‘Why do you think Hrólfur chose you? He had a relative in the south.’
‘No idea,’ he said, still sounding tired, still with the odd look on his face. ‘Maybe he wanted the rights to stay with someone in Siglufjördur, and there aren’t many of us left who knew him well.’
‘Úlfur got the wine cellar.’
‘Úlfur?’ he asked in amazement.
‘That’s right.’
‘Well. I suppose the bottles will stay in the town. Unless he’s planning to sell them?’
‘I haven’t heard from him,’ Ari Thór said, rising to his feet.
The old lady and her son came in from the kitchen as Ari Thór was about to leave. He greeted them.
‘How is your investigation going?’ Mads asked in English.
‘We’re making progress,’ Ari Thór replied. ‘Are you staying long?’
‘We had planned to leave today, but because the weather is so bad we will have to spend a few more days here.’ He had a hangdog look on his face that indicated he would have much preferred to be somewhere warmer, where the sun didn’t stay hidden behind the mountains all day.
Ari Thór called Hrólfur’s great-nephew in Reykjavík, who was delighted with the news of the inheritance, saying that, although he would naturally miss his uncle, he and his wife had been on the point of losing their flat. There was no indication of any links between this man and Siglufjördur, or anyone who had been at the rehearsal that evening, not that anything could be ruled out. Úlfur was next on his list, and Ugla would have to wait. He couldn’t meet her, not yet.
‘Apologies for the questions the other day. The hot tub wasn’t the right time or place,’ Ari Thór said to Úlfur. A little humility could sometimes pay dividends.
They sat at the kitchen table of Úlfur’s house in Sudurgata, not far from the Town Hall Square. Ari Thór had already got as much information about the director as he could from Tómas. Úlfur was a former diplomat with roots in the town, whose father had been lost at sea when Úlfur had been very young. He had then moved back to the north when his mother had died at an advanced age. He had few friends in the town.
‘He’s a divorced man – pretty lonely, I’d imagine,’ Tómas had said, strangely concerned.
‘Don’t worry yourself about it, Reverend,’ Úlfur had said, leaning forward to slap Ari Thór’s shoulder, the sore shoulder. Hell. He would have to get it seen to.
The storm hammered at the kitchen window, although the weather didn’t seem to affect Úlfur in any adverse way. Quite the opposite – he seemed to be in a good mood.
‘It’s going to take you a while to drink all that wine,’ Ari Thór observed. ‘I understand there are a lot of bottles.’
‘Yes, and each undoubtedly better than the last.’
‘It must have been a pleasant surprise.’
‘You could say that. I certainly hadn’t expected anything at all from the old boy. But that was Hrólfur in a nutshell. He always had to have the last word,’ Úlfur said and grinned. ‘I bitterly regret arguing with him that evening. I used to let him get on my nerves too often.’
‘You didn’t always agree?’
‘Good heavens, no.’
‘I understand he wasn’t happy with your play.’
‘No, he wasn’t,’ Úlfur answered, almost automatically, before taking in what had been said. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Aren’t you writing a play?’
‘Yes, but where the hell did you hear that?’ he demanded, suddenly angry.
‘I gather he wasn’t impressed by it.’
‘True. He preferred Pálmi’s writing,’ Úlfur said, now looking more embarrassed.
‘Well,’ Ari Thór said, getting to his feet. ‘I don’t suppose that’ll be a problem now.’ He tried to sound careless.
‘Problem? What do you mean?’ Úlfur’s temper flared again.
‘Your play. Hrólfur won’t block it from being produced now.’
Úlfur shot to his feet and the stool almost fell to the floor behind him.
‘What the hell are you implying, boy? You think I killed him? Do you think I killed him to get a play staged?’
‘Let’s not forget the wine,’ Ari Thór, with a wink.
‘You get out now, you hear me.’ Úlfur strode out of the kitchen and into the hall where he opened the front door, which led out into the storm.
