Blackout

by Ragnar Jónasson

Was the girl already dead?

  He pushed his way through the crowd and peered in through the ambulance’s open rear doors. The girl lay on a stretcher. He couldn’t see her face, just the cluster of tubes that had been attached to her. That told him that she had to be alive. He could see that she was slightly built, with very long, coal-black hair.

  He turned to the paramedic at his side.

  ‘Is she alive?’

  ‘She is, but she’s in a bad way. Unconscious and badly dehydrated. The helicopter’s on its way. She needs to get to a hospital immediately.’

  His tone was flat, an emotionless list of facts.

  ‘Where was she?’

  ‘Some old storeroom that had been dug out just by here. It’s an old potato store, or so I’m told,’ the paramedic said, his expression finally changing. ‘Horrific, absolutely horrific. I’m no psychologist, but that kind of treatment is bound to leave lifelong scars,’ he added, shaking his head in disgust as he climbed into the ambulance.

  You hit the nail on the head there, Tómas thought, looking at the unfortunate girl and wondering how the responsibility for this foul treatment could be divided between Elías and Jónatan’s mother. That task could be left to higher powers, he thought. He was relieved. He didn’t know if he would ever be able to make such a judgement.

  27

  Every one of Ísrún’s problems – the rape and the dreadful news she had received after the visit to the Landeyjar a year before – had retreated to the back of her mind. Now there was only one thing to focus on, the news story of the year. She was in the right place just as it was all happening. She could already see an award taking pride of place on her shelf.

  The helicopter had been and gone. Fortunately for the girl, she was still alive. And fortunately for Ísrún, there had been no other journalist on the spot. The Akureyri stringer had been able to get some great footage. The news desk editor on duty had taken an interview with Ísrún for the next radio news broadcast, and she had stood in front of the helicopter and recounted what was happening for the camera. This was going to be one of the year’s best exclusives.

  María had suggested she stay in the north that night and travel south in the morning so that she would be there the next day to edit the news feature for the evening bulletin. Ísrún was relieved. She wanted to be working on the story, but she badly wanted rest. Her doctor had told her she needed it.

  Her things were still in Siglufjörður so she decided to spend the night there. She made her way back there at a much more sedate and careful pace than she had left it.

  28

  Tómas was on his way to Siglufjörður, back to the overwhelming emptiness of home. It was late, but it could be worth stopping off at the station. He liked it there better than at home. Sometimes he even slept there. He’d have to find out what had become of Hlynur and why he hadn’t answered the phone. Had he gone off somewhere when he knew he should have been on duty? Tómas scowled. He had had enough of Hlynur’s poor behaviour; it had gone on for far too long.

  But as he drove, he admitted to himself what he really wanted to do: turn around and drive south to Reykjavík to see his wife and lose himself in her warmth. His wonderful hometown, Siglufjörður, could be warm, but it never wrapped its arms around him.

  He was startled out of these thoughts by his phone ringing.

  ‘Hello, cousin,’ a low, nervous voice greeted him. ‘It’s Móna.’

  ‘Móna? Everything all right? Why are you calling so late?’ he asked in surprise, a deep feeling of discomfort at what this call might hold welling up inside him.

  ‘He…’ she began and hesitated. ‘He … Logi, my brother-in-law, asked me to call you. He needs to meet you, as soon as possible.’

  There was no mistaking the tension in her voice.

  ‘This evening?’

  ‘Preferably,’ she replied quietly.

  ‘What the hell’s going on?’ Tómas’s patience was already at full stretch. He had to make a major effort to keep his temper.

  ‘It’s best if you two talk things over. But…’ She hesitated again and Tómas could sense that she was close to tears. ‘But he’s going to confess.’

  ‘Confess?’ he demanded, astonished.

  ‘Yes. Confess to the murder.’

  ‘He killed Elías?’

