‘I want to ask a few questions,’ Ari Thór began.
‘What?’ Karl asked, taking a long drink, which seemed to relax him.
Ari Thór gathered his wits and strengthened his resolve. ‘A few questions, I said.’
Karl sat silent.
Ari Thór took out his notebook and pretended to leaf through it, although he knew precisely what he was about to ask.
‘Your legal residence, Karl – is it correct that you’re still registered in Kópavogur?’
Start small, gather courage.
Karl laughed. ‘Is it correct? What a question! Don’t beat about the bush, Ari Thór. Of course I’m registered in Kópavogur, and you’ve already checked. What you want to know is the reason.’
Ari Thór nodded in reply.
‘I owe a bit of money, half a million or so. I’d prefer not to let them know where I live right now.’
‘Who? The bank?’
He laughed again, and this time he seemed genuinely amused. ‘The bank? No, these are gentlemen who don’t use conventional methods. They’ve probably forgotten about me by now. Who’s going to follow me all the way to Siglufjördur? No one in their right mind comes to Siglufjördur in the dead of winter,’ he said and paused. ‘Except for you, a fuckwit from down south,’ he added with a grin.
Don’t let him wind you up.
‘I gather you’ve been seen with another woman.’
Straight in at the deep end, drop the bait. Sometimes it paid off to be elastic with the truth.
Karl grinned again.
‘Well, it was going to happen sooner or later. Hide-and-seek gets tiring after a while, but it’s fun as long as it lasts. So who saw us?’
‘Hrólfur,’ he said, reflecting that it could well be true.
‘Hrólfur! That old bastard? Spying on his neighbours.’
Neighbours? Anna?
‘You’re still seeing each other? You and Anna?’
‘Ach, what the hell does it matter? Do you really care who I sleep with?’
Karl fell silent and suddenly appeared to realise the implications of what he had said.
‘Ah … so you reckon I pushed the old man down the stairs?’ he laughed loudly, his face a mask.
‘Did you?’
Karl glared at him. ‘No.’
‘You’re not ashamed of being unfaithful?’
‘Ashamed? No. It wouldn’t have been all that great if Linda had found out. She’s the one who paid the rent. But now … Now I don’t care either way, now that she’s dead, or as good as dead.’
Ari Thór felt a fury build up inside him, wondering how the man could say such a thing.
‘And Anna? I don’t suppose she’d want this to be widely known?’
‘No, definitely not. She’s planning to stay here and teach.’ He smirked. ‘That’s not my problem. I’m leaving. I have a job to go to in Akureyri.’
He stared out of the window, silent as the storm raged around them. Ari Thór waited, listening to the baying of the wind.
‘Did you come here to ask me if I’d murdered the old man?’ Karl asked at last.
Ari Thór fixed his gaze on Karl, determined not to let himself be side-tracked. He was in the lion’s den now and intended to see this through to the truth.
‘You think I killed Linda as well?’ Karl asked, mocking him now.
‘No,’ he said, holding Karl’s gaze.
‘Really? Then maybe you’re not as stupid as you look.’
‘I know perfectly well that you didn’t assault her. I know about the life insurance.’
Karl’s jaw dropped, and he struggled to rearrange his features. ‘How the hell did you find out about that?’
‘So you obviously knew about the insurance?’
‘No point denying it now.’
‘There were threads from your sweater on the knife.’
He smiled. ‘You’re as smart as hell, Ari Thór. Maybe I should just admit it to get rid of you.’
‘You’re quite obviously innocent of the assault. But you can wipe that grin off your face because I know what you did.’
‘Really? Tell me, then. I can hardly wait.’
‘You moved the knife. You hid it behind the bushes so it wouldn’t be found near her, so it would look as if someone else had done it.’
‘And why would I do a thing like that?’ Karl asked, his voice measured, as if speaking to a child.
‘I’m guessing that you read the terms and conditions of the life insurance policy, or at least had an idea of their contents. You don’t stand to get anything if she commits suicide so soon after the policy starts.’
The look on his face said it all.
‘Do you think she intended to commit suicide?’ Ari Thór asked.
‘I don’t have a clue,’ Karl said, looking away. ‘She was always whining. She couldn’t stand the weather, didn’t like the darkness. If she’d wanted to do herself in, then she would have cut her wrist or something. I think it was just attention-seeking. She talked about it sometimes, doing herself harm, playing with the kitchen knives. I told her to shut her trap and grow up.’ He was quiet for a moment. ‘Something went wrong, she must have cut too deep and lost too much blood. Damned stupid. She probably wanted to tempt fate, cut herself to draw blood in the snow. She could be a proper drama queen. But you have to admit it makes a great contrast, blood red on white, and she had an artistic side to her.’
This cold analysis told Ari Thór that this man had no fondness for Linda.
‘Then on top of that it was all Hrólfur’s fault,’ continued Karl.
‘Hrólfur’s?’
