‘He appears to have been injured in a firearms incident,’ he said. ‘A shotgun at short range.’
‘And who shot him?’ she asked, her gaze still distant.
‘That isn’t clear at the moment but we’ll find him. Don’t you worry.’
She posed another question in a low voice. ‘Where did this happen?’
‘Outside an old house out by the tunnel, the Strákar tunnel.’
‘Old house?’ She looked at him in disbelief.
‘Yes, an abandoned house.’
‘That old place?’ she asked haltingly. ‘What on earth was he doing out there?’
Ari Thór was silent for a few seconds before he answered. If only I knew, he thought.
‘That’s what we’re trying to establish,’ he said, as decisively as he could. He was starting to feel deeply uncomfortable; the memory of the two police officers telling him of his mother’s death was still raw, as was his recollection of longing to be rid of them as quickly as possible so he could deal with his bereavement in solitude. ‘I know this must be extremely difficult for you,’ he said to fill the silence. ‘Please get in touch if there’s anything I can help with … and I’ll let you know the moment there’s anything new to report.’
Helena stared at him sorrowfully, but said nothing. Willowy slim, her face etched with strong lines and framed by raven-black hair, she was arresting even in her grief. This was someone it would be difficult to forget; someone Ari Thór would definitely always remember.
‘I can ask the priest to stop by and see you later,’ he said. ‘He can help you deal with things,’ he added, against his own instincts. Nobody had made the loss of his mother easier, still less the disappearance of his father, not the priest nor anyone else. Any belief in a higher power had definitely been lost that rainy day when he had learned of his mother’s fate.
Now Herjólfur’s son spoke for the first time, his eyes not quite meeting Ari Thór’s. ‘Thank you. It’s appreciated. But we’re not particularly religious.’
Ari Thór nodded and allowed himself a thin smile.
He didn’t say any formal goodbyes, letting himself disappear quietly. No one followed him to the door. He closed it carefully behind him and walked briskly to the car, willing himself not to break into a run.
Then he heard the door open and someone calling quietly. ‘Hey, Ari Thór…’
He turned to see Herjólfur’s son frowning in the doorway, waiting for him to retrace his steps.
He extended a hand. ‘I’m sorry … I’m Herjólfur’s son, and my name’s Herjólfur, too.’
Ari Thór shook the outstretched hand. He was about to say ‘my condolences’ but stopped himself just in time. That would have been too much, as if admitting that there was no hope.
‘It’s terrible. I know how you feel,’ he said instead.
The boy’s expression made it plain that he doubted Ari Thór could understand how he felt.
‘I think I know what Dad was doing up there,’ he said.
‘Really?’ Ari Thór asked, with surprise and interest.
‘He told me about it the other day, said it was to do with a case he’s been working on. You probably know all about it…’
This was news to Ari Thór. ‘Well…’ he said doubtfully, not wanting to admit that there was clearly something that Herjólfur had not trusted him enough to tell him. He decided to let silence work for him and prompt a further answer.
‘It was a dope case,’ the younger Herjólfur said at last.
‘Drugs?’
‘Yes, people meet there to sell dope, you know…’
‘Yes, I see.’
‘Dad thought I might be able to help him, wanted to know if any of the kids at school knew anything about it. I’m at college here, graduating in the spring.’
Ari Thór waited.
‘But I didn’t know anything. People aren’t going to trust a cop’s son with that kind of information.’
‘No, I understand,’ Ari Thór said.
‘There’s something … something sensitive about this case, Dad reckoned,’ the younger Herjólfur added.
‘Sensitive? What do you mean by that?’ Ari Thór asked, unnecessarily sharply.
‘Some political connection, or so I understood.’
Ari Thór waited for Herjólfur to continue, but he appeared to have no more to say.
‘He didn’t explain any further than that?’ Ari Thór asked eventually.
‘No, unfortunately not.’ Herjólfur hung his head.