  ‘Yes.’ There was a long pause. ‘In self-defence. They argued over some people-trafficking business that Elías was involved with. There was some girl from Nepal Elías had brought here and Logi was trying to get her away from him.’

  ‘What the hell?’ Tómas burst out unintentionally, letting the unprofessional words echo round the car.

  He thought silently for a moment.

  ‘What the hell…?’ he repeated, this time muttering the words to himself.

  29

  Móna was in turmoil as she put down the phone.

  Logi had been adamant that he would take the blame to shield his brother and his family – Móna and the unborn child. Jökull and Móna had protested, but Logi’s mind was made up.

  ‘Nobody needs to know that Jökull was with me, and I was the one who let Elías have it,’ he said. ‘Bad luck that bit of wood had a nail in it,’ he added in a low voice.

  Logi had accepted Móna’s suggestion – Ísrún’s suggestion – that he should lie about the reason for the killing. Móna had told them about the journalist’s visit. But she made them promise they wouldn’t betray Ísrún’s confidence.

  ‘I’ll look after myself,’ Logi said, hiding his trepidation. ‘You just keep your minds on the baby. The secret of whose child it really is goes with me to the grave.’

  30

  Tómas was sitting opposite Logi in the otherwise empty police station in Siglufjörður. A formal arrest had been made, and Logi had showed every sign of wanting to co-operate with the police. He had confessed to the killing without reservation, while claiming self-defence, but had refused the presence of a lawyer.

  ‘Tell me what happened,’ Tómas said as calmly as he could. He was very annoyed at the absence of his two deputies. Ari Thor had disappeared in Akureyri and as to Hlynur, well, it was anybody’s guess where he might be.

  ‘It was the girl,’ Logi said. ‘A girl he had brought from Asia. It was basically human trafficking and I never signed up for that. We may not have done everything by the book, but this was a step too far. I asked him to tell me where she was, told him we needed to send her back home before something happened, before the police found out…’

  Something about the story didn’t quite ring true, it felt rehearsed in some way. Yet Tómas had no real reason to doubt it. And, truth be told, it was a much-needed victory, a neat solution to the case – and indeed a full confession.

  ‘I went to meet him that night. We fought, it got violent and I actually feared for my life. Elías had gone beyond the point of no return – I thought he might kill me because I was threatening to go to the police. The piece of wood was just lying there, I grabbed it and fought back. This bloody nail … you know … I had no intention of killing him. It wasn’t murder, you know … I won’t be convicted for murder, will I?’

  ‘I can’t be the judge of that, Logi. I’ll need to ask you to stay here, in the holding cell we have here at the back, just for tonight. I’ll take you to Akureyri tomorrow. We’ll have to request that you’ll be kept in custody there. I’m sure you understand.’

  Logi nodded, without giving away any sort of emotion.

  The cell was small but not too bad. Logi hadn’t actually ever been inside a prison cell before, but he had never been claustrophobic, so he knew he could deal with it. The moment when Tómas locked the door was slightly unnerving, but he knew he’d have to get used to it.

  It wasn’t as dark as he thought it would be. Above the small bed was a skylight. ‘In case you’re wondering, no one has been able to break the glass in that one,’ Tómas had said, ‘and not for lack of trying.’

  Logi had no intention of trying. He lay down on the bed
and closed his eyes. He had to stick to his story. For his brother’s sake.

  Logi had been the one who had actually killed Elías – that was no lie. He had grabbed the piece of wood and hit him. Also, he had told the truth about the nail, he hadn’t known it was there. He hadn’t meant to kill him.

  There were only two lies: Jökull had been with him, and they had gone to Elías to beat him up after they had found out about him having raped Móna. Well, he hadn’t only raped her, but actually made her pregnant – there was no doubt about that, Móna and Jökull having tried so long and without success to have a child. There was no reason for anyone, except himself, Móna and Jökull, to know that the unborn child had been fathered by a rapist. No, it would be brought up as Jökull’s and Móna’s child, and in a matter of few years Logi would be able to visit his niece or nephew. He wasn’t sure that he would convince anyone with the story of self-defence, so he might be looking at sixteen years in jail, out on parole in eight … He was sure he could handle it. He just had to be strong.