‘After he tumbled down the stairs. She got much worse, more unstable, especially after the rumours that he had been murdered.’
‘But you admit you moved the knife, because of the insurance?’
‘I never admit anything. It’s not worth it. I’d get nothing from that … I just play along when there’s something to be won … I admit it’s a pain in the neck to be with someone who does shit like that. What does it say about me?’
He stopped, and was quiet, before continuing in a more aggressive tone.
‘I can see you were hoping to stick something serious on me. But you won’t put me behind bars for moving a knife …’
No, unfortunately.
Ari Thór took some folded sheets of paper from his pocket and laid them on the table. His phone rang as he did so. He took it from his trouser pocket and looked at the screen. Ugla. He placed the phone on the table and switched off the ringer.
‘What’s that? What have you got there?’ Karl asked, stuttering slightly, his composure wavering. He didn’t go so far as to stand up, instead reaching for a lime and cutting it into slices. It didn’t seem to bother him that he was cutting more grooves into the surface of the old table.
Ari Thór didn’t answer right away.
‘What the fuck is all that stuff?’ Karl asked again.
‘Documents that were sent to me by the Danish police.’
Karl’s face was expressionless, but the force he used to slice the lime increased visibly.
‘You lived there for a while, didn’t you?’ Ari Thór asked.
‘You know that already. What are you trying to dig up, you bastard?’
‘These are old police records. It looks like you had a few altercations with the law.’
‘So what? There was never anything serious.’
‘One incident was more serious than the others, and it seems you were interviewed as a suspect in a very significant case … Strongly suspected, but no proof.’
No reaction.
‘Shall I refresh your memory?’
Silence.
‘There was a break-in at the home of a woman on the outskirts of Århus … Stolen jewellery. Does that sound familiar?’
Karl’s expression was as cold and hard as stone. He stopped slicing the lime and, as if by rote, he laid the blade against the sofa and ran it slowly up the arm, scarring the leather.
Karl grinned and Ari Thór shuddered at the chill it sent creeping up his spine.
‘Yes, I know the story.’
38
She tried again to open the door, her heart hammering as she could hear him approaching, sense him coming closer.
The click was the most wonderful sound she had ever heard. The door was unlocked, and she pulled it inwards, taking a step back so she could swing the door open and make a run for it, run as fast as her legs would let her. She would run for her husband, run for her children and grandchildren. She would run so she’d be able to go back to the Indian takeaway again and get chicken, with rice this time.
He was livid when he realised she was trying to get away. His fury gave him an additional burst of energy and he raced for the door with the knife in one hand and his phone in the other; he ended the call to his friend, the one who had pointed the house out to him as an easy target – a woman frequently home alone. In exchange for the information, he would take a share of the proceeds.
He had killed before, but not in circumstances like these, and never with violence. Killing hadn’t affected him at all; it had simply been a necessary piece of work to achieve an aim. Why should it be different this time?
There was no hesitation, not even a stab of conscience, as he drew back the knife and plunged it deep.
Her back turned, she didn’t see him, feeling only a stinging pain. She looked over her shoulder with difficulty, and saw him pull the knife from the wound. She closed her eyes, missing the second plunge of the knife. And then she saw nothing more.
He had been right. He didn’t feel anything; not a shred of remorse – only anger that he had given her the opportunity to run, and, of course, frustration that he’d never claimed the contents of the safe. That didn’t matter now. The important thing was to get away.
He made his way out into the warm darkness of the Danish evening and vanished among the imposing suburban houses where people took care not to notice anything.
39
SIGLUFJÖRDUR. WEDNESDAY, 21ST JANUARY 2009
Karl stared at Ari Thór in silence.
‘Nobody was ever charged with that murder,’ Ari Thór said at last, without dropping his eyes.
Karl shrugged. ‘I don’t know what that has to do with me,’ he said, picking up the knife and continuing to slice the lime.
‘You’re handy with a knife.’
‘I learned young how to handle one.’ He scowled and then chuckled. ‘You don’t have anything on me. A wet-behind-the-ears fuckwit from down south, coming here and trying to scare me. No chance.’
There was determination in his voice.
We’ll see.
Ari Thór had been right so far. He was sure of it, even though Karl hadn’t really confirmed his suspicions. There was one more thing he wanted to clear up, and then it would be time to let fly.
‘When did you move abroad?’
‘To Denmark? 1983. I wish I had never bothered coming back.’
‘That summer?’
‘No, that autumn.’
‘I gather your family had a tough time in Siglufjördur in the old days.’
‘What are you getting at?’
‘Your parents weren’t that well off, were they?’
‘My bloody parents were always too poor to give me anything.’
‘All the same, you were able to buy a car at that time … the jeep. The jeep that Anna’s father owns today.’
For the first time a look of concern flashed across Karl’s face.
‘And what the hell does that have to do with anything?’
‘A beautiful vehicle,’ Ari Thór said, not that he had actually seen it.
‘It was a great car. A crying shame I had to sell it.’
