‘No, fortunately we got there in good time,’ Linda said. ‘I saw that Thormóður was out that day as well, and there was an Asian woman with him. I can’t imagine where he might have been taking her.’
Karl and Marta quickly exchanged glances.
‘She could be working at Bröttuskriður,’ Guðgeir said, hoping to keep the conversation alive, startling Karl and Marta into looks of surprise.
‘The old lady there is getting on in years, isn’t she?’ Linda asked. ‘Selma, isn’t that her name? I remember her son Ísak from school. I think he went to university down south… What was he studying?’
‘Chemistry,’ Karl answered. ‘I couldn’t work out why the lad didn’t go to agricultural college at Hvanneyri. He’d have learned something useful there and might have been able to do better than that handful of old ewes.’
‘People should study what interests them,’ Marta said. ‘But it was a shock for that nervous boy to leave home.’
‘Agricultural science,’ Karl said. ‘That would have been some use to him, and the farm wouldn’t be the mess it is now. Absolutely ridiculous!’
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about, Karl. What school did you go to? Life leads people in different directions.’
‘Well, he should have stuck it out more than just two years, considering he was studying what he was supposed to have an interest in.’
‘He didn’t give up! Karl you shouldn’t be going on about things you know nothing about,’ Marta said, raising her voice and shuffling the cards with a new intensity. She still hadn’t won a hand of patience.
‘He gave up!’ Karl shot back angrily, banging the table. ‘People don’t dare tell it like it is these days now there’s this endless tiptoeing around uncomfortable truths. The reality is that his mother ruined him with all those endless mad ideas of her. He’s never been allowed a chance to stand on his own two feet.’
‘You mean he’s insecure?’ Linda asked, glancing at Marta, who seemed to pay not the slightest attention to her husband’s outburst.
‘I’ve no idea, but he comes across as the big man. More than likely that arrogance is just a facade,’ Karl added, self-satisfied with his diagnosis.
‘Ísak also struggled in the city,’ Marta said, laying yet another hand of cards. ‘The poor boy was almost dead before Thormóður saved his life.’
‘Who’s Thormóður?’ Guðgeir asked, trying to sound off-handed, as if trying to show a polite interest in something that was in fact no business of his. ‘A psychologist?’
‘Who knows? At any rate, Selma says he can look deep into a person’s soul and is in touch with his own higher consciousness!’ Marta said.
‘If only,’ Karl snorted, before Marta carried on.
‘Apparently he’s involved in some charitable work. They think a lot of him and Ísak hadn’t seen him for a few years. Then he turned up at Bröttuskriður and stayed there for a few weeks. A spiritual replenishment, they call it.’
Karl laughed coldly and sat back in his chair.
‘That’s something of a luxury! The man was so enchanted with the place that he bought himself a guest house in Höfn. He helps them out with money, I reckon. I can’t see how else they manage to hang on there, up to their ears in debt. Since Thormóður turned up they’ve become too good to talk to the likes of us, and we’re the only people in the district who have had anything to do with them, so good luck to them, I say,’ Karl said, planting a forefinger on a seven of clubs. ‘Aren’t you going to put this one on the eight?’ he suggested.
‘You mind your own business, Karl!’ Marta replied, snatching up the card.
‘He’s rolling in it, this Thormóður,’ Karl said sharply, as if sniping back at his wife. ‘We dropped by there during the winter and as far as we could see, every smart new appliance you see advertised in the papers has found its way to Bröttuskriður. Typical greed.’
‘Jealousy’s going to be the death of you, Karl Baldvinsson,’ Marta said, shuffling the cards yet again.
Guðgeir and Linda glanced at each other. The tension between the couple seemed almost habitual, rather than a genuine argument.
‘This is the same Thormóður I mentioned earlier,’ Linda said to Guðgeir, as if all this was new to him. He nodded, taking care to show not too much interest while he digested what he was hearing. To his thinking, the man’s presence at Bröttuskriður was more likely to be a strategy to keep a low profile rather than a spiritual replenishment – and the timing seemed to fit.
