‘But it’s freezing. You’ll die of cold.’ From her tone, Heida doesn’t seem to regard this as such a bad fate, but she adds: ‘Just because something’s beautiful doesn’t mean it’s not dangerous.’
‘I know.’ Helgi is still gazing at the heavens. He could add that he has never personally experienced true beauty. Whenever he comes across glorious scenery he whips out his camera, which effectively forms a barrier between himself and the subject. And the people who have crossed his path have never been particularly beautiful, either inside or out. But no, his sojourn on the rock must be making him cynical. Of course he’s met beautiful, kind people. ‘God, I can’t wait to get out of here. I just hope I don’t develop claustrophobia as a result of this miserable experience.’
‘No, I’m sure you won’t.’ Heida picks her way carefully over to the helipad and Helgi follows. On the way she turns and looks at him, her eyes dark, her face like ivory in the moonlight. ‘You haven’t taken many pictures since we were stranded here. Why not?’
‘I’ve photographed every single rock, so taking more pictures wouldn’t achieve anything. And I don’t particularly want photos of us three, squashed in there.’ It’s none of her business but the main reason is that it will make it easier for him to shake off the press when they start pursuing him after all this is over. He’ll lie that his batteries ran out and the only pictures he has were taken before disaster struck. If it is established that Tóti was murdered, he will have no peace from people making him offers for photos of the scene, so it’s better not to put himself in temptation’s way. He’s not entirely sure why he’s intending to let such a fantastic opportunity slip through his fingers but thinks it probably has something to do with the feeling that he would be betraying those who shared his predicament. Even though he doesn’t really care for them. Especially not Ívar. Maybe he likes Heida more than he realises. ‘If you’d like a photo of yourself standing here in the middle of the night, I can fetch my camera.’
‘Thanks but no thanks.’ She straightens up once she has the concrete helipad underfoot. ‘Do you honestly think we’ll get home?’ She has lost interest in him and his pictures.
‘I can’t imagine what could prevent us now. The weather seems OK and it can’t change that much by morning. And the problem with the helicopter’s been fixed, so it looks to me as if we’re almost home and dry.’ He had received a text message just before midnight informing them that the repairs were completed. He would have preferred a phone call but he could understand why the coastguard didn’t want to talk to them. ‘It would be bloody unlucky if anything happened to stop it coming now.’
‘Luck hasn’t exactly been smiling on us so far.’
‘I don’t know. We’re alive, which is more than can be said for Tóti.’ Helgi kicks a pebble, which bounces across the platform and over the edge. He listens for a faint splash but hears nothing, despite the hush. The seabirds are either roosting for the night or floating on the sea, somewhere far below.
‘Don’t talk about him.’ Heida’s tone is pleading. ‘I’d rather not have to hear his name again any time soon, though I suppose I’ll have to if what you say about the police turns out to be right.’ Her sigh produces a white jet of steam.
Helgi can’t now remember what he said when they discussed the possibility of arrest and a police inquiry into Tóti’s death. They talked so much that he can no longer recall who said what. Nor does he want to remember. ‘I can’t work out if I’m more hungry or thirsty. The question is, should we eat the small amount of food we’ve got left and put up with being hungry tomorrow?’
‘Yes.’ Heida’s eyes are shining. ‘Let’s. Do you think we can do it without waking Ívar?’
‘I wasn’t suggesting we should leave him out. It wouldn’t be fair and, anyway, it could be risky. I’d rather listen to my stomach rumbling than you two screeching at each other again.’
‘I don’t screech.’ Heida turns her head away and Helgi wonders if he’s made her angry again. ‘I just don’t understand why we should feed a dangerous lunatic like him. It’ll only make him stronger. It would be best for everyone if he slept till the chopper arrives.’
‘But what if he wakes up hungry in the night? Or the chopper doesn’t come? What then?’ Earlier that evening Helgi had decided to avoid mentioning anything that could exacerbate his companions’ pessimism. Now he has let this slip out, he doesn’t know how to recover the situation. ‘But of course it’ll come – all I meant is, what if he wakes up early and demands his share of the food?’