‘Why did you move?’
‘That’s none of your business,’ Karl said, and thought for a moment, obviously deciding to play the good guy. ‘To find work. Dad couldn’t find work here.’
‘You’re sure that was the only reason?’
‘What are you trying to say?’ He lifted himself in his chair, still holding the knife. The lime lay forgotten.
‘How come you could afford such an expensive car?’
Karl said nothing.
‘Surely the old lady didn’t pay that well?’
This time Karl went pale, but said nothing.
‘The old lady, Pálmi’s mother. You were working for her, weren’t you? I heard you’d done odd jobs for her, cleared up, killed vermin, and when I asked about that a few other things popped up. The old lady I spoke to worked at the Co-op at that time and she remembered you buying rat poison; she just assumed that you were going to poison rats for the old woman.’
Ari Thór took the opportunity to pause and watched Karl squirm in his chair.
At last.
‘Pálmi told me that his mother had never trusted banks and kept her savings hidden away … but when she died, there was barely enough to cover her funeral. That’s a little odd, don’t you think?’
Ari Thór waited. Karl rose to his feet. He stood motionless, the knife clasped in his hand.
‘Suppose she had trusted you enough to tell you that she kept her savings in the house. Or let’s say you came across it when you were clearing up. Either way, she died suddenly in the summer of 1983, of a brain haemorrhage. I spoke to a doctor and asked if rat poison could produce the same symptoms as a brain haemorrhage, and he confirmed that it would. At the time nobody suggested a thing. A woman of sixty-seven suffers a brain haemorrhage and dies. An amiable youngster who had worked for her buys himself a smart jeep soon afterwards … Were your parents the only ones who made the connection?’
Karl said nothing. The fury was clear on his face. Ari Thór pressed on, regardless.
‘It’s obvious, Karl. You killed the old lady to get your hands on her cash. How much was it? Enough to buy yourself a jeep, we know. Was there any left over? You managed to fool her just as you fooled me; innocent on the surface, friendly, polite. But your parents saw through you. They left the country so the truth wouldn’t come out. You couldn’t fool them, could you? They knew what you were like inside, what you were capable of doing.’
Karl was suddenly at the table, the knife still in his hand.
Ari Thór sat still. Only the table was between them.
‘You bastard! You don’t say a word to anyone … or else …’
‘Or what?’
He regretted the question the second he had asked it. He knew precisely what was being threatened.
Karl reached quickly over the table and grasped Ari Thór’s shoulder, the injured shoulder, his arm still in its sling.
The pain shot through him and he was gripped with fear; a rat in a trap, cornered.
‘I ought to sort this out right now.’ Karl’s eyes blazed with madness and he lifted the knife closer to Ari Thór.
Ari Thór stood up, smartly and without warning, his fist clenched. His punch was enough for Karl to lose his balance. Staggering backwards, he dropped the knife, as Ari Thór leapt over the table. Leaving his phone where it lay he made for the door at the end of the corridor.
He could hear Karl getting to his feet with a roar.
He yanked open the door and ran out into the storm, into the darkness, as the driving snow blinded him. His feet were as heavy as lead, just as in his worst nightmares.
He took a short cut across the old football pitch in the centre of town, buried under layer upon layer of snow. It was years since he had run across a field like this; he had been a small boy in Reykjavík.
He wouldn’t allow things to end like this. He had to reach his destination. Karl couldn’t be far behind him and he was desperate enough to do anything. Ari Thór knew that if he stopped, his life would end there, alone in a pool of blood in the snow.
He took a jump over a deep bank of snow and onto the pavement that fronted the town’s liquor shop. He
had to run faster, avoid the urge to stop and look behind him. The thought that they could now put Karl behind lock and key boosted his energy.
He was in the Town Hall Square. If he ran straight over it and round the corner he would reach the police station.
He pushed himself to go faster.
He was going to make it. Almost there.
He had to get there.
40
SIGLUFJÖRDUR. WEDNESDAY, 21ST JANUARY 2009
It wasn’t long until opening night.
That was when Nína was determined to make her move.
She had already waited long enough. She had offered to volunteer for the Dramatic Society just to be close to him, the man she loved.
Even though he had told her they couldn’t be together, she always felt that they would, in one way or another, end up as a couple. He had always been so kind to her.
She was going to speak to him at the reception after the opening night, ask him out on a date, like a teenager.
She’d missed out on her teenage years. She had waited for life for far too long, watching it shoot past her like a landscape seen from behind the windows of a moving car, driven much too quickly.
Nína felt the flutter inside her.
She was so excited.
It wasn’t until Ari Thór reached the police station, his mind and body overcome by exhaustion, that he finally dared to look over his shoulder. Nobody there.
Hlynur jumped to his feet and stared at Ari Thór as he staggered in through the door, cold and bedraggled – his eyes wide and pleading. It was a while before he could get a coherent sentence past his lips.
Snowblind Page 21