The Darkness

by Ragnar Jónasson

  Only then did Hulda remember why she had switched off her phone yesterday evening. Why the hell had she drunk all that wine? Her hangover wasn’t helping her cope with the pressure now. She was on the back foot in everything she did today, just when she needed to be at the peak of her powers. Perhaps age was catching up with her, she thought, before angrily rejecting the idea. She knew she was as good an officer now as she had ever been.

  Emma had rung her, late at night. That should have set off alarm bells, suggesting, as it did, that she had some urgent reason for trying to get in touch. But Hulda hadn’t been in the mood to talk to her. God, how she regretted that now. Perhaps Emma had wanted to consult her about turning herself in. Oh, Christ.

  ‘This is an extremely serious matter, Hulda,’ said Magnús after a weighty pause.

  She still couldn’t work out how she ought to react and what the repercussions of her actions might be. Surely he wasn’t planning to sack her in disgrace on her last day at work?

  ‘Are you saying that she’s confessed now?’ Hulda asked, aware that her question contained an acknowledgement of her mistake, without being a direct admission of guilt. ‘Does it really matter what we talked about or how she interpreted the outcome?’ She bit back the shameful desire to whine: Please, be lenient. After all these years, after my long, successful career, couldn’t we overlook this one little mistake?

  ‘You’ve hit the nail on the head there, Hulda. In normal circumstances, I don’t suppose I’d have made a big deal out of this, seeing as you’re leaving anyway and it’s a difficult time for you. An error of judgement, no harm done.’

  In normal circumstances? What was he trying to tell her?

  ‘But it gets worse. Emma went down to the National Hospital last night. I gather she’s worked for the health service in the past and is currently employed at a nursing home.’

  ‘The National Hospital?’

  ‘Yes, apparently, it wasn’t too difficult: there’s not much security, she knew her way around and, whenever she encountered a locked door, she managed to blag her way through by flashing her work ID.’

  Suspecting now where this was leading, Hulda started to feel sick.

  ‘It didn’t take her long to track down the paedophile’s ward. They were keeping him in an induced coma, but I understand that he was making satisfactory progress.’ Magnús paused, no doubt catching the look of horror on Hulda’s face, then resumed his account: ‘She picked up a pillow and held it over the man’s face.’

  Hulda was too terrified to ask what had happened next. She waited, caught in an agony of hope and fear.

  ‘He’s dead.’

  ‘She killed him?’ Hulda asked incredulously, though she had already guessed as much.

  ‘She killed him, Hulda. Then immediately turned herself in. Told us the whole sorry story. That she’d run him down in her car because of what he’d done to her son. She’d meant to kill him then, not just for revenge but to stop him doing the same thing to someone else’s child. You went to interview her at work, didn’t you? And immediately saw through her denials. She said you gave her the third degree and, in the end, she caved in and admitted what she’d done. It was a relief, she said. And she also said…’ He dropped his eyes to the papers in front of him and referred to Emma’s statement: ‘That she was relieved to get it off her chest. There was no way she could live with what she’d done. Following your visit, she expected to be arrested any minute, but later that evening you rang her up and told her you were going to let her off. She was stunned – grateful, of course, but at the same time disappointed. Her guilt was weighing so heavily on her that she decided she had no choice but to confess. So she rang your number.’

  Hulda flinched. The late-night phone call.

  ‘But you didn’t answer.’

  Hulda shook her head, shattered. ‘No, I was busy,’ she whispered. Why the hell hadn’t she picked up?

  Magnús went on turning the knife. ‘She was in a bad state last night and couldn’t think straight. Felt she had no future, nothing but darkness ahead, so she might as well finish what she’d started. Achieve something worthwhile. You know, you could have stopped her last night, Hulda.’

  She nodded, her throat too constricted to make a sound.

  ‘To say nothing of the gross misconduct you showed by covering up for her. More than misconduct – as you’re perfectly aware, Hulda, you broke the law, obstructed the course of justice.’