‘We’ll leave some for him. Since you insist. I have no desire to eat with him, though. I want to eat out here. In the open air, as far away from him as possible.’
The idea appeals to Helgi: it’s not often he is invited to dine under the stars with an attractive woman. ‘Did you always feel this way about Ívar or is it because you think he killed Tóti?’ As far as he can recall, they had got on all right at the beginning of the trip, yet he had sensed some underlying tension.
‘I just think he’s a nasty piece of work. Quite apart from the Tóti business. That was the impression I got. He was really spiteful to me the first day and I’ve never found it easy to forgive. I know it’s a flaw in my character but in this case I believe it’s justified.’ She falls silent, then moves to the edge of the helipad where it overhangs the cliff and sits down, letting her legs dangle. Helgi wants to sit beside her but is afraid of accidentally brushing against her. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d underestimated his bulk. In his mind he’s thin.
‘I’m going to fetch the food and leave some behind for Ívar. If you’re dying of hunger you can have some of mine. I’m not that desperate. After all, I’ve got more to fall back on than you.’ His cheeks grow hot at the reference to his weight. Perhaps this trip will be the incentive he needs to go on the diet he has been planning for as long as he can remember. At least he knows now that hunger is nothing to be afraid of. It’s really not so bad. Thirst is much worse. ‘Maybe we should collect the small amount of snow that’s settled and melt it inside the lighthouse.’
Heida doesn’t turn to look at him but continues to swing her legs over the edge. ‘Is it safe? It may have got mixed up with bird shit and you can catch typhoid from birds.’
‘We can see later. I’m prepared to take the chance. You can have the water in the bottle.’
‘Or we both can and Ívar can have the snow.’
Helgi has a warm feeling inside as he hurries as quickly as he dares back to the lighthouse to fetch the food. He slips cautiously through the door, taking care not to wake the snoring man. If it weren’t for the ugly noises he would think Ívar was dead or in a coma. It would hardly be possible for someone to sleep any more deeply. In the cool-box he finds half a sandwich with roast beef filling and half with prawn salad. The people who put together these provisions in the belief that they would last an extra day are clearly suffering from anorexia. He reaches into the box. The layer of mayonnaise has turned yellow on one of the sandwiches so he takes the other and decides to give it to Heida. The one that’s looking a bit past it is good enough for Ívar. For himself he takes the apple he has already taken a few bites out of. There are two custard creams left and he puts them in his pocket too. That’s all. It’s hardly a feast but even so he’s looking forward enormously to the meal, if you can call it that.
He puts his ear to the door after shutting it behind him and listens for the snores that break out almost immediately. Unbelievable how the guy can sleep. What a bit of luck. It would ruin the atmosphere if Ívar blundered out and demanded to join in.
Helgi squats down far enough away from Heida to be able to manoeuvre without the risk of bumping into her, then shuffles closer on his bottom. He fishes the sandwich, biscuits and half-eaten apple from his pocket and hands her the sandwich. He places the biscuits between them. ‘God, this is fantastic. We should open a restaurant.’
She makes a face at him. ‘Do you seriously believe people would be interes
ted in buying stale sandwiches?’
‘No. I meant the setting. Plenty of people would be willing to dine out here. Just sitting in silence, gazing at the stars … Perhaps we can wait out here.’ He toys with the apple but doesn’t want to bite into it for fear the crunching noise will spoil the purity of the silence. You’d have thought the sea had fallen asleep too as barely a splash can be heard now from the base of the cliff.
‘Maybe.’ Heida takes a bite of sandwich and stares out into the gloom. ‘I feel better out here than in there, anyway. Actually I feel good, believe it or not. Though my bum’s cold. Weird. I suppose it’s a sign our ordeal’s nearly over.’ She glances at Helgi and smiles, then repeats her words as if this will make them come true. ‘Yes, it’s nearly over.’