  The phone at the police station rang as Tómas was heading out. He needed to get home for a quick nap, although he knew he shouldn’t leave the prisoner alone. Where the hell were Hlynur and Ari Thór? Neither of them were picking up, he had tried their mobile numbers again and again.

  ‘Hello, hello?’ It was a female voice. ‘Is this the police station in Siglufjörður?’ The lady was obviously in a state of anxiety. ‘I’ve been trying to contact someone for a couple of hours. It’s about this guy, Hlynur…’

  ‘Hlynur? Yes? Who is this?’

  ‘Doesn’t really matter. I just knew him in the past, he went to school with my late brother, you see. He called me earlier tonight, said he had found out that I was Gauti’s, my brother’s, closest relative. It was a very, very strange call. He … well, I have always blamed him for my brother’s suicide … it’s a complex story … but tonight, he called to say he was sorry, that he was very sorry … And there was something about his tone that was very disturbing, you know…’

  Tómas had the feeling that the woman on the line was on the verge of crying. She was breathing heavily and sounded genuinely worried.

  ‘Disturbing in what way?’

  ‘Well, I sort of had the feeling that he might be contemplating … well…’ After a short pause she added, almost whispering: ‘… suicide.’

  Bloody hell!

  Tómas hung up the phone without saying goodbye and hurried to the car.

  Bloody hell!

  He just hoped he wasn’t too late.

  31

  Tómas had to admit that he had never visited Hlynur’s apartment. Yet he knew where he lived – he knew more or less every house in the town, in fact. It was one of the very few apartment blocks in Siglufjörður, only four apartments per house though, nothing like the tall blocks of Reykjavík. Each apartment had its own entrance. At first glance there was little sign of life in Hlynur’s place, the curtains drawn in all the windows which were visible to Tómas. That was slightly strange of course, but not necessarily without explanation. The nights were so bright this time of year, especially in the far north, that people went to extreme measures to create darkness indoors.

  Tómas knocked quite forcefully. There was no answer.

  He felt his heart beating very rapidly, and he almost felt sick. He knew, he just knew, that something had happened, and that he was to blame, at least partly. He had treated Hlynur very badly. He’d been impatient and brusque instead of simply sitting down with him to try to get to the bottom of the problem.

  He tried the doorbell, and then knocked again. He waited impatiently for a few moments and then took a few steps back and ran into the door with all his power. The door shifted, but didn’t open. On the second attempt he broke through.

  He hurried into the living room; no one was there. He called out at the top of his voice: ‘Hlynur? Hlynur?’

  The apartment was slightly bigger than he had anticipated and there were a few more rooms to check. By instinct he headed towards what he guessed was the bedroom.

  There he saw what he had feared: Hlynur lying motionless on the bed. Next to the body, an empty bottle of pills. Tómas checked for a pulse, but without any success.

  He pulled out his phone and mechanically called an ambulance, but he knew it was too late. He knew that he would have to live with the guilt of failing this young man at such a critical time, with such horrendous consequences.

  32

  For Kristín, the shock of seeing Ari Thór being stabbed had been severe. For a moment she was certain that it might be fatal, the steak knife was razor sharp and only by chance had it missed his vital organs. The wound had looked bad, though, quite a lot of blood. But she had kept calm and stopped the bleeding while waiting for the ambulance. The stabbing had obviously been accidental, but her new friend had literally collapsed on the kitchen floor when he saw what had happened.

  ‘When the police get here,’ she had said, ‘tell them it was an accident. OK?’

  Her friend had nodded.

  She repeated the request. ‘Just an accident. Don’t mention any fight, do you understand me?’

  Her voice had been firm. For some reason she felt it of utmost importance to look out for Ari Thór. He had indeed started the fight, but if that fact came out it might seriously jeopardize his police career.

