The Fox

by Palsdottir, Solveig

  ‘I mean that there’s a chance these people are telling the truth. They got some cleaner in and don’t remember her name – and we’re mixing up two different people.’

  Guðgeir sat in silence.

  ‘But if it didn’t matter, we wouldn’t have started looking for Sajee. And then we wouldn’t have found the factory.’

  44

  It was the wailing that was driving her mad. It was a long drawn out screech that cut through her mind like a razor. She felt that her head was about to shatter into a thousand pieces with the needle-sharp pain that tortured every nerve. She tried to find some comfort on the bench, but the slightest movement set of the screech. Was she howling herself, or had the fox made its way down here to her?

  45

  Guðgeir was restless. He tried to lose himself in the TV, but gave up and went out to the car. As he drove around Höfn’s quiet streets, Sigurður Guðmundsson’s sweet music failed to calm his nerves. It wasn’t long before he had been along every street in the town, but instead of going home, he decided to take a trip out to the airport, where everything turned out to be quiet. On the way back he called at the filling station for a coke and a hot dog, and ate it standing at the window. As he swallowed the final morsel, a man with a strong smell of the stable about him came in.

  ‘Something weird going on up at the Lagoon,’ he heard the man say as he paid for his fuel.

  ‘What’s that?’ the assistant asked.

  ‘Police cars and plenty of traffic,’ the man said. ‘Someone said there was a helicopter up there by the screes.’

  Guðgeir picked up a paper and leafed innocently through the pages.

  ‘Really? Who told you that?’

  ‘Tómas, my pal at the stables. He reckoned there’s something criminal going on up there. Said something about a drugs factory.’

  ‘Up at the Lagoon?’ the assistant laughed. ‘That’s a good one. More likely some wrinkly had a heart attack.’

  ‘Yeah, probably,’ the man replied. ‘Give me a pack of red Opals as well, will you?’

  Guðgeir screwed up the hot dog wrapper, dropped the coke can in a bin and checked his phone yet again. Not a word from Særós and there was nothing in the news. Back home he sat in front of the television, and around eleven he gave up and went back out, cruising the empty streets for half an hour before stopping at the police station. Every light inside the building was on, which told him that people were being questioned. He leaned the seat back, switched on the radio and listened to the midnight news bulletin. He was hugely relieved that there wasn’t a word about drugs factory in the countryside being busted. Hopefully the media would allow the police elbow room before the morning news to get to grips with the case.

  The radio repeated a programme from earlier in the day and he listened with little interest to a discussion about the bizarre decisions made by politicians. A light inside the building was switched off and a moment later Særós and two colleagues appeared. The pair waved to him as they drove away, but Særós marched straight over to his car. There was no indication that she might be tired after the long day.

  ‘Anything about Sajee?’ he asked as she took a seat next to him.

  ‘No, unfortunately. Their accounts tie up. Thormóður brought in an Asian woman who cleaned the house at Bröttuskriður and for the couple at Gröf. She had been in trouble and wanted to earn enough money for a ticket to Reykjavík. Thormóður said he’d felt sorry for her, let her stay for a couple of nights free, and found her some cleaning work.’

  ‘What about the name and the dates?’

  ‘None of them said they could remember her name, and the dates don’t tie up exactly. To be honest, we’ve had plenty to deal with and tomorrow I’ll check up on the old couple at Gröf. Thormóður and Ísak will be taken to Reykjavík tomorrow and we’re asking for a week’s custody.’

  ‘Sounds good. I was listening to the news just now and there wasn’t anything about all this, but there are already rumours around the town. You don’t have long.’

  ‘I know,’ Særós yawned. He could see now that she was exhausted, as if the energy inside her had suddenly been switched off. ‘I hope this hotel we’re staying at is reasonable? I need to get some sleep before we start again tomorrow.’

  ‘I hear it’s fine. Or I could drop you off at the Hostel by the Sea?’ he said with a grin.

  ‘No, thank you!’ she said, yawning again. ‘I need to be on my way. Thanks for everything today. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.’