Helgi smiles back and nods. But his smile is not genuine. The night is still young. Suddenly he remembers that Tóti isn’t far away. He bends forward to look down. He knows the body is floating there on the black surface of the sea and imagines the glazed eyes staring blindly at the stars that had so enchanted him and Heida. They immediately lose all their charm and Helgi jerks back, his face as pale as hers.
His worries are building up inside him like a boulder in his chest. This is going to end badly, he knows it.
Chapter 27
26 January 2014
At this hour of the night the police station reminded her of a noisy children’s toy whose battery has run down. Where before there had been a din and bustle, now there was deathly silence. Everything seemed to be on hold: the printers were quiet, the coffee machines deserted. Nína walked along the empty corridor, relishing the sound of her footsteps, relishing not having to encounter her colleagues. But that wasn’t why she was here in the early hours. She had started awake in the middle of the night and been unable to get back to sleep. It wasn’t particularly surprising as there was no real way of making oneself comfortable in the armchair in Thröstur’s room. It was so long since she had slept in a bed that she was beginning to forget what it felt like.
Yet it wasn’t the discomfort that had woken her so much as the thoughts that had made it hard for her to get to sleep in the first place. When she finally dropped off they had infiltrated her dreams so thoroughly that she had jerked awake, still tired, with a stiff neck. There were too many unanswered questions, and patience had never been her forte. If the answers were out there somewhere she had to track them down, and that wasn’t going to happen in her sleep. Dreams were too unreliable for that. After twisting first to the right, then to the left, she tried putting her legs up on the arms of the chair, then resting them on the edge of Thröstur’s bed, then tucking them beneath her and even putting them down on the floor as if she were sitting on a bus. Nothing worked.
So she had splashed some water on her face and kissed Thröstur’s cool cheek. It felt clammy to the touch and there was a smell of plastic from the tube in his mouth. He lay there as motionless and remote as ever; her kiss meant nothing to him. She hurried from his room, painfully aware that it was becoming easier to leave him in the mornings. This evoked mixed feelings; sadness but also relief that she was gradually beginning to accept the inevitable – which was uncomfortably near at hand. Shamefaced, she sneaked out of the ward so the staff wouldn’t chase her about fixing the fateful day. Now that the chances of her finding an explanation for what Thröstur had done were looking more realistic, she wanted to put the brakes on and deeply regretted having made a decision about his future. When the moment came to say goodbye, she wanted at least to have an inkling of why he had acted as he had. But she couldn’t expect anyone else to understand this. The ward would probably send a member of staff to ambush her if she didn’t present herself within the next couple of days. Hospital beds were precious; Thröstur wasn’t. Not any more.
Nína had unconsciously sped up as she walked down the empty corridor of the police station, but now she slowed down a little. There was no rush, yet she felt as if she were in a race against time. As if somewhere there was an egg timer with her name on it in which the sand was running out – ever faster. She opened the door to yet another corridor, which led to the small room used by the night shift. There she hoped to find the policewoman who apparently had the file open that Nína wanted to read. She wasn’t going to ask her to close it – there was no need. She was simply curious to know why the woman had been looking at it in the first place.
It was the report on Lárus Jónmundsson’s suicide, which was ancient history by police standards. At least it wasn’t at all clear why someone would want to read a month-old incident report in the middle of the night.
Inside the room sat three police officers, two men and the woman Nína was looking for, holding steaming mugs of coffee. All three looked shattered, their eyes glassy, their cheeks a hectic red after coming in from the cold. Nína recognised the atmosphere; the Saturday night shift was never an easy one. The city centre resembled the set of a disaster movie in which the revellers were zombies and the police officers the army that had been sent to the scene in a forlorn attempt to hold back the tide.
‘Is it eight already?’ One of the men sat up, surprised but pleased. His trouser legs looked as if they had been splashed with vomit, which would explain the bad smell in the room. When she shook her head, he slumped back in his seat. They were obviously too tired to give her the cold shoulder.
