The nights are the hardest. Sometimes I can get to sleep, but mostly I lie awake and listen to the ‘silence’. There’s never really silence here, of course, just different levels of sound. Underneath everything there’s a hum and I don’t know where it comes from; maybe from the lights or the radiators or the wires running through the walls of this sprawling hospital. I just know that the hum can drive you insane. There are other sounds in the silence, people going in and out, even muted chatter. Doors open and close, some people are free to come and go. Then there’s the sound of traffic, car horns out there, on the other side of the windows, where normal people live and are free to do as they please.
The door to my room can be closed at night now. I’m apparently no longer a danger to myself. It’s a little lonely not having someone on duty outside my door. Can you miss being under surveillance? Can you miss having a public employee sitting there watching you, watching your every move?
I try to remind myself that I’m now here of my own free will. Being free is wonderful, even though there can be an uncomfortable burden of responsibility that goes with it. There’s so much that has to be decided, not least which direction I should take in my life. I don’t know yet where life will lead me, still less how I’m supposed to behave around other people. Maybe that’s what is making me so anxious. And maybe that’s the reason for the clumsy suicide attempt. I like writing those words – suicide attempt. A man should take responsibility for his actions. That’s what I was brought up to believe and that’s how I’d prefer to live. That’s definitely what Dad preached, although he didn’t always follow his own advice.
It’s stale and airless in here, especially at night. There is a pervading smell, some hospital odour that’s difficult to describe. Should I try? It’s slightly bitter, uncomfortable … it smells of hopelessness, really, and the medication that creates it.
The tune comes back to me sometimes, the melody. There’s so much going on in my head, thoughts bouncing back and forth, getting in each others’ way, worries, tension, guilt. There’s not much joy there.
I often think of Hanna and of everything that went wrong between us. Or rather, what went wrong with me. It had all started so well and I was sure she was in love. I remember the first time we met, at school. We were the same age, but she was so much more mature. And I remember the last time I saw her, in tears, angry and betrayed. There was hatred in her eyes. That’s how I know she won’t be visiting me and I will probably never see her again unless by some coincidence, in which case I’ll only be able to hang my head in shame and try to smile through it. I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself. My temper got the better of me. And she’ll look away and cross the street to avoid me.
I couldn’t help myself.
My temper got the better of me
Is that what really happened?
I’m searching for the answer to that question.
And the answer scares me.
17
Was that too far? Did I go too far?
It was all Elín could think about on her way up to the ski lodge high in the valley. She took pride in her work and was annoyed that she’d put herself in this position. She’d never be able to concentrate on her meeting with the managers of the ski slopes. Although she knew that she was hard working and clever, she was also aware that the real reason she had this job was down to Gunnar, and she owed him for that. He had appointed her without advertising the position, despite her sketchy experience and her unfinished master’s degree.
Of course she had crossed a line. However you wanted to look at it, Gunnar was a married man, in name at least, an old and valued friend, a colleague, and, yes, on top of that he was her boss. Yet she had still allowed herself to go a step too far.
But the ends would more than justify the means. She was determined to give it a go, to try to steal Gunnar from his wife. The marriage had clearly come to an end, even if Gunnar and his wife weren’t ready to admit it. Elín was in the best position to see the truth. She had been attracted to Gunnar for as long as she had known him, but never thought that she would have a chance – until now. The marriage coming apart at the seams, his wife far away, and the two of them, Elín and Gunnar, in exile in this little town beneath the towering mountains in the north of Iceland. It couldn’t get any better than that.
She looked up at the mountains on her way up the valley, most of them white-covered even though the ski slopes wouldn’t be open for a while yet. The mountains encircling Siglufjördur always seemed to be white, even at the height of summer when remnants of the winter snowfall still clung to the peaks. She had been told that soon, around the middle of November, the sun would disappear behind the mountains for its long winter break and it wouldn’t return until late January, when the town would celebrate with solar coffee and pancakes. Elín still found it odd to contemplate complete, round-the-clock darkness. Even though the winter sun in the south was neither bright nor high in the sky, she still found it difficult to imagine living in a place where the sun simply went away, hiding behind the mountains that enclosed the small town on three sides. To Elin it was unsettling, almost eerie and threatening. But the townspeople seemed to take it in their stride.
Her thoughts flashed back to Gunnar, and she felt disgruntled. It had always been her intention to give their deepening friendship a nudge in the right direction, but had she been too hasty? She didn’t want to let this opportunity slip through her fingers, though. Gunnar was vulnerable right now, for a variety of reasons, and not least because he was now caught up in this police investigation, alone and with no support, far from his family. Of course the man needed someone to lean on. It made perfect sense that she should be there for him; she’d been a family friend for years and even knew his wife well enough. There had always been a level of polite suspicion between them, and if she and Gunnar were to form a relationship, there would certainly be some venom spat from Norway. Hopefully the howls of fury would be muted somewhere over the ocean. Elín lifted her chin determinedly. She wasn’t going to let Gunnar get away. A decent man, reliable, handsome, ambitious, and the mayor; they got on so well together. They had known each other for a long time and the prospect of a possible romance had always loomed in the air, just within reach.