What’s got into me? Ari Thór asked himself as he made for the door without saying goodbye.
He decided it was easiest to blame the weather.
35
SIGLUFJÖRDUR. TUESDAY, 20TH JANUARY 2009
Ari Thór was at work early, after another battle with the incessant storm.
‘The road won’t be cleared today,’ Tómas told him, without being asked.
‘Soon, though, I hope,’ Ari Thór said, trying to sound cheerful.
‘The forecast looks bad for the rest of the week. So we’re stuck here, whether we like it or not,’ Tómas said with a light-hearted laugh.
The woman from the insurance company called later that morning. Tómas had asked Ari Thór to check on the insurance angle and he had contacted Linda’s insurer the previous day, so he’d been expecting a call to confirm the details.
‘I’m sorry it took a while, we’ve been busy,’ she apologised.
‘No problem.’
We’re just the Siglufjördur cops, nothing important.
‘We sent a salesman around the north last autumn and he travelled to Siglufjördur and made presentations in several workplaces, including the hospital.’
‘And she bought a policy, the woman I asked you about yesterday?’
‘Yes, Linda Christensen. She took out a policy. Has she died?’
‘No, but we’re looking into a connection with a case we are investigating.’
‘Hey, is this the woman in the snow? Wasn’t that in Siglufjördur?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t comment. What pay-out are we looking at here?’
‘Ten million krónur.’
‘And her husband is the beneficiary in the event of her death?’
‘Karl Steindór Einarsson it says here, but they aren’t married and aren’t even registered as living together. His legal residence is in Kópavogur.’
‘But he’s the one who benefits, isn’t he? Karl?’
‘Yes, that’s quite clear.’
‘And it presumably doesn’t make any difference if the insured person dies of inflicted wounds, or under suspicious circumstances, if we assume that is the case?’
‘No, it makes no difference.’
‘Could you send me the terms and conditions?’
‘I should be able to do that. I’ll have it scanned and email it to you later today. I hope she makes it, the woman in the snow.’
‘Thanks for your help,’ he said, replacing the receiver.
Ari Thór turned to Tómas. ‘Ten million.’ Tómas looked up. ‘He gets ten million if she dies.’
‘So do you think he did it?’
‘If he did, I can’t figure out how he could have done it,’ Ari Thór said thoughtfully. ‘But it looks bad for him, I mean to be getting a pay-out if she dies.’
‘There’s so much that looks bad for Karl, but he has kept his cool right from the start.’
‘Shall I have a word with him again? Ask him about this life insurance?’
‘Wait a bit. Let’s not rush into anything. This whole case seems to be in limbo at the moment. It’s as if the snow is slowing everything down.’ Tómas seemed more relaxed than his words might have indicated; accustomed to heavy winters and not one to let the weather upset him. ‘The town goes into semi-hibernation when the weather’s like this, especially if the road is blocked.’
‘We ought to ask Karl about the rumours that Sandra heard from Hrólfur – the secret at the Dramatic Society,’ Ari Thór said, after a moment’s thought. ‘She hinted that it might have been something to do with a clandestine affair, or something along those lines.’
Ari Thór felt the hurt rise inside him. He tried to count silently to ten, and pretend nothing was wrong.
He stood up quickly and felt the familiar stab of pain in his shoulder.
‘Dammit,’ he muttered.
‘You all right?’
‘Yes, it’s just my bloody shoulder. It’s been painful since …’ he said, and paused. ‘Since the break-in.’
Sounds better than since I fell over in the living room.
‘You’re going to have to go and get it checked.’
‘It’ll sort itself out.’
‘Get it seen to right away,’ Tómas ordered, and this time there was a firm tone in his voice. ‘We can’t have someone on duty with an injury – what would happen if you got caught up in an altercation?’
‘All right. I’ll go up to the hospital later this week.’
‘No. You’re going right now, and that’s final.’