‘I came to find Aldís.’ Nína smiled at the woman who looked exhausted and didn’t return her smile.
‘What?’ In different circumstances the response might have seemed brusque but no one could expect politeness at this hour. Not from people stinking of vomit, courtesy of some wasted partygoer. In fact, it was one of the friendliest greetings Nína had received since she’d lodged her complaint. Perhaps she should apply to work the night shift.
‘I need to look at the case of Lárus Jónmundsson who committed suicide in December, and I saw on the server that you’ve got the original report open.’ Nína hesitated, wondering if she should sit down as well, but decided to remain standing. Tired as she was, she didn’t belong with this exhausted trio. And you never knew, they might suddenly recollect that she was a pariah and get up and walk away. Though that was unlikely; none of them looked as if they could so much as stand unaided.
‘Oh. I must have forgotten to close it earlier. We were called out to Ingólfstorg Square to help the city-centre shift.’
‘Do you mind my asking why you had it open? Isn’t the case closed?’
‘Yes. I wasn’t working on it directly but I was involved in a call-out earlier tonight that may be connected. I didn’t have a chance to read it properly, though, so I’ve no idea how.’ Aldís drank some coffee and made a face as she swallowed. ‘I’d forgotten all about it. It feels like it happened days ago. Do you want me to go up and close the file?’
Nína wasn’t about to ask this woman to stagger upstairs to her office; she would barely make it to the first landing. ‘No, thanks. I just wanted to know why someone other than me was interested in it.’
Aldís wrinkled up her nose again at the bitter coffee. ‘Why did you want to look at it? Are you involved with that strange case in Skerjafjördur?’
‘Skerjafjördur? No, I’ve not heard any mention of that. I’ve been working with old files down in the basement recently. I’ve been taken off the beat temporarily, as you may know.’ The men exchanged glances and at the sight of their expressions Nína lost the thread.
Aldís noticed her consternation. She stared down into her cup. ‘I’ve never understood why that’s supposed to be a punishment. If someone took me off the beat I’d welcome it as much as a pay rise. If people caught on, we’d all get ourselves punished and crowd out the basement.’ She pushed away her mug and stood up. ‘If you don’t mind tagging along, I’m going to get some fresh coffee.’
On the way out they walked past the coffee machine but Aldís’s companions were too tired to comment, and, anyway, why point out the obvious? Aldís wanted to give Nína a chance to talk to her in
private. ‘Sorry. I thought you might find it easier to talk one to one. Gunni and Thór are OK, but they’re fed up right now and they might start butting in.’
‘Thank you.’
Aldís closed the door and they stood outside in the corridor. There was no coffee machine in sight. Aldís leant against the wall, knocking a framed fire-safety certificate askew. She came straight to the point: ‘What’s your interest in this Lárus?’
Nína decided she would cut to the chase, too. The woman was obviously too exhausted to take in all the details. ‘I found his name noted down among my husband’s papers. There was no explanation but since my husband and Lárus suffered more or less the same fate, I wondered if they had anything else in common. Anything that could explain what happened to my husband. And maybe what happened to Lárus too. I’m trying to find a link between them, in other words.’
Aldís nodded and Nína silently thanked her for not pasting on the dreaded expression of sympathy that people generally adopted when they heard any mention of Thröstur in her presence. Not that she had encountered much sympathy in her colleagues’ faces lately. Perhaps they thought it served her right for causing trouble.
‘You know Lárus took an overdose? But your husband tried to hang himself – have I got that right?’ Straight to the point again; no beating about the bush.
‘Yes.’ Nína restrained an impulse to reach out and straighten the framed certificate. The world was enough of a mess without things being allowed to hang askew. ‘I wasn’t suggesting they were murdered, so the different circumstances come as no surprise. It’s just that I don’t like coincidences.’
Why Did You Lie? Page 25