Ari Thór thanked him for the information, said his goodbyes and walked back to the car. He looked over his shoulder quickly before he got in. The younger Herjólfur had gone and the door of the big house had shut behind him. The sky continued to weep, and the wind continued her howling. Ari Thór was thankful to be out of the house with that particular job behind him, and with the sorrow at arm’s length, for the moment.
He was, however, painfully aware that this was only the beginning.
It’s still night. I managed to sleep a little.
I came here to the hospital late one evening, and all I really wanted to do was to go back home, curl up in bed and sleep. Of course I could have tried to refuse being admitted, but Dad had already made up his mind, there was no shifting him, and he’s not a man who takes no for an answer.
That evening is a blur, although there are a few things that I remember. The doctor on duty, Helgi. He was friendly but firm and agreed that I should come here. Dad was convincing, as always, and I just mumbled a series of nothings under my breath.
He was a young man, that doctor, maybe fifteen or so years older than me. I’d guess that would make him thirty-five. He had a deep voice, a convincing voice.
How long am I supposed to be here? I asked.
He should have said: until you want to leave. That would have been the right answer.
As long as you need to, was what he said, with a look on his face that said he was better than me, so much better than me. It was as if any decision had been taken out of my hands, and that’s the way I still feel, like a sleepwalker, bereft of will, imprisoned in my own body.
Then they took a blood test.
I can see from the window that I’m on the first floor. I have a recollection of how I got up here. I was taken along a long corridor, painfully long, to my mind. The walls were reminiscent of jagged lava, rough; no, they were positively sharp. They’d be dangerous if you were to catch yourself against them. It sounds like the ravings of a disturbed mind, but that’s the way it was. I remember clearly thinking at the time that if I still, really and genuinely, want to hurt myself, then all I’d need to do is to run into those damned walls. I never did it. Maybe because I was too tired, too apathetic, too frightened. Maybe because I had never actually intended to finish myself off. A few shallow cuts in the inside of one arm, a half-hearted suicide attempt, that was enough for Dad to panic and for Mum to come close to a nervous breakdown.
Even though I don’t want to be here, I’m determined to tough it out. Maybe all this will do me some good. It’s the best you can expect, considering what happened, Dad said. That may well be right, but deep inside I fear that the opposite could be true.
5
‘You know what? This is the first time I’ve been back to Siglufjördur since we sold the house,’ Tómas said, trying to make himself comfortable in a chair that hadn’t been designed for comfort. He had responded quickly and arrived that afternoon. They sat in the police station’s kitchen, just as they had in the old days. Ari Thór felt an unexpected twinge of regret. Although he had applied energetically for the inspector’s post when Tómas moved to Reykjavík, he would still have preferred things to have remained as they had been. He would have liked at least a few years more of working with Tómas. They got on well together; Tómas was a patient character and a good teacher, although he could be more than a little stubborn on occasion. As Tómas’s replacement, Herjólfur hadn’t been an improvement.
‘I went past our old place on
the way here,’ Tómas said, in the awkwardly ponderous way he sometimes adopted. ‘That was a strange feeling, I can tell you. That doctor who bought the place has made himself at home. New curtains in all the windows, when the ones we had left him were perfectly good. And he’s extended the decking and built a windbreak – looks like he’s even put in a hot tub there. A hot tub!’ He shook his head and sighed. ‘He’s rooted out all the plants and shrubs.’
Ari Thór smiled for the first time that day. He had managed to get home after talking to the family, hoping to rest for a while, but that hadn’t happened. The flu still had him in its grip, although he was just managing to keep it at bay.
‘You were quick getting here,’ Ari Thór said. It was getting on for three o’clock. Herjólfur had been flown south; his prospects of recovery were still unclear, and he had not regained consciousness. The incident had already attracted much media interest even though a formal press conference had not yet been held. An armed attack on a police officer was certainly big news, particularly in a small community like this one.
‘Yes, they called me at some ungodly hour,’ Tómas said. ‘I gather you suggested me.’