‘He brought that over here the other day. Thormóður, I mean. A television in the kitchen!’ Karl said, as if trying to outdo his wife. ‘Is that acceptable? To just show up with a TV set and drop it on the table? We hardly know the man…’
‘Stop your bullshit, Karl. What do you know?’ Marta broke in. ‘Thormóður’s a good man who has helped a lot of people. It’s a second-hand telly, and it’s not as if it’s a big one.’
‘Second-hand, good as new,’ Karl muttered. ‘You ought to see how he charms the old girls. You ought to see them drooling over him.’
‘Karl! Enough of this crap!’ Marta said, her anger showing through.
‘How long have they lived alone, the two of them?’ Guðgeir asked, as if making a ploy to defuse the tension between Karl and Marta. Much as it was unpleasant to listen to a couple squabbling, this time it was playing into his hands. He and Linda hardly needed to ask a question as everything they wanted to know bubbled up from them. He didn’t even have to probe, and it was obvious they had no idea who he was, which was just as well.
‘Always, apart from the two years Ísak was at university in Reykjavík,’ Karl said quickly. ‘Poor Selma can’t be left alone as she went a little crazy after that American of hers went off the Almannaskarð road. He managed to kill himself just as she was pregnant and ready to pop. She was supposed to be carrying twins, but in the end there was just the one. I suppose the twins’ story was because she was a big as a barrel all the time she was pregnant with Ísak. Not unless the Hidden Lady in the rocks took the other child and exposed the infant for her. After all, “vengeance follows those who betray the hidden…”’ Karl said, pausing to let the poetic quotation sink in and watched them with a meaningful look in his eye.
‘She’s not had an easy life, that’s for sure,’ Guðgeir said mildly, trying to smother the distaste he was starting to feel for this man. He made an effort to maintain a warmth in his voice and to laugh at the right moments, hoping to encourage the man’s eagerness to tell tales.
‘It’s true,’ Marta said. ‘The old man, her father, was a brute. He was terribly strict and of course he couldn’t stand the sight of Yank, so you can imagine… And he was a nightmare when his temper was up.’
‘Why did Thormóður bring you a TV?’ Linda asked. ‘Do you know him?’
‘They must have sent him,’ Marta sniffed, unable to disguise her disgust. ‘Now they don’t want us to call round. Karl went over there at the beginning of March to discuss the pastures and a few other things, and they didn’t even ask him in for a cup of coffee. That’s downright rude and unneighbourly, I say. And that’s towards the only people around here who are prepared to be friendly towards them.’
‘Ach. I reckon it’s just Selma’s temper getting the better of her again. She’s always struggled with it, the poor old thing,’ Karl said.
‘And did you see the Asian girl?’ Guðgeir asked, dropping the question in as if by chance and giving his voice a tone that could indicate this could be something the two of them could share an interest in. To his surprise, it was Marta who answered instantly.
‘They said she had already moved on.’
Guðgeir took a deep breath. Sajee had been at Bröttuskriður.
39
‘So who’s this Linda?’
Inga’s voice was as dry as sandpaper.
‘Nobody,’ Guðgeir replied.
‘Surely nobody’s name can’t be Linda?’ she said, ice-cold.
‘I mean nobody important. She works at the café where I go for a meal sometimes. I can’t be sitting here on my own in this apartment the whole time,’ he said, already wishing he hadn’t mentioned the visit to Gröf to Inga. But the habit was ingrained in him and he had always shared with her anything that troubled him. He had told her about what he and Linda had discovered, and how he was wondering what the next step could be. There wasn’t a great deal of investigation needed to tie up the remaining loose ends and he was itching to bring things to a conclusion. But it would be as well to be on sure legal ground, and everything had to be correct as his position – or rather, his lack of a position – made things complex. Every legal loophole would have to be plugged, otherwise the whole thing could fall apart.
Then, in a moment’s forgetfulness, he had mentioned Linda’s name in connection with the trip up to the Lagoon and the cat was out of the bag. This was no longer a conversation about what Sajee’s fate might be, but about a possible relationship between Guðgeir and Linda. It hurt him deeply that Linda still didn’t trust him.