  And now she sat next to him in the hospital. He was sleeping, so she just held his hand and reflected on how close she had come to losing him. And how horrible that thought had been. He was really quite impossible, jealous by nature and always making these stupid decisions. But despite all that, she was still in love with him.

  33

  One year earlier

  I’d never made a habit of fainting in other people’s homes, but something came over me that day and I suddenly found myself as weak as water.

  At first I thought it was the overwhelming heat inside the house; it certainly couldn’t have helped.

  ‘Are you all right, dear? You’re as pale as a death! Wouldn’t you prefer to lie down?’

  The old lady pointed at a short, shabby sofa.

  I stumbled over to it and lay back for a while. I had to regain some strength.

  I hadn’t been at my best for a while and had been unusually off-colour. I’d convinced myself that I had simply been overdoing it at work.

  As I lay there, trying to relax, collect myself and lose the weakness that weighed down my limbs, she told me.

  Sometimes I wish she had just kept quiet. That way I could have fooled myself for longer that everything was just fine.

  ‘That’s how your grandmother’s illness began,’ the old lady said absently, without even looking at me. ‘That damn smoking.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked as I lay on the sofa trying to summon energy from somewhere in my body.

  ‘She just fainted away, all of a sudden. Then she went to the doctor and that’s when she found out about the sickness.’

  I tried to sit up and felt my heart hammering with the effort. This was something I didn’t want to talk about. Could I be sick, just as my grandmother had been? I couldn’t help shuddering at the thought. I wanted to push it from my mind. But I couldn’t help asking more about her illness. Maybe I did it to convince myself that this faintness, this fatigue and weakness had nothing in common with what had killed my late grandmother.

  ‘What were her symptoms?’

  ‘Well … I’m no doctor, my dear. Far from it. I remember how she had no appetite and she had endless aches and pains. She slept badly and was always exhausted.’

  Now I felt I was about to faint again. Aches, fatigue – that all fitted.

  ‘Nausea?’ I said, almost too frightened to ask.

  ‘Yes … poor girl.’

  Katrín seemed to have realised where my questions were leading.

  ‘But those symptoms can have all kinds of explanations,’ she said, smiling, trying to cheer me up. ‘I’m sure you’re perfectly fine. I remembe
r she once had a swelling in her throat. You haven’t had anything like that, have you?’

  I lay back, terrified. I had certainly had had a sore throat that could be described as an inflammation or even a swelling. I hadn’t worried about it, as I’d just assumed I’d been a little out of sorts and it was just an infection.

  I couldn’t hold the tears back then, unable to believe that I could be seriously ill.

  My heart continued its rapid drumming, and I couldn’t think of anything else other than that I was horribly sick.

  It was smoking that had killed my grandmother. It was as simple as that – or was it?

  The old lady put a hand on my forehead.

  ‘You’ll be fine, my dear.’

  I closed my eyes and listened to her gentle voice.

  ‘You’ll be fine,’ Katrín repeated.

  34

  Not having to drive through the night back south to Reykjavík was a relief. Ísrún was in no hurry to get back to darknes, the ash-poisoned air, and the bustle of city life, not right away.

  She had lain awake at the guest house in Siglufjörður, far from sleep after the day’s excitement. Normally when this happened, experience told her that a long walk was the best remedy.

  It was past midnight when she left the guesthouse and drove along the fjord road towards the new Héðinsfjörður tunnel. She parked near the new churchyard at the town’s furthest extremity, with the intention of walking towards the point at Siglunes on the far side of the fjord, opposite the town.

  Out here nature remained unspoiled, unlike the spit of land jutting into the water on which Siglufjörður had been built. The town had risen on the other side of the fjord for a reason, that’s where the best conditions were for houses, enough flat land. She set off, aiming to spend an hour walking out to the point along the shore of the uninhabited eastern side of the fjord.