‘I think the chief had been thinking along the same lines,’ Ari Thór protested. ‘There aren’t many police officers who know Siglufjördur as well as you do, which makes you the ideal man for this kind of assignment,’ he added and immediately regretted using the word. It seemed wrong to be talking about an assignment under the present circumstances.
Tómas looked away, avoiding Ari Thór’s eyes.
‘I take it you’ll be helping me with the investigation?’ he asked. ‘That shouldn’t be an issue, as long as it’s formally in my hands. But it looks to me that you’re not in the best of health?’ he spoke more softly, with an almost fatherly tone.
‘Well, I’m supposed to be on sick leave today, but of course I’m ready to do what I can,’ Ari Thór replied. ‘It’s just the two of us?’
‘Not a chance. The technical team is on the way to the crime scene and they’ll search every square inch of that damned house. Then there are two lads we can have, one from Ólafsfjördur and one from Akureyri, if we need them. They’ll start by making house-to-house enquiries in the area to find out if anyone heard a shot or noticed any unusual movements … any unfamiliar cars about. You know. I’m not hopeful, but you can never tell.’
Tómas stood up, ready to leave. He looked out of the window for a while. The rain had stopped but the town still looked grey and drab. The wonderful glow that normally bathed the town in the summer was now gone, but the picture-perfect charm of a snowy winter hadn’t yet arrived; it was as if Siglufjördur was caught in a limbo between two worlds at this time of year, and it certainly wasn’t Ari Thór’s favourite season.
‘So,’ Tómas said at last and turned around. ‘Where shall we start?’
Ari Thór hesitated. It was a question he hadn’t expected.
‘The weapon,’ he said at last. ‘Where did the weapon come from?’
‘Quite right,’ Tómas said. ‘We’ll get a ballistics report from Reykjavík and hopefully they’ll be able to tell us what type of shotgun was used. If the weapon is legally registered then it shouldn’t be a problem to track down the owner sooner or later.’
‘There’s no guarantee that the shotgun is a registered weapon, even though it should be,’ Ari Thór said, and related his earlier conversation with Herjólfur’s son.
‘Dope, you reckon?’ Tómas said thoughtfully. ‘Drugs have never been that much of a problem in Siglufjördur, although I gather it’s been more of a problem since the new tunnel was built, bringing the place closer to the main roads. For better or worse.’
‘And this political angle. Any idea what that might be?’ Ari asked.
‘No, there’s nothing that springs to mind. There aren’t that many politicians around here, just a few town councillors who aren’t exactly the type to be involved with drugs. Some of them are kids I knew when they were still in nappies.’ Tómas smiled broadly.
Ari Thór knew that there was no need to take Tómas too seriously when he referred to ‘kids’.
‘There are some politicians from Reykjavík who have summer houses here,’ Ari Thór said thoughtfully.
‘Don’t even mention that. It makes me want to weep,’ Tómas said. He had never been shy of sharing his robust views on Siglufjördur turning into a summer-house district. The local property market was thriving, certainly doing better than it had around the turn of the century when the declining fishing industry had seen the town become less prosperous. Since then, local people who had moved away had been buying houses in the town and doing them up as summer homes. Skiing enthusiasts had been doing much the same, as the Skardsdalur ski slopes inside the town limits were particularly popular.
Ari Thór remained puzzled by the attraction of skiing. He had borrowed skis a few times and tried out the slopes after moving north, but it seemed to him as if the skis were controlling him rather than the other way around. He guessed that wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. He mentally reprimanded himself for allowing his thoughts to wander at such a critical time.
Tómas continued, apparently not noticing his deputy’s poor concentration, ‘It wouldn’t do any harm if something as unpleasant as a shooting could be blamed on some outsider. But we shouldn’t be too hopeful…’
Tómas still hadn’t sat down. He seemed to think better on his feet.
‘We still don’t know who Herjólfur talked to last night,’ he went on. ‘His phone is locked, but we’ll hopefully be able to sort that out later today.’