  But my intentions were good, she thought to herself. The law wasn’t the sole arbiter of right and wrong. Sometimes you had to look at the bigger picture. She had no illusions; she was well aware of how dangerous it was for someone in her position to think like that. After all, she had sworn an oath to uphold the law. But this wasn’t the first time she had broken it on the pretext that, in certain circumstances, such behaviour was justified. The only difference was that, this time, she had been found out. A man was dead, and it was partly her fault. She suddenly felt violently sick, yet she couldn’t summon up any grief for the paedophile’s death. Perhaps saying he had deserved to die would be going too far, but she was certain that the world was a better, safer place without him.

  ‘Can’t we…?’ She broke off, unable to finish the sentence. For the second time in her life, her world was collapsing around her. First when Dimma had died, now this. Her reputation, her exemplary record at work, all of it about to go up in smoke. And what was worse: she could be facing charges. Could she bear to end up in the dock after her long career in the police? Go to prison…? And what about Pétur, what would he say? She had a horrible fear that the future, which she had belatedly begun to look forward to, was about to slip out of her grasp.

  Magnús sat without moving or speaking, his eyes fixed on Hulda. The silence grew so oppressive that she wanted to scream; she was feeling too drained for anything else.

  ‘You can’t imagine how difficult this is for me, Hulda,’ he said at last. ‘How disappointed I am. I’ve always respected you.’

  Sceptical though she was about that, she didn’t contradict him.

  ‘You’re a role model for so many of us here in CID. And you’ve paved the way for so many others, like Karen. You’ve put me in an impossible position, Hulda.’

  Hulda wasn’t sure how to take this. Was Magnús being sincere? She hoped so, but if he was, that would mean she had misread the situation all these years, underestimated the respect she actually commanded among her colleagues.

  She bowed her head in defeat; all the fight had gone out of her.

  ‘I’m furious, make no mistake, but I’m not going to waste time yelling at you: it’s far too serious for that. More than anything, I’m devastated,’ he went on, and to Hulda’s amazement, it sounded as though he meant it. ‘I’ve often stuck up for you when there was talk of replacing you or transferring you to another department. You’re slow but persistent, old school, and not everyone appreciates that. But you get results.’

  She wasn’t sure whether to believe this; she had never felt she got any real support from Magnús, not once. But she had certainly achieved results over the years, leading investigations in some high-profile cases. She remembered two of them in particular: a death on a small island off the south coast of Iceland, where four friends had intended to spend a quiet weekend; and the horrible events at an isolated farm in the eastern part of the country, that Christmas in 1987 – the Christmas when Dimma had died. Both cases had been very difficult for her emotionally, and the events often came back to haunt her.

  ‘Thank you,’ she muttered to Magnús, so low as to be almost inaudible.

  ‘We’ll try to keep this quiet, Hulda, for both our sakes. I haven’t shared any of the details with your colleagues. It would be a shame for you to end your career in disgrace, though it’ll almost certainly come out later if you face charges. But we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. I’ll pass the matter on to the State Prosecutor on Monday and, after that, it’ll be out of my hands. I can’t make it disappear, Huld
a, you must understand that. But we’ll try to limit the damage.’

  She nodded in humble gratitude. It didn’t cross her mind to deny it, to go on lying. The game was up.

  ‘Of course, you’ll have to quit your duties immediately – there’ll be no more latitude. Have you cleared your office?’

  She shook her head dumbly.

  ‘Then I’ll get someone to do it for you and send the stuff round to your flat, OK?’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘By the way, what happened about the Russian asylum-seeker?’

  Hulda was fighting to stop herself breaking down. She couldn’t end her career like this: sixty-four years old, in floods of tears on her last day at work. Clearing her throat, she said hoarsely: ‘I’m still working on it. There were two of them.’

  ‘Yes, you mentioned that on the phone earlier. What did you mean?’