She deserved a good man, and she’d waited long enough for someone she could really love. Previously, she always seemed to go for the wrong sort – men who were difficult, dangerous, even downright cruel. She’d loved Gunnar from afar, and knew he was a man who would treat her well. The job he’d offered appeared out of nowhere, but it was highly appreciated. She had been stuck in a block of flats in Kópavogur, with a man she couldn’t stand, from whom she didn’t dare walk away.
They had met at a nightspot in Kópavogur, where her college reunion had been taking place. He hadn’t been to college with the rest of them, but crashed the party and ended up at a table with Elín and her friend. Although there was something vaguely sinister about him, he came across well. And she had to admit to herself that it was precisely that hint of danger that had pressed all of her buttons. They went home together, to his place. The violence didn’t start right away, not until she had moved in, by which time he had won her trust, caught her in his net and aroused in her some strong feelings for him, more than just affection even if it wasn’t quite love. It was when they disagreed that he started to use his fists to drive home his point of view, although he always apologised profusely later on. Of course she should have walked out there and then, that first time, but she always fell into the same trap, struggling to leave men like this, to whom she couldn’t help being drawn.
Valberg hadn’t looked the violent type, in fact, he held down a good job at a small advertising agency and was well liked there, a cheerful, positive character with plenty of friends. But the glint she had seen in his eye that first night, that undefinable but immediate sense of danger that he exuded and which drew her to him had turned out to be an indication of worse to come, a wisp of smoke from a raging fire within.
It reached the point that she didn’t dare leave. The growing violence was soon accompanied by threats, as well as a deep jealousy. I’ll kill you if you go. And she was sure that he would keep his promise. Of course she should have left, and gone straight to the police. But it wasn’t that easy. Where would she go? She didn’t trust the police to protect her and a charge of threatening behaviour wouldn’t be much of a deterrent. On top of that, it would be her word against his. He was careful to cover his tracks; no written threats, no angry text messages. He was a disturbingly clever character.
She hadn’t heard from Gunnar for a while when she received his call to offer her a job. She had hesitated for a moment, but quickly realised that this was her escape route. She could get away from Valberg, away to a place that felt like the other side of the world. Of course she had known of Siglufjördur, but she had never been there and it was off the beaten track in more ways than one. She disappeared while Valberg was at work. It didn’t cross her mind to say goodbye to him. She changed her phone number and made sure that she kept her registered residence in Reykjavík, so he wouldn’t be able to track her down. To be entirely sure that she couldn’t be found, Elín gave herself a brand-new surname to go with the new job. Elín Einarsdóttir became the deputy mayor, Elín Reyndal, an unofficial name change, and something to ensure that Valberg would never find her. Reyndal was an old family name that had belonged to her mother’s family, a name that no close relative used.
Elín was aware that it was only a temporary solution.
Almost every night she awoke, bathed in sweat after some unpleasantly realistic nightmare in which Valberg appeared in Siglufjördur – or she was still in Kópavogur, subject to his violence, his twitching rage, his threats. She escaped her dreams to hide in her new reality, but she woke every day with a deep nausea and an overwhelming fear that it was only a question of time before he caught up with her. She knew that time would weaken his power over her, and make it less likely that he would seek her out and carry out his threats, but she was still afraid. She had no desire to spend her life on the run, and the secrets she buried were a constant threat to her ability to concentrate, to do her job. Too many times she’d thought she’d seen Valberg out of the corner of her eye, an unsettling experience that proved simply to be a mirage, the product of her fearful imagination.
She had told Gunnar some of the story, but not all of it. She toned it down, made light of her fear. But he knew that she was in hiding and did his best to help her. They had been close friends and confidantes in the past, close enough to share secrets.
‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’ was the first question he asked when she told him how things had been. ‘You should have called me.’
She didn’t even try to make excuses. That wasn’t her style, and anyway, she didn’t owe him any apologies. They were good friends, but it went no further than that.
‘You think we can make this work out in Siglufjördur?’ she asked instead. ‘I’d like to move on and the job sounds good to me.’
Everything had worked out, right up until the police came knocking on Gunnar’s door, asking about the shooting. Or, rather, it had started with Herjólfur’s call to Gunnar the night before the shooting. That triggered a chain of events to which she could see no end.
I met Dr Helgi, briefly today, and about time.
He didn’t have much to say, but at least he seemed to remember who I am. I’m probably one of the youngest inmates here and although I don’t cast a long shadow, keeping to myself and sticking to the corners, my father is the type of character nobody easily forgets. He has an authority about him. He’s burly and strong, much like me, unfortunately.
Dad is decisive and he’s arrogant, the type who always gets his way. The type nobody wants to stand up to.
The doctor prescribed some medication for me and I thanked him for it, almost as though I had a choice in the matter. I waited for him to offer me a seat, and to lean back in his chair so we could talk through the past and the future, the reasons for my being here and how I can make a recovery.