  She took hold of the handle to open the door, and hesitated as she saw the look of concern on Guðgeir’s face.

  ‘And Sajee?’ he said.

  ‘We’ll search properly tomorrow, when the factory has been dismantled,’ Særós said, about to get out of the car. ‘I had a message from Ragnhildur who used to employ her. She didn’t manage to find a photo.’

  ‘No luck with the Chinese women who rented the basement rooms?’ he asked quickly.

  ‘The landlord, Ísleifur, brought them down to the station. They didn’t seem to understand a word of Icelandic, or pretended not to. Leifur said they were on edge, probably terrified they were going to be kicked out,’ she said, opening the door and stepping out into the street. ‘I’ll walk up to the hotel. A breath of air will clear my mind.’

  ‘What do you make of Ísleifur?’

  ‘He’s a shitbag landlord who screws everything he can out of people who are down on their luck. But we haven’t found anything to pin on him otherwise.’

  ‘Understood.’

  ‘Guðgeir, we’ll go over every inch of the place tomorrow and all the places they have in Reykjavík. The woman could be there, in some flat … if she exists at all. I mean, we could be mixing up two or more women,’ Særós said. She was tired out and leaned against the car door. ‘Plus we have to expect that imagination has taken us a long way and maybe taken us down blind alleys, but regardless of that, we have a result. According to Leifur, this is one of the largest narcotics cases for years, so the next few days are going to be interesting.’

  ‘It all worked out,’ he said slowly. ‘Or almost.’

  He stared out into the spring twilight so she wouldn’t see his feelings in his expression. Her suggestion that Sajee was some kind of figment of his imagination irritated him.

  ‘There’s someone on duty up there, isn’t there?’ he asked, aware that he shouldn’t have said anything.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And did anyone notice the fox chained up by the barn?’

  ‘Sure. Someone must have. I didn’t go down there myself. It’s been a busy day.’

  She sat back down in the car, folded down the sunshade and looked at herself in the mirror. She rubbed her eyes, licked a fingertip and ran it over her eyelids. Særós always made sure she looked impeccable.

  ‘I can’t get that fox out of my mind,’ Guðgeir said. ‘The poor thing howled the whole time you were in the house today. It’ll probably have to be put to sleep or released. Can you call the guy on duty and ask him to keep an eye on it?’

  ‘No problem. I’ll do that,’ Særós said. Her blue eyes gazed at him fondly. ‘You’re so good-hearted, and I just don’t understand…’ she said and looked along the deserted street. ‘Can you run me up to the hotel? I need to sleep. Right now. I’m almost asleep on my feet.’

  ‘Call the duty officer up there,’ he said, and drove slowly along Hafnarstræti. She had finished her call by the time he pulled up in front of the hotel.

  ‘He’ll check on the fox,’ she said. ‘Thanks, and speak to you tomorrow.’

  ‘Sure. Good night. You’ll let me know…’

  ‘I promise.’

  46

  He couldn’t sleep. The day’s events and the nagging concerns about Sajee’s fate combined with old memories magnified his discomfort. At three in the morning he got out of bed and went to the bathroom, and after weighing things up in his mind, he decided to take a sleeping pill. If he were going to function tomorr
ow, he’d need to get a few hours’ sleep.

  It was towards morning when he was startled from sleep and looked around. The air was heavy and the white walls seemed to be closing in on him. In the distance he could hear a strange sound, conscious of the pressure increasing and the oxygen level dropping. He called out for help, but little more than a croak escaped from his dry mouth. Andrés’s eyes appeared in the darkness, and the image of the fear frozen into them would never leave him. Guðgeir thrashed as the nightmare took hold. He saw a bloody mouth, felt cold, rough hands take hold of him, tightening their grip as he fought to free himself. He could hardly breathe and in desperation fumbled in the gloom. He would have to wake himself up to escape from these depths. Finally he was awake, his heart hammering as he managed at last to open his eyes.