  ‘There was a Russian girl called Katja who went missing over a year ago. Then Elena died. The two girls were best friends. I doubt Alexander made the connection.’

  ‘Are they connected?’

  ‘I don’t know, but it needs checking out.’

  ‘You’re right.’ He thought for a bit then said: ‘Could you write a report and email it to me when you get a moment? I’ll take a look at it myself as soon as I have time.’

  His tone of voice betrayed him. She didn’t believe him for a minute, but she appreciated the gesture.

  ‘Yes, sure, I’ll do that.’

  He rose to his feet, holding out his hand, and she shook it without a word.

  ‘It was a privilege working with you, Hulda. You were an outstanding cop.’ He paused, then added: ‘It’s a pity it had to end like this.’

  XIII

  She woke again with a start, sensing that it was still the middle of the night.

  At first, she thought it was the cold that had woken her, and it was true that she was freezing, not just her head but her whole body. Only then did it dawn on her that her sleeping bag was unzipped.

  Her companion had moved down from the top bunk and climbed into hers, and was now lying beside her, one hand burrowing inside her underwear.

  Frantic with terror, she tried to shove him off, but she was so cold that her limbs wouldn’t obey. He pulled her against him, kissing her, while she struggled with all the strength she could muster to push him away.

  ‘Cut it out,’ he snarled. ‘We both knew what would happen – what I meant by inviting you away for the weekend. I’ve seen how you look at me. Don’t start acting all coy, for fuck’s sake.’

  She heard him in stunned disbelief.

  Next moment, she was screaming at the top of her lungs, louder than she had ever screamed in her life.

  He didn’t even bother to clamp a hand over her mouth.

  XIV

  Hulda stood outside the police station on Hverfisgata, frozen into immobility. A few colleagues said hello as they walked past, but she was incapable of returning their greetings. She just stood there, staring unseeingly into space.

  It was as if her life had been brought to a full stop: she couldn’t look forward, couldn’t picture what tomorrow might bring. Her greatest need now was to talk to Pétur, but she couldn’t bring herself to call him. Not yet.

  Eventually finding the will to move, she set off slowly round the corner of the building and kept walking in the direction of the sea. Although the sun had broken free of the clouds, she was met by a stiff breeze when she reached the coast road. She crossed it, heedless of the traffic, and took a seat on a bench, gazing out across the bay towards the panorama of mountains. She never tired of this view. All those summits she had conquered in her time: Esja, Skardsheidi, Akrafjall. The breathtaking beauty had a calming effect, soothing her, taking her back to some of her happiest moments. But it also brought back images of Elena washed up in the cove. The sea giveth and the sea taketh away.

  Once again, Hulda felt the crushing weight of her loneliness.

  She had so much on her conscience.

  Her thoughts returned to Elena. Could she be the key? The way by which she could earn a kind of absolution? Restore her honour, to some degree? Could she salvage something from the wreckage of her life by solving this case? If nothing else, to feel more reconciled to herself?

  The restless waters of Faxaflói bay supplied no answers, but perhaps they brought a tiny glint of hope. She had assured Magnús she was abandoning her inquiry, but what were the chances of his finding out if she continued working on it for the rest of the day? Made full use of her last few hours on the job? There were two leads she still had to follow up. Who would it hurt if she went ahead? It would mean having to lie, pretend she was still in the police, but it was unlikely anyone would question the fact.

  Yes, she had to do it. Just for today. It was her last chance. It would provide the necessary distraction until she could summon up the courage to face Pétur this evening.

  XV

  ‘No one can hear you,’ he said, laughing as he wrestled with her long johns, trying to pull them down.

  It was then that she acquired an extra burst of strength from somewhere, in spite of the numbing cold, and managed to shove him away so hard that he fell off the bed on to the floor.

  She leapt out of the bunk, blind in the gloom, aware that her only chance was to get out of the hut and run away into the snow, find somewhere to hide in the vast, empty landscape. As unrealistic as the idea was, she had to try. In that instant, she spotted the faint gleam of the ice axe that he had untied from her rucksack and placed by the door.