The time passed so slowly, so painfully slowly. Nína had tried to put on the light this morning, to sit by the window and read, but found she couldn’t concentrate. The anticipation was so strong. It was getting closer to when they could be together, the two of them, alone in a world of their own.
She kept the evidence under the bed. It was a good hiding place, as she knew from her own experiences in the old days, back when she had needed to flee.
He would be so pleased with her. She had taken it away so he wouldn’t be caught. She practised the conversation over and over in her head; anticipating telling him how she had done it, and how she had tried to go one better, but that it hadn’t worked out. Where the hell had she gone wrong? She was furious with herself. Hopefully he wouldn’t be angry.
No, of course he would be pleased with her.
And then … then she would invite him home for dinner.
The excitement was killing her.
Tómas had called ahead to the hospital, asking the doctor on duty to find time for Ari Thór, even though he didn’t have an appointment. There was no point protesting any longer. Tómas needed to keep the 4×4 at the station, so Ari Thór walked to the hospital, although eddies of snow made it almost impossible to get anywhere. Although the storm had abated, flurries continued to swirl around him – almost violently – forcing him to close his eyes against their angry blasts.
The doctor he was due to see was busy, so he took a seat in the waiting room, still breathless from his journey. His shoulder wasn’t at the top of his list of concerns right now. He flipped through gossip magazines, dog-eared and long out of date. After a while he stood up and asked the receptionist if Gudrún, the nurse Thorsteinn had mentioned as a witness to the will, was on duty.
‘Yes, she is,’ the receptionist replied.
‘Could I have a word with her while I’m waiting?’
‘I’ll get someone to fetch her.’
The police uniform certainly had its uses.
They sat at a table at the end of the waiting room, away from reception and the only other patient waiting to see the doctor. It was best to take no risks.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you at work,’ he said, trying to put her at ease.
A middle-aged woman with a friendly look about her, Gudrún seem unperturbed by the request to talk to the police, and she smiled openly.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ she said. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I wanted to ask you about the will that Hrólfur Kristjánsson made. I understand you witnessed it.’
‘That’s right. It was at Thorsteinn and Snjólaug’s house. All I did was sign it as a witness.’
‘I expect that everything was done properly. Hrólfur was present in person, wasn’t he?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Do you know who the beneficiaries of the will were to be?’
‘Good heavens, no. I didn’t ask, and it was none of my business,’ she said, flushing.
‘Did you mention to anyone that Hrólfur had made a will?’
‘No, I didn’t. He made it very plain that this was to be kept confidential, and I take that kind of thing seriously.’
Ari Thór felt she sounded convincing. ‘Of course. I don’t doubt that.’
‘Was he … murdered?’
Ari Thór didn’t get an opportunity to reply. His name was called.
‘Sorry, have to rush. Meeting the doctor.’
‘Yes, OK. I hope I’ve helped.’
‘Indeed,’ he said, although it wasn’t exactly truthful. ‘Thanks for seeing me.’
He hurried to his appointment.
The doctor was a young woman, tall and authoritative, with short black hair.
‘What seems to be the trouble?’ The tone of her voice made it plain she had no time to waste. ‘Tómas mentioned something about your shoulder?’
Ari nodded. ‘This one.’ He pointed to the injured shoulder. ‘I fell on a table in my living room.’
‘The home can be a dangerous place,’ she observed, kneading his shoulder. ‘Does this hurt?’
He winced with the pain. ‘Very much.’
After a brief examination she gave her verdict: ‘Nothing serious. Just some badly pulled muscles. It will hurt, and it should get better in a few days. You need to take some time off work and put the arm in a sling.’
He wanted to decline, but didn’t have the energy, not right now. He left with his arm in the sling, determined to take it off as soon as he reached the station, and then cursed his own stubbornness. It could be just as well to give his shoulder a rest.
He wasn’t far from the hospital when he suddenly turned around and retraced his steps. There was something he wanted to check at the hospital, hoping that it might lead him one step closer to finding out who had broken in that night.
