hadn’t he locked the door?
I shouldn’t have listened to Tómas.
He made his way down the stairs in as few steps as he could manage, aware that loose boards in some of them would creak, but unable to remember which ones they were.
He hesitated before going round the corner steps and down into the hallway. He felt more secure a little higher up. He had the advantage. He knew that the intruder was there – he could take him by surprise. But equally, he wanted to stay on the bend, remaining stock still. Trying to clear the haze from his mind.
In spite of all his training, he was still frightened.
He had no idea who he might meet, one person or several? A drunk looking for a night’s shelter, a housebreaker, or someone who meant to do him harm?
He shivered at the thought of someone creeping about the house in the darkness.
Hell!
The lights were all off; only the glimmer from a street light outside, shining through the little window at the end of the passage, allowed him to see anything at all. The living-room door was shut, and as he knew the curtains were drawn, it had to be completely dark in there. The hallway led to the living room and from there Ari Thór could reach the kitchen, beyond which was a small office. The unwelcome guest might be in any of those rooms. Time to do or die.
He opened the living-room door as quietly as he could manage. As old as the house, the door was solid, its surface painted white and decorated with fretwork patterns. It must have been years since its hinges had last seen a drop of oil.
He looked into the blackness and listened intently, but not a sound was to be heard. He waited, his hand on the doorknob, patient, waiting and alert to any changes in the silence.
The rustling resumed, now clearly emanating from the next room. The door between the kitchen and the living room was closed, but he had no doubt there was someone there. He kept the living room door open behind him to make use of the faint light from the hallway and took a few cautious steps into the room, tiptoeing to avoid alerting his visitor.
Snowblind Page 8