The Darkness

by Ragnar Jónasson

  Hulda resisted the temptation to correct him: Albert had never been a cop; he’d only worked for the police as a lawyer. ‘Mm,’ she said non-committally, then pushed back her chair and stood up, conspicuously checking her watch to hint that she had to get going.

  ‘Did you work with him yourself?’ asked Baldur, in a transparent attempt to spin out their conversation a little longer.

  ‘Not directly, but I remember him. He was pretty well thought of,’ she said, though she had no idea if this was true.

  Baldur smiled: ‘That’s nice to hear.’

  He seemed such a genuine, friendly soul. Even from this brief acquaintance, Hulda found it hard to believe he could be linked to the case, but it would be up to Dóra to settle the matter.

  Hulda took her leave, forcing herself to wait until she was outside before looking in the envelope, though she was so consumed by curiosity she would have liked to tear it open then and there.

  So it came as a huge disappointment to discover that the papers – a quick shuffle revealed ten pages – were all in Russian. She leafed through them several times in the hope of finding something she could understand, skimming the text on every page, but it was no good. Some were handwritten, others computer printouts, the rest clearly official documents, but she hadn’t a clue what information they contained.

  Taking out her phone, she considered calling a state-registered translator, but she could leave that until tomorrow. Instead, she would drive out to Njardvík and show Dóra Baldur’s mugshot; see where that got her.

  No, the documents had to take priority. Hulda was on the point of ringing to book a Russian translator when her phone bleeped to indicate an incoming text. It was from Magnús. Damn, she still needed to call him back. The message read: ‘Meet me at the office now!’, the exclamation mark speaking volumes. Her heart skipped a beat. She’d never had much time for Magnús, especially in the present circumstances, and wasn’t above bitching about him with her colleagues when she was confident that they felt the same. And she’d lost count of the thousands of times she’d cursed him under her breath for his general incompetence as a manager. But, when all was said and done, he was still her boss, and his message had the intended effect. Temporarily shelving any idea of getting the documents translated or visiting Dóra, she jumped to obey his command. She was being summoned for a reprimand, that much was clear; a completely new experience for her.

  XXI

  The snow had stopped after that first brief flurry, but the sky was leaden with clouds promising more to come.

  Suddenly, without any warning, he made a sharp turn, leaving the road and starting out across country, making for a distant range of mountains. She flinched and braced herself, clinging to the door handle. ‘Is this a road?’ she asked, alarmed.

  He shook his head. ‘Nope,’ he said, ‘we’re driving on the snow-crust. This is where the fun really begins.’ He grinned, as if to underline that he was being humorous.

  After sitting in silence for a while, she ventured to ask if there was any risk they might damage the terrain. Were they allowed to do this? Something about the untouched landscape struck a chord with her; it felt as if they were driving through an uninhabited wilderness where no human had ever set foot before; as if they had no right to be there.

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ he snapped. ‘Of course it’s allowed.’

  She was a little taken aback by his tone, unsure how to react, but then she didn’t know him very well. Was it possible that he had a darker side, lurking under that friendly exterior?

  She tried to shrug off her sense of disquiet.

  ‘Want a go?’ he asked abruptly.

  ‘What?’ she asked.

  ‘Want a go?’ he repeated. ‘At driving.’

  ‘I can’t. I’ve never driven a four-by-four, and I’ve never driven off-road like this, in snow this deep.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, have a go,’ he said, smiling, as if it was all just friendly banter.

  She shook her head doubtfully.

  His response was to brake and kill the engine, out there in the middle of nowhere, the road far behind, and the mountains, their apparent goal, even further off ahead.

  ‘This is where you take over,’ he said smoothly, and, without more ado, jumped down from the car, marched round and opened the door on the passenger side. ‘It’s child’s play. There’s nothing to it. I promised you an adventure, remember?’