‘Why did she go with you?’
‘Like I told you just now, to open doors. Her family knows the people at Gröf. I didn’t want to be caught up in the same situation as at Bröttuskriður.’
‘Have you been meeting this woman?’
‘No, not at all. She’s just someone I know, that’s all… Hell, Inga, what do you expect?’ he snapped, his temper getting the better of him. It was hard enough being exiled from home without this on top. ‘You want me to lock myself away while you go out to dinner with your Crossfit pal from work? Didn’t you try out a new restaurant the other day? Don’t you think I’m sick of this as well?’ he said, and immediately regretted his words.
There was a heavy silence down the line and the distance between them grew increasingly far as the seconds ticked past. It was remarkable that Inga’s silence rippled through every nerve in his body, through to his soul. They had a shared history going back a quarter of a century that had twisted and braided their lives together; and now they were acting like sulky teenagers. This couldn’t continue.
‘We shouldn’t be arguing,’ Guðgeir sighed, a hand on his forehead.
‘No.’
‘It’s not something we’ve ever been good at.’
‘No.’
‘Inga, my love,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘I miss you so much.’
‘I miss you too. This isn’t right.’
‘No.’
‘Isn’t the best thing that I come home as soon as my contract’s up?’ he said.
‘Yes,’ she said after a pause. ‘That would be best.’
He felt the first tears he had shed since the death of his colleague Andrés, but this time these were tears of delight. He felt himself float on air, and now he’d be out of this gloomy basement flat. He hardly gave himself time to change into his running gear and was still adjusting his track suit trousers as the door banged shut behind him. He put the buds into his ears and the trainer app immediately began to pump a beat, urging him to greater efforts.
The door upstairs was open and Matthildur stood on the steps, with Sveinn behind her. Guðgeir waved cheerfully and set off, running too fast, as he didn’t have time to stop and chat now. The disappeared into the distance like a hazy memory. He soon developed a stitch, but struggled on until he was forced to stop to re-tie a shoelace. In his hurry, he hadn’t bothered with a double bow. He was panting with exertion. The app on his phone didn’t take any kind of a break into account, so he switched it off, as all of a sudden he had no use for the phone’s automated encouragement. He sat on a rock and stared out to sea. He longed to go home to Inga, Ólöf and Pétur Andri. Home to Fossvogur.
He stood up and strolled along the Nature Trail. The tide was out and he noticed a black plastic bag lying in the yellow foam left on the beach by the falling tide. Stepping closer, he saw that a corner of it had been caught under a stone. Guðgeir carefully freed it and carried it back up to the trail, looking around for a bin, but none was to be seen. A pair of ducks squawked out of the spring sunshine towards him and it struck him as something symbolic as he stood still with the bag in his hands. There was a new brightness in his life and things were going to be better from now on.
He set off, the bag still in his hand, sure that he had seen a litter bin by the bench a little further along. An image of the black plastic that covered the basement windows at Bröttuskriður flashed through his mind. How could he have forgotten that? His thoughts jumped from the beauty of nature around him to the darkest side of human nature. Ísak and Selma had something to hide, that was certain. Was the woman being held in the cellar?
He saw in his mind the rubber gloves by the sink at Bröttuskriður and Selma’s heavy hands. Ragnhildur, the woman Sajee had worked for as an au-pair, had told Særós that Sajee took exceptionally good care of her hands. Everything suddenly took on a new significance – the avocado rotting in a bowl, the brightly-coloured scarf on the hook among all the dark clothes. His thoughts went into overdrive as he searched for other parts of the puzzle.
The key point was that Karl and Marta at Gröf had confirmed that Sajee had been at Bröttuskriður, without admitting to having seen her. Thormóður had certainly been on the same flight as Sajee and had offered her a place to stay, while claiming at first to have never seen her. In addition, there were the two hostels that didn’t seem to need any guests and the inactive charity with the weird web page. Then there was the strange history that Ísak and Thormóður shared, and also Selma’s story, plus the unexplained flow of cash that had somehow made it possible to pay off the farm’s overwhelming debts.