  Disoriented, he shivered in discomfort and it took him a while to realise he was in the rented flat in Sveinn’s basement. He stared at his surroundings and it was only after a few minutes that he sat up and held his head in his hands. He sat still for a while until he had relaxed enough to strip off and in the shower he let the cold water flow over his shoulders. He forced himself to remain under the icy deluge until he was thoroughly chilled. He was shivering when he finally reached for a towel, dried himself quickly and pulled on jeans and a lightweight sweater.

  He filled the basin with hot water and searched through the bathroom cabinet for shaving soap and a razor, deciding that he ought to look respectable despite the bad night behind him. He lathered his face and slid the disposable razor over one cheek and then the other; throat, chin and upper lip were next. He pushed his tongue behind his lip to let the razor do its work, and noticed a drop of blood hit the surface of the water.

  ‘Hell,’ he muttered, covering the cut with a scrap of toilet paper just as another drop joined the first in the soapy water. He felt suddenly faint and held on to the basin to support himself. He closed his eyes, but that was worse, and he opened them wide to peer into the water. Another red drop appeared in the white froth. He pulled off the scrap of paper, looking up to see the image staring back at him, a cut above his lip. He could taste the blood and he closed his eyes, allowing last night’s nightmare to come rushing back. A small, slim woman wearing jeans and a brightly-coloured scarf had come towards him. Her dark hair covered her face in soft waves and her brown eyes looked into his entreatingly. She came close and he could see there was blood behind her smile, as her face faded into darkness, replaced by the image of the fox, not howling as it had done all the time the police team had been at Bröttuskriður the previous day, but staring into his eyes.

  He opened his eyes and recalled that the previous evening Særós had only mentioned the men. He snatched up his phone and listened to it ring as he slipped on shoes and a jacket.

  ‘I said I’d be in touch when I have something to tell you,’ she said as she answered the phone.

  ‘Am I right in thinking that last night you only spoke to Ísak and Thormóður? What about Selma? Did you get anything out of her?’ he asked quickly.

  ‘No, she was in a real state and she was sedated.’

  ‘When are you going to interview her?’

  ‘The men will be going to Reykjavík on the midday flight and we’ll start the site investigation around then. We’ll get to Selma later today.’

  ‘What…?’

  ‘She had a breakdown and went wild in the car. We could hardly restrain her. Quite apart from the breakdown, it seems she hadn’t left the farm for years, or so the doctor said. The poor woman’s genuinely in a bad way.’

  ‘I was sure you’d be taking her to the station when I saw you drive away yesterday,’ Guðgeir said, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice. There was a deep unease growing inside him. ‘Is she in hospital?’

  ‘No, there are no facilities in Höfn and it’s four hundred kilometres to the nearest hospital. But naturally we want her to have professional help as soon as possible,’ Særós said. ‘The doctor sedated her, as I said. He reckoned it would be best for her to be with people she feels she can trust, so she’s at Gröf. Selma is in such a bad way that we didn’t want to risk making things worse. The couple at Gröf sat with her until she fell asleep and they’ve been in regular contact. In any case, the officer on watch isn’t far away.’

  ‘Yes, but she’s part of all this,’ he insisted.

  ‘Absolutely. But Selma isn’t a priority as she isn’t suspected of direct involvement in a large-scale narcotics operation. We feel that they abused her position. Guðgeir, you know as well as I do that I could never justify locking up an elderly, sick woman in a cell. Imagine the fallout if something had happened to her. Things like that have happened before, as you know. We’ll decide what the next step is once we’ve assessed the situation, and as far as I’m aware, everything’s quiet up there.’

  ‘Særós, would you do me a favour and check? Make sure everything’s all right?’

  ‘Sure. I’ll call you back in a moment.’

  It was more than a few moments later as he was unlocking Hornafjörður Security’s garage when his phone pinged as it received a text message. According to Særós, Selma was still sleeping and she had dispatched one of the team to Gröf to talk to her as soon as she was awake. Guðgeir forced himself to gulp down a cup of coffee in the tiny canteen and then set off on his usual route. Before he knew it, he had abandoned routine and was on his way up to the Lagoon. He was in the tunnel when Særós called.