  Nervously, she climbed down from her seat, picked her way gingerly through the deep snow to the driver’s side and got behind the wheel. Luckily, the four-by-four was a manual and she was used to manuals, so she switched on the ignition, put the car carefully into first gear and set off at a crawl, slowly breaking a path through the snow.

  ‘You can go faster than that,’ he taunted, and she changed warily into second, putting her foot down a little more firmly on the accelerator.

  ‘Over there – to your right; the going’s better there,’ he directed, peering at the confusing image on the satnav fixed to the inside of the windscreen. ‘Now, quick! We need to avoid those tussocks of grass.’

  She made a sharp right. The conditions left little leeway for mistakes and, for a moment, she was afraid she wouldn’t make the bend and that they would roll. Her heart was hammering against her ribcage, but the car made it safely round.

  ‘It’s a bloody nightmare getting stuck in a patch of tussocks,’ he explained, then peered at the satnav again. ‘Now you’re crossing a river,’ he announced, and laughed.

  ‘Crossing a river? Seriously? Is there a river underneath us?’ Her heart began to pound again.

  ‘Sure, there’s water all over the place, under the ice.’

  ‘Are you absolutely sure it’s safe?’

  ‘Well…’ He paused for effect. ‘We’ll just have to hope the ice doesn’t give way right now.’

  She clutched the wheel involuntarily, and his mocking laughter did nothing to allay her fears.

  XXII

  The farmhouse was situated on a mountainside near the coast, in a sparsely populated district not far from the vast, flat sands that stretched between the Vatnajökull ice cap and the sea. From the yard where the mother stood holding her daughter by the hand, there was a breathtaking panorama of mountains, glaciers, sandy plains and sea. She had never visited the remote south-east of the country before and, while she couldn’t deny the magnificence of the scenery, that wasn’t why she was here. She had come to say goodbye to her daughter: to give her up for adoption, leave her behind among strangers in this isolated spot.

  In spite of her valiant efforts to hold back the tears, her father had evidently sensed her reluctance. He had made a point of praising the couple’s generosity and stressing how healthy it would be for the little girl to grow up in the countryside, surrounded by nature and fresh sea air. The child would be quick to adapt, he assured her: she’d already experienced one big change in her life, and, unfair though it was to expect her to go through another so soon, it would be best to get it over with. After all, what prospects did she have in town? None of them had any money to speak of and all they had to look forward to was hard grind and an unrelenting struggle to put food on the table. That sort of life was tough on kids, and his granddaughter deserved better. Hanging unspoken between father and daughter was the fact that the couple from the east had offered to compensate the family for their outlay, and that this compensation was out of all proportion to the cost they had incurred in bringing up the child. Though neither would have put it into words, they knew they were in effect selling the little girl – for a sum so considerable that it would make a real difference to their lives. Blood money, that’s what it was. The girl’s mother had already made up her mind not to touch a penny of it. Her father could do what he liked; use it to pay off his debts if he wanted to. But, much as she hated to acknowledge it, the truth was that she stood to gain as well, directly or indirectly, for as long as she lived with her parents.

  She hung back, clutching her daugh
ter’s hand, while her father walked slowly up to the house. The owners must be aware that they had arrived: there was no one else around.

  She noticed that her daughter was shivering: perhaps it was the icy wind blowing down from the mountains in spite of the beautiful weather. Or perhaps the little girl could sense that something awful, something momentous, was about to happen.

  How could I have let myself be talked into this? It was all the mother could think as she watched her father walking up to the front door.

  Scooping the little girl into her arms, she hugged her tight, trying to stop her shivering. It had been a long journey by plane and road to get here. A young man, presumably one of the farmhands, had collected them from the airport. He was still sitting in the car, no doubt under orders not to intrude on the delicate meeting that was about to take place.

  The door opened to reveal a man in late middle age, who greeted them warmly. And now there was no turning back. Tears were pouring down the mother’s cheeks. The little girl, seeing this, began to whimper as well. The two men, who were old friends, glanced at them then carried on their conversation. Mother and child were mere extras, with only a limited role in the great scheme of things. How ironic that the girl’s grandmother, the driving force behind this decision, had been unable to face coming with them.