  By some miracle, she managed to reach it first.

  XVI

  Hulda knocked on Albert’s door. She was hoping to speak to his brother and find out whether he had taken Elena for a drive somewhere in a four-by-four. To her surprise, the lawyer answered the door himself, though it was not yet four in the afternoon.

  ‘Hulda?’ he said, a little taken aback.

  ‘Albert, I just knocked on the off-chance…’

  ‘Right, right, I came home early for once, as there wasn’t much on.’ He seemed embarrassed and a little shifty, as if business might not be going that well. ‘Didn’t you get the papers? Baldur told me you dropped by yesterday evening to pick them up.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I’ve got them. But they’re all in Russian, so I haven’t been able to glean anything from them yet.’

  ‘Yes, I thought they were, but, you never know, there might be something useful in there. Let’s hope you can get justice for the poor woman. She was my client, after all.’

  ‘Actually, I was hoping to have another quick word with your brother.’

  ‘With my brother?’ Evidently, this was the last thing Albert was expecting to hear.

  ‘Yes … He, um, there was something he happened to mention yesterday,’ she lied clumsily, cursing herself for not having come up with a better excuse, but then she hadn’t been expecting to run into Albert, ‘that I just wanted him to clarify.’

  ‘What on earth has he been telling you? Something to do with Elena?’

  ‘No, well, yes, not directly. It’s a bit hard to explain.’

  ‘To do with me, then?’ Albert’s voice sharpened.

  ‘What? Of course not, nothing like that. Is he in?’

  ‘No, he isn’t. He managed to pick up a house-painting job today, so he won’t be home for a while yet.’

  ‘Could you ask him to give me a ring when he does get in?’

  Albert appeared unsure how to react to this request, but eventually said: ‘Yes, yes, of course. I’ll do that. I’ll call you at the station.’

  ‘No, call the mobile, you’ve got my number,’ Hulda said hurriedly, and smiled.

  Albert briefly returned her smile then quickly closed the door.

  XVII

  Since access to the services of an official police translator was now denied to her, the obvious answer was to see if Bjartur could help. Hulda got back in her car and headed out to the interpreter’s place in the west of town. It would be
her final port of call, unless something significant turned up in the papers. While part of her clung to this hope, the realization was growing that she would be grateful to let it go and have a rest at last.

  Her phone rang and she pulled over to answer. It was Magnús again.

  ‘Hulda,’ he said, sounding grave.

  ‘Yes.’ She braced herself.

  ‘I didn’t want to burden you with anything else today but there’s something I forgot to mention: they arrested Áki this morning.’

  ‘Really?’ Her spirits rose a little. ‘For running a prostitution ring?’

  ‘Among other things, but the downside is that they were forced to bring the whole operation forward and it’s ended up being a bit of a rush job – all because you went and interviewed him without permission.’

  Hulda swore under her breath.

  ‘And there’s a risk he’ll have been busy destroying records in the interim, which is a bugger. You’d better be prepared for them to call you about your conversation with him. They’ll want to know if he gave anything away, what information you were acting on…’

  Hulda sighed. ‘Yes, OK … Though I’ve nothing new to give them.’

  ‘Then I’m afraid you’ll just have to put up with the hassle. This whole thing’s a total fiasco, but don’t let it get to you.’

  Any more than it already has, she thought as she rang off. Hulda felt truly guilty over having potentially ruined her colleagues’ investigation, knowing how much effort they must have put into it.

  She hated making mistakes.

  She really hated making mistakes.

  When she was young, doing her school homework, her grandmother used to be constantly looking over her shoulder, checking every answer, every composition, whether it was grammar, maths, geography, history … And her criticisms had often been both harsh and unfair, Hulda felt. Time and time again, her grandmother had told her that she had to do better, that she was too slow, that she had to outperform the boys to have any chance of succeeding in life. She had often been brought to tears by these exchanges.