  ‘They said she was angry and agitated last night but she’s sleeping now. The poor woman sees visions and hears all sorts of voices in her head. The doctor has promised to go up there once the clinic is closed for the day and our guy will stick around at Gröf.’

  ‘Our guy? Who’s that?’

  ‘His name’s Eiríkur. He was on duty overnight, so he’s the closest one.’

  ‘So there’s nobody watching Bröttuskriður?’ Guðgeir said, putting his foot down harder.

  ‘Not right now. But we’ll be on the way soon.’

  A bank of dark cloud loomed overhead and the fulmars swooped over the river. On his previous visits Guðgeir hadn’t noticed just how bleak the landscape was at the far end of the Lagoon. It was in keeping with his mood, as his head pounded and he drove with the window wide open to get a flow of clean air. He drove fast, not slowing down until he was close to Gröf. He turned off the main road and took the track to the farm slowly. A snipe shot from a ditch by the road, calling as it flew, and a couple of sheep watched calmly from a field as he passed by. There was a police car parked by the farm, and he sighed with relief. Eiríkur had to be inside and he hoped he would be keeping a close eye on Selma. Guðgeir turned around in the farmyard and drove back. At the junction he hesitated, and after a moment’s thought he set off on the Eystrahorn road. The dark-haired woman from his dreams wasn’t going to leave him in peace and he needed to see the place for himself.

  The place had been cordoned off with yellow tape, so he walked up the track to Bröttuskriður, leaving the car by the road. The grey farmhouse looked desolate and he had a sudden vision of the walls undulating as if in a mirage. This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t happen on such a cool day up here below the mountain slopes. He looked from the farm down towards the sands and saw nothing out of the ordinary there. The pill he had taken and no more than a few hours’s sleep had to be affecting his senses.

  As he looked back up the slope towards the barn, he made out a movement. Something was there. He jogged towards the barn. A length of wood lay by the grey corrugated iron, a few sharp nails protruding from it. He didn’t need to look closely to know that the dark stains were blood and a trail led into the barn. The first thing that came to mind was the fox. He pushed open the door and squeezed past an old Ford that had been parked half over a pit. He took out his phone and used it to illuminate the steps as he made his way down. There was nothing to be seen, but couldn’t help noticing the foul stench, and a gap where one of the steel sheets of metal that clad the side of
the pit was not flush with the next. As he put a hand to it and pushed hard, the metal gave way and opened into a passage. Stooping low, he was able to make his way, the phone in his hand. At the end was a little door, not much more than a hatch, that opened as he put a hand on it.

  He stared in shock. A bench, a filthy duvet, a pillow and a blanket, and on a small shelf in one corner stood a little group of figurines. He saw a pile of clothes on the floor, jeans, a brightly patterned scarf and a pair of boots. He crawled as fast as he could back, out into the fresh air that he dragged deep into his lungs while he felt the blood pumping in his temples.

  Still chained, the fox lay dead by the wall. Guðgeir glanced around quickly, saw nothing, but heard a faint sound of movement and set off to find its source. Now it was clearer, the crunch of a shovel punched into gravel, and the rattle of small stones. The iron gate of the family plot stood open and he jogged up the slope. He could make out Selma between the stunted trees. She must have trudged through mud and marshes all the way from Gröf, as she was filthy and covered in red-brown stains.

  ‘No!’ he yelled with all the force he had. His voice echoed from the rocks.

  Selma ignored him, and carried on digging, shovelling to fill a grave.

  ‘Stop,’ he shouted, the rocks bouncing his voice back to him.

  She looked around, raising the shovel high in the air as she rushed at him, a solid, grey-haired old woman with a blue apron tied around her waist. With a furious yell, threw himself at her, dodging the swinging shovel as managed to catch her in a lock and dragged her to the ground. She struggled to begin with, and gradually gave way. For a moment he heard only his own laboured breathing and the cries of the fulmars high above; and then he heard a long moan.