  The mother felt how quickly and surely her embrace calmed the little girl and stilled her shivering. It came to her then that she felt like the girl’s real mother, not just the lady behind the glass, and she hoped – maybe against hope – that the little girl felt the same about her.

  There was a shout. Her father was calling them over, telling them to come inside. She balked, all her doubts rising to the surface. After taking a few halting steps towards the house, she stopped dead. The couple were both standing in the doorway now, wearing smiles intended to be kind, yet their kindness didn’t strike her as genuine. It was as if they were only smiling to win her over.

  And suddenly her mind was made up: she wasn’t going to set foot in that house, wasn’t going to leave little Hulda with them.

  ‘I’m going home,’ she announced in a clear voice that surprised her with its firmness. Her father stared at her without speaking. ‘I’m going home,’ she repeated, ‘and Hulda’s coming with me.’

  He came over, put his arms around them both and said: ‘Fair enough, it’s your choice.’

  He was smiling.

  She clasped her little girl tight, vowing never to let her go again.

  XXIII

  Hulda had been sitting in her car outside the police station for several minutes, unable to summon up the courage to go in, dreading the coming encounter with Magnús. Not that she regretted anything. It had been the right decision to take a closer look into Elena’s death and she had no intention of dropping her investigation without a fight. The visit to Áki had been necessary, though in hindsight, perhaps she should have been in less of a hurry and done a bit more intelligence gathering first. But that was the fault of the tight deadline she had set herself to solve the case.

  Almost without thinking, she found that she had taken out her phone and dialled Pétur’s number. He answered immediately.

  ‘Hulda,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’ve been waiting for you to call.’ He seemed to be in a perpetual good mood, always positive and sunny tempered. Yes, she really liked him: how could she not?

  ‘Oh?’ she said, and instantly regretted this curt reply, which had been motivated by surprise at his statement rather than any intention to be rude.

  ‘Yes, I thought maybe we could meet up again this evening. I was going to offer to cook dinner for you at my place.’

  ‘That would be lovely,’ Hulda replied, tricked for a moment by the light evening into forgetting that it was long past suppertime. ‘I mean … it would have been great.’

  ‘Let’s do it, anyway. I can cook for you now. I’ve got all the ingredients, including a very nice joint of lamb – I can stick it on the barbecue while I’m waiting.’ As an afterthought, he added: ‘Unless you’ve already eaten?’

  ‘What? No, no, I haven’t actually.’ The hot dog didn’t count. ‘I, er, I’ll look forward to it.’ She realized she was short of breath, stressed about her impending conversation with Magnús, and hoped Pétur wouldn’t notice and start asking awkward questions.

  She acknowledged to herself that she felt a warm glow inside at the thought of visiting him. She desperately needed to talk to someone: about Elena and the case, about giving up work. And then there were those other things she needed to tell him.

  ‘Great. Are you on your way? How long will you be?’

  ‘I’ve got to drop into the office first. Won’t be long.’ At least, she hoped not.

  * * *

  The corridor leading to Magnús’s office had never felt so endless. His door was open and, just as she raised her hand to tap on the glass and alert him to her presence, he glanced up. His brows were drawn together in a grave frown and she saw at once that their meeting was going to be difficult. She had an uneasy feeling that it was solely on her account that he had come in to work on this beautiful spring evening. What on earth had she done wrong? Should she have secured clearer permission to reopen the inquiry? Or had Áki complained about her? She could easily imagine a man like him having influential friends in high places.

  ‘Sit down,’ Magnús barked.

  Normally, she would have been affronted by his tone, but this time she was so anxious that she meekly dropped into the seat facing him and waited. She hadn’t so much as opened her mouth yet.

  ‘Did you pay a visit to Áki Ákason earlier this evening?’