The information he got at the hospital fitted into his theory about the break-in, although the picture wasn’t yet fully clear. He weighed the possibilities in his mind on the way back to the station, his mood lighter and more optimistic. He had ideas of his own about who his night-time visitor had been, but he still didn’t know why. What could he have of such value, presumably in relation to the investigation? And then suddenly it dawned on him. Could it be the camera? He was so excited that he almost forgot his injured shoulder and the doctor’s instructions to rest.
He went straight to the computer without a word to Tómas and immediately found the folder of pictures taken at the cinema.
‘The Reverend has his arm in a sling?’ Tómas said amiably.
‘Hmm? Yes. The doctor said the muscles have been badly pulled. I just need to take it easy for a few days.’
‘I thought so. You can switch with Hlynur. I’ll ask him to come in tomorrow and take this week’s shifts and you can come back at the weekend.’
‘I’d prefer to be at work, if you don’t mind. It’s not like I have anything else to do.’
Except think about work, Ugla and Kristín.
‘We’ll do what the doctor says, shall we?’ The paternal tone reminded Ari Thór of his own father. It was just what he would have said.
‘Fair enough. But I expect I’ll be around anyway.’
‘Up to you. But you aren’t on duty. Let’s make that clear.’
Ari Thór looked back at the screen and searched the pictures. He wanted to be sure before explaining his theory to Tómas, and he had a ways to go yet.
What had eluded them? He scanned the pictures again and again, but nothing presented itself. Hopelessness swept through him.
One possibility was to show them to Ugla, assuming she was the only one he could trust. Maybe she would spot something? But it wasn’t that simple. There were things they had to discuss … and then there was the will; which was quite apart from the fact that it was inappropriate to show her pictures of a crime scene connected to a case in which she might also be a suspect.
He saved the pictures onto a CD and d
ropped it into his pocket.
He decided to do it – to go and meet Ugla. He had to find out what she thought.
Hlynur had changed as the years passed, matured. When he looked back he wondered how he could have been so, well, evil, when he was a younger man. Evil. And quite vile.
He had always been tall for his age – and strong. But instead of using his strength to help the children at school who needed it, he found that teasing them was a better outlet for his energies. Teasing wasn’t quite the right word, though.
It was bullying, or torturing was probably a better description. Sometimes he’d wake up in the night bathed in sweat, thinking back to old sins.
I’ll go to hell for this.
That was all in the distant past, and he was a grown man now. He had moved to a new place, north to Siglufjördur. He tried to forget those years many times, but it was always difficult to push aside the memory of those he had treated so badly. He remembered every name and had tried to make contact with his victims in recent years. He had apologised to them. Most of them had taken it well, some better than others. Some appeared to have got over it all, on the surface at least. Others were less willing to forgive.
He had reached all but one. He hadn’t been able to find him in the phone directory, or in the national registry. There was no sign of him at all, until he had the idea of searching through old newspapers on the internet, and the name came up in the obituaries. He read them again and again, and it was obvious that the man had taken his own life. Surely it wasn’t the bullying … could it have been his fault? Surely not, not after all this time? He still hadn’t been in touch with the man’s family. Even the thought of it brought him out in a cold sweat. He wanted to talk to them, to reassure himself that something else had pushed him into suicide, but still he hesitated. He was terrified that they might confirm what he suspected deep inside. This particular boy had been hit the hardest. Hlynur remembered how he had held him underwater in the school swimming pool, a little longer each time, threatening to drown him. The poor boy was petrified, yet Hlynur had kept at it. He had been small, stout, shy, never capable of defending himself, and that simply made Hlynur more eager to continue the torture, even resorting to giving him the occasional beating. The boy had finally become a man, and killed himself. Ever since Hlynur found out about his death, he had been contemplating going the same way, finding it increasingly difficult to live with himself and his conscience.
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