But there was no such discussion. He prompted me to leave, first with a glance and then, as I made no move to be on my way, with a wave of his hand. That was enough.
I start on this course of medication right away. It takes two weeks for the medication to start to work, and by then Dad should be able to see my progress. I’ll be able to come out of this place a better man, promising never to do it again, just as little children do. Little children…
18
‘Isn’t this beautiful?’ Tómas asked as they approached the ski lodge on the landward side of the town, the encircling snow-capped mountains picture perfect. As they drove up the hills, then into the valley, everything was more or less covered in snow, an early reminder of that the Christmas season would soon commence.
Ari Thór smiled. ‘You’re missing Siglufjördur already?’
‘Already? I was missing the place the same day we moved south.’
‘Not ready to come back?’ Ari Thór asked cautiously.
There was a heavy silence. ‘Have you been over the mountain pass at Skardur?’ he asked, as if he hadn’t heard Ari Thór’s question.
Ari Thór found himself looking up towards the old mountain road that had once been Siglufjördur’s only link with the outside world, until the first tunnel had been opened in the sixties.
‘I have to admit that I haven’t,’ he said with regret. The road was only open at the height of summer and it was clear that there would be no chance of going that way at the moment. ‘I’ll do it in the summer. I’ll make time to go up there.’
‘It can be dangerous in the summer as well,’ Tómas said with a thoughtful look on his face as they arrived at their destination. ‘I was stuck there once on a school trip, when I was only a child. It was summer, so we weren’t all that warmly dressed, and halfway across, right at the top, a blinding snowstorm came down and the bus got stuck. We were terrified, and the weather got worse and worse. I remember it as if it were yesterday – it’s the kind of experience that never leaves you. We were up there until past nightfall and they had to send the rescue teams out. Everyone who had something with four-wheel drive took part in the rescue, and the children had to be carried down, very slowly. You could see nothing but snow, not a thing. So we held hands in a little group and followed the grown-ups.’
There was a faraway look in his eyes, as if he was still there.
‘I was at the back of the group and all of a sudden I lost my grip on the boy in front of me. The group kept going, even thought the boy tried to call out. I shouted, and then started to cry, but nobody heard me. But that boy wouldn’t give up, and he pulled himself away from the line. That’s when the others finally stopped. I was so cold, stiff with exhaustion and fear, and I’d stubbed my toes on a rock. If it wasn’t for him … if he hadn’t stopped…’ Tómas turned to look at Ari Thór, something close to tears blurring his bright eyes. ‘You know who he was, that boy? The one who risked being lost so he could help me?’
Ari Thór shook his head.
‘That was Addi. Addi Gunna, my cousin. Everyone has a redeeming quality, Ari Thór. Even Addi,’ he said in his habitually thoughtful way. ‘And most of us have a darker side that not many people get to see.’
Tómas paused again. He had already described his second visit to Addi Gunna, and it seemed that no new information had emerged. He sounded like he was apologising for his cousin, pointing out his innate goodness as if to counter the fact that he was now embroiled in activities that were more than suspect. He looked over at Ari Thór, who nodded his understanding.
‘I had a visitor myself,’ said Ari Thór, and told him about the college teacher’s lost shotgun.
Tómas raised an eyebrow. The case was definitely moving on.
Information on calls to and from the mayor’s mobile phone were coming in rapidly, and it turned out that the mayor had been in unusually frequent communication with the deputy mayor,
a woman who called herself Elín Reyndal, but whose name was actually Elín Einarsdóttir, according to the national register. The mayor had called her immediately after the police’s unannounced visit.
‘There’s something fishy there,’ Tómas had whispered, when they had arrived at the municipal offices and asked for Elín. They learned that she had gone to attend a meeting up in the valley, at the lodge on the ski slopes. Conscious that he needed to maintain a good relationship with the local authority once the investigation was over, Ari Thór had suggested they come back the next day to talk to her, but Tómas wouldn’t hear of it. When this usually reserved man had the bit between his teeth, there was no hope of persuading him to change his mind.
‘No. We’ll go now. And we won’t call ahead to let her know we’re on the way. Sometimes catching people off guard brings you a windfall.’
Tables and chairs had been arranged in rows inside the ski lodge, although only three people were to be seen, a man and two women. The wall of shelves behind them was filled with ski boots and helmets, all ready for the coming winter. They looked up as the two police officers walked in. Ari Thór recognised Elín immediately, and knew that the man and woman she was sitting opposite were the couple who ran the ski slopes. They were a young and energetic pair with ambitious ideas for the area that the locals modestly referred to as the Siglufjördur Alps.
It was clear from the look on Elín’s face that she had expected this visit, but there was no hint of nerves. She seemed prepared, almost defiant, looking from one of her companions to the other as she waited for the officers to state their business. It seemed that Tómas had been right. If she was expecting them, then she must have something to say – or something to hide. It had probably been the right decision not to put off this conversation for too long.
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