He scrolled through his contacts to find Særós’s number and paced in circles as he waited for her to answer. It didn’t take him long to convince her.
‘We have to nail them,’ he said. ‘There’s something going on there that really stinks.’
‘We ought to co-ordinate this. We take the hostels in Reykjavík and Höfn at the same time, preferably just as we go in at Bröttuskriður?’ Særós suggested. She seemed to feel there would be no problem in getting any warrants they might need.
‘You have enough officers for this?’ Guðgeir asked. ‘This is pretty big.’
‘I’ll arrange that,’ Særós replied.
‘There had better be something to all this,’ Guðgeir said. ‘If it all goes wrong, I’m in no position to back you up.’
40
The torch was dead and Ísak ignored her when she asked for fresh batteries. He seemed relieved not to have to look at the septic injuries to her face. The faint brightness that shone through the gap as he opened the hatch was enough light for him.
She could sense that he felt ill at ease.
While the torch had worked, she had noticed that he no longer paid attention, said nothing more than a few necessary words to avoid having to look at her. Now there was the smell as well, a strong stench of putrefaction. He no longer came inside, just hooked the bucket out when there was something in it, and passed the drink in to her – Selma’s green concoction.
41
At the airport Guðgeir watched as Sveinn checked in passengers for the next flight. He chatted cheerfully with everyone and Guðgeir reflected that once he had moved back to Reykjavík he would miss the personal touch he had become accustomed to in Höfn. He could hardly step inside the local shop without a greeting from someone coming his way and he was already regretting not having taken a more active part in the local social life during the long, lonely winter. He glanced at the large clock on the wall behind the check-in desk and decided that the flight from Reykjavík must be about to land.
Særós was coming and she would manage the operation in Höfn, while their colleague Víðir Jón would handle the search in Reykjavík. The two of them had managed to tactfully avoid the usual administrative obstacles to organise this co-ordinated operation. Guðgeir sighed, stood up and paced back and forth, unable to sit still. The anticipation was becoming over
whelming. He was also concerned that too many police vehicles on the move in such a small place would be noticeable and that Thormóður might suspect something. Manpower had been brought in from Reykjavík and the Seyðisfjörður force was sending officers direct to the operation and they would be there in three hours.
Guðgeir noticed Sveinn waving him over.
‘Won’t you sit inside and have a cup of coffee? There are some doughnuts in a bag on the table.’
‘Not for me, thanks,’ Guðgeir replied quickly. ‘When’s this flight supposed to land?’
Sveinn looked at him, intrigued. His curiosity to know what his tenant was planning was clear.
‘There’s a short delay. It’ll be here within fifteen minutes,’ he said. ‘What can I do for you?’ he said, addressing the next passenger in the queue.
‘Really? I thought it should have been about to land,’ Guðgeir said in exasperation.
‘Is anything wrong?’
‘What? No, everything’s fine,’ Guðgeir assured him, and again declined the offer of coffee.
He tried to make himself comfortable on the bench, stretched out his long legs and yawned. It was remarkable that stress always made him drowsy. To have something to do, he took his glasses from their case and polished them, before checking the news on his phone and it wasn’t long before he ran out of patience and went outside. There was a clear sky and the signs of spring cheered him. He found it even more cheering to see the aircraft approaching low over the fjord.
Now things were about to happen and every step of the operation would have to be correct. At the same time, over the next few hours he would have to be satisfied with taking a back seat as an uninvolved observer. It was an uncomfortable thought that he would have to keep himself on the sidelines, but he could do nothing that might prejudice the outcome. Just a single false step could ruin everything.
The aircraft roared to a halt and he sighed even more deeply, watching as the steps were wheeled into place. As the first passengers emerged he went back into the terminal and before long he saw Særós approach, tall and elegant. Guðgeir was so pleased to see her that he planted a kiss on each cheek, something he had never done when he had been her boss.
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