  She nodded. Not much point trying to deny it.

  ‘What in God’s name were you thinking of?’ Magnús’s annoyance seemed to have spilled over into rage.

  Hulda winced. She had been ready for a slap on the wrist, but not for him to blow his top like this.

  ‘What do you mean? I … I was acting on a ‒’

  He cut her short: ‘That’s right, out with it, explain yourself. I don’t want to have to fire you when you’re about to retire anyway.’

  Hulda pulled herself together. ‘I received a tip-off that he was involved in trafficking or a prostitution racket, something like that.’

  ‘And where did this tip-off come from?’

  Hulda wouldn’t dream of dropping Karen in it. ‘A source: I can’t reveal their name, but I … I’ve usually been able to rely on … him.’

  Had Karen given her dud information? Had she gone round to see an honest businessman and accused him of taking part in organized crime? That would be one hell of a cock-up.

  ‘And why, may I ask, have you taken it upon yourself to investigate a trafficking ring?’ Magnús asked, in a voice dripping with contempt.

  ‘You told me to pick a case.’

  ‘Pick a case?’ Magnús echoed, puzzled.

  ‘Yes, to work on until I have to leave.’

  ‘Oh, I see, but … I didn’t for one minute think you’d take me seriously. It was just a casual suggestion. I thought you’d go home and relax, play a round of golf, or whatever it is you do for kicks.’

  ‘I go hiking in the mountains.’

  ‘Well, then, I thought you’d go hiking or something. What the hell do you think you’re doing, investigating a case without telling me?’

  ‘I was under the impression that I had your permission.’ Her voice was steadier, her heartbeat had slowed; she was marshalling her weapons.

  ‘And what case is that, then?’

  ‘The Russian woman who died: the one found on Vatnsleysuströnd.’

  ‘I see. Alexander’s case, wasn’t it? That was solved ages ago.’

  ‘I’m not so sure about that. His investigation was a disgrace.’

  ‘What are you saying?’ Magnús asked sharply.

  ‘Come on, Magnús. You know as well as I do that Alexander’s methods are hit and miss, at best.’ Hulda was a little surprised at her own nerve. It was someth
ing she had always wanted to say but never dared. But then, she had nothing to lose now.

  Magnús didn’t immediately answer, then eventually conceded: ‘Maybe he’s not our very best detective but…’

  ‘Never mind that. You’ll just have to trust me on this. I believe there’s something there, something we’ve overlooked. If she was murdered, it’s our duty to find out.’

  ‘No … no … the case is closed,’ Magnús said, but she could hear the hesitation in his voice.

  ‘You can’t just sack me. I must have some rights after all these years.’

  He was silent a moment, then asked abruptly: ‘So where does Áki come in?’

  ‘There’s a chance the Russian girl was brought over to work in the sex industry. I’m sorry if I was given the wrong information: I didn’t mean to bother an innocent man.’

  ‘Innocent man?’ Magnús laughed, though he didn’t sound in the least amused. ‘He’s guilty as hell. That’s the whole bloody problem.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He runs a major sex-trafficking outfit.’

  ‘So it wasn’t him who complained about me?’

  ‘Are you out of your mind? God, no, we haven’t heard a peep out of him. No, you’ve just managed to jeopardize months of hard work. We’ve been keeping him under surveillance and, as far as we know, he didn’t have the faintest idea until this evening – all thanks to you.’

  Hulda was appalled. ‘You mean I ‒?’

  ‘Yes, you … Our people were monitoring the premises and saw you go inside, but by then it was too late: the damage had been done. There’s no way of knowing what he’s up to now – warning his accomplices, destroying evidence. The team’s holding a crisis meeting as we speak, trying to decide whether to cut their losses and arrest him now. The trouble is, they needed more time to collect evidence against him. It’s a bloody mess. And you’ll be blamed for that. Which means I’ll get it in the neck.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say. I simply hadn’t a clue.’