‘I’ve been through his duty records and there’s nothing there that jumps out as being unusual,’ Ari Thór said. ‘We can try and get into his email to see if there is anything there.’
‘Absolutely,’ Tómas sighed. ‘It’s a damned nightmare. A damned nightmare! I simply cannot remember a police officer ever being injured in a firearms attack in this country. You can imagine the turmoil this is causing in Reykjavík. They’re in a blind panic at headquarters, every one of them. This is something that just shouldn’t happen!’
‘No…’ Ari Thór said thoughtfully, an unsettling idea striking him as he uttered the words. ‘It could have been me.’
Tómas frowned and was quiet for a moment.
‘It’s possible.’
‘More than possible,’ Ari Thór said sharply. ‘I should have been on duty last night. This bloody flu saved my life.’
‘It’s possible,’ Tómas repeated patiently. ‘Of course we can’t rule out that Herjólfur was the target.’
‘No, I can’t imagine that,’ Ari Thór said firmly, still upset at the thought that he could have been there in Herjólfur’s place, and Kristín in Helena’s position.
That would have left little Stefnir without a father and Ari Thór could hardly bring himself to think it through any further.
‘Who could have wanted him dead? It’s not as if we made a point of letting people know that he was on duty instead of me.’
‘Whatever happens,’ Tómas said, with rising impatience. ‘We need to get to know Herjólfur better. Talk to his wife when she’s had a chance to, to collect herself, as much as she can, anyhow. Had he crossed swords with anyone in the town? Had he received any threats?’
‘His wife would have mentioned it,’ Ari Thór said.
‘You’re sure? I doubt she was that talkative after receiving news like that.’
‘No, she wasn’t,’ Ari Thór admitted. ‘She didn’t say a lot and seemed to be in shock.’
‘We’ll pay her a visit tomorrow. I hear she’s been unwell,’ Tómas added.
‘Unwell? What’s wrong with her?’
‘I’m not sure. I know that Herjólfur had finished a year’s leave when he got the promotion and the posting here. He was granted extended leave to look after his wife.’
‘A year off? That’s quite something. He really made sacrifices for her then.’
‘Hmm. I don�
�t know about that,’ Tómas said, and dropped his voice as if Herjólfur was listening in around the corner of the kitchen. ‘He was on full pay the whole time.’
‘Full pay? That’s not bad at all. We’re clearly members of a pretty decent union.’
‘I’m not sure the union had anything to do with the decision. He’s well connected. His father was a legend in his own lifetime, a copper of the old school, high-ranking and plenty of influence. He was a shrewd one. I remember meeting him once, a proper tough character. He’s dead now, the old man. But we can say that Herjólfur had blue blood in his veins, royalty within the force, you understand?’
‘That’s why he got the job and I didn’t?’
‘More than likely.’
Ari Thór was silent.
‘Then there’s something else … that old house by the tunnel,’ Tómas began. ‘That place has a weird history. Twin brothers lived there around the middle of the century, inherited the house from their parents. One night around 1960, one of the twins was found dead at the back of the house, and it looked as if he had fallen off the balcony. There was talk that there had been drinking there the night before, as the twins had had a visitor, but as far as I know, nobody ever found out what really happened. Some people believed that the surviving brother was responsible, that he lost his wits. He changed completely after the incident, became something of a recluse. The matter was allowed to drop, as some awkward cases were at that time. Some said that the man had simply fallen. That’s how I heard it, anyway…’
‘You don’t think there’s some connection there?’ Ari Thór asked curiously.
‘I doubt it. But we’ll have to be open to every possibility.’
Ari Thór stood up too quickly. He still wasn’t well. His head spun and he felt nauseous, but he forced himself past it. Drops of sweat formed on his forehead.
‘Are you sure you’re up for this?’ Tómas looked ready to send Ari Thór home to bed.
‘Of course. I’m all right.’
His voice was determined, but still didn’t sound convincing.
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