The answer she got when she asked which party he meant took her by surprise; it was Ellert Snorrason’s party.
‘Emil had a call from a guy who was active in party politics at that time, a man called Nói. He seems a normal guy, with a day job at an engineering firm. He said he’d heard about Snorri’s involvement in the assault a couple of years before and was uncomfortable keeping that kind of secret. When the girl, Bylgja, finally died of her injuries, he wanted to pass the information on to her partner, just to be a Good Samaritan really. In fact, he didn’t give his name, but he made the call from his mobile to the landline at Emil’s parents’ house, so it wasn’t difficult to track him down. I spoke to him myself; he’s the most innocent character you can imagine, but he managed to start all this rolling with one phone call. Emil admitted when we questioned him that this was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Remember, this is all strictly between ourselves, Ísrún, but he said he had always known that Róbert was a suspect, and the call had given him the vital information that a second man had also been involved. He was determined to get revenge, and started stalking Róbert and his family; and he also got in touch with Snorri and laid a trail that would lead him somewhere quiet. And that’s where he ran him down.’
Ísrún felt sick at what her contact described, but she tried to put herself in Emil’s position – being forced to watch his partner gradually lose the battle for life following that terrible attack.
‘Are you re-opening the case of the assault on Bylgja?’
‘Certainly. Snorri has got away with it, if I can put it that way. But we’ll be interviewing Róbert again. All the same, I don’t imagine we’ll be able to pin anything on him after all this time. I gather he’s as slippery as an eel.’
Ísrún thanked him for taking the time to talk to her, and promised to buy him a drink when they both had time to meet. She immediately wished she hadn’t, regretting having given him something to hope for, but it was still worthwhile to keep him warm.
So, it seemed the police were working on the assumption that Snorri was guilty, she thought, and that the rumours had some basis in fact.
Her own theory was quite the opposite, however.
Could this Nói, or someone he knew, have spun the rumour about Snorri? Could someone in his father’s own party be behind this?
Now that she knew about Nói’s political involvement, it was the work of a few minutes to find his full name. He was thirty-four and did, indeed, work for an engineering company. Other information about him on the internet was of no special interest, not until she started searching through the online images.
He was there in an old picture on the party website, standing next to someone Ísrún knew well. Standing side by side were the youth wing’s chairman, Nói, and the vice-chair, now the Prime Minister’s adviser, Lára.
42
Ari Thór was awake first thing.
He felt it was too early to call the man Ísrún had told him could identify the young man in the photograph, so, taking care not to wake Kristín, he pulled on jeans and a thick sweater and sat outside on the veranda off the bedroom. This was the first time he had slept in the house’s main bedroom; up until now he had made do with a smaller room with a narrow single bed, as if he was unwilling to confirm his loneliness by sleeping by himself in a large bed.
It was a two-storey house, painted red but slightly dilapidated, with the upper level built into the eaves. That’s where the bedrooms were: the small one and the large one, as well as an extra room, plus a landing with a nice window seat. The ceiling was low and the rooms were old and cosy. Downstairs was a living room, a kitchen, a TV room and an old-fashioned pantry – far too big for one man, but perfect for the two of them, and perhaps a larger family later on.
He savoured the fresh morning air out on the balcony, perching on a stool he had taken out there with him. His date with Kristín, if that’s what it could be described as, had been better than anything he could have hoped for. Maybe there was still hope for them as a couple? There was a warm feeling about this house in Siglufjördur; maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to settle down here – as long as Kristín would be happy here too. In his imagination he saw small children scampering up and down the stairs.
When the chill outdoors began to worm its way through his sweater, Ari Thór tiptoed back through the house, past Kristín, who slept peacefully in his bed, and down to the kitchen, where he made tea for himself, brewed coffee for her and made toast. He went back upstairs with a full tray.
They followed breakfast in bed with a walk around the town just as it was coming to life. They talked of everyday things, confirmation that their relationship was once again on an even keel.
It was almost eleven o’clock when Ari Thór finally made the call to Thorvaldur – while Kristín was in the Co-op, buying something for dinner.
He was hopeful as he punched in the numbers, wondering if he might be closer to meeting the young man from the photograph face to face.
‘Hello?’ a grave voice answered.
‘Good morning,’ Ari Thór said. ‘Is that Thorvaldur?’
‘And who might you be?’
‘My name’s Ari Thór. I understand you called the news desk last night, after the interview with me was aired, when there was a picture shown of a young man with a small child in his arms.’
‘That’s right. You’re the policeman from Siglufjördur?’ Thorvaldur asked. Ari Thór noticed he spoke with an accent, and that this was the voice of an older man.
‘Yes, that’s me.’
‘Pleased to hear from you,’ Thorvaldur said. ‘Call me Thor. Nobody has called me Thorvaldur for years. The Norwegians always called me Thor when they couldn’t cope with my name.’
Ari Thór realised then that it was a Norwegian accent he could hear. ‘You lived in Norway for a long time?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I went to Norway when I was twenty, back in 1960. I only moved back here a couple of years ago. Everyone always comes back home eventually, don’t they? I got to know Anton in Norway. I recognised him from the photo right away. It was taken in Hédinsfjördur, wasn’t it?’
‘Exactly,’ Ari Thór confirmed.
‘Well, I knew Anton well. He was working for an oil company when our paths crossed. I’d finished my exams over there and we both worked for the same firm for a long time. He never went to university. He hadn’t finished college in Iceland, you see. But he had a scholarship to some agricultural college in Norway. He was there for a year, I think, and then he came to work at the oil company. He did all kinds of work jobs there – a real grafter, you know. It didn’t seem to make any difference that he didn’t have a degree; I think he could have gone higher than he did, really. We were the only Icelanders at the company for a long time, which is why we got to know each other so well, I suppose.’
‘Is he still in Norway?’
‘No, no. Anton’s dead,’ Thorvaldur answered after a short pause. ‘He had a stroke a few years ago. He didn’t even get to retire.’
Hell, Ari Thór thought to himself.
‘I’m sorry to hear that. Does he have family in Norway?’
‘No. He was married for a while to a Norwegian woman, but they split up. That family ends with Anton. He had been an only child, you see.’
‘Was he from Siglufjördur?’ Ari Thór asked, sure that he knew the answer already.
‘No, he was from a poor family in Húsavík. I met his parents once when he and I travelled to Iceland together. We hiked over the highlands. His parents were quite elderly by then, but it was interesting to meet them. They followed his progress in Norway; I think they were very proud of their boy.’
‘You mentioned a scholarship? So it wasn’t his parents who paid for him to study?’
‘Good heavens, no. I can’t imagine they could have afforded that. They couldn’t even make sure he got a decent education in Iceland. He had to go to work and earn his keep from a very young age; there were no luxuries back then. But why
are you asking about Anton? Is this a police matter?’ Thorvaldur asked, suspicion now entering his voice.
‘No, not exactly,’ Ari Thór said, choosing his words with care. ‘In fact, it was the small child in his arms in the photograph who asked me if I could find out who the young man was. His name is Hédinn; he wasn’t aware that anyone other than his own family – that’s his parents and an aunt and uncle – had lived in Hédinsfjördur at the time.’
‘I understand,’ Thorvaldur said. ‘Wasn’t it the aunt who drank poison and died?’
‘Did he tell you about that?’
‘He did. He said it wasn’t a good place. He told me that, by the time she died, he had already gone back to Húsavík; I gather his father gave him the news. We shared many confidences, you see. He spoke about that time of his life with horror. He told me that he’d been in Hédinsfjördur as a workman for a few months, but he never went back. Of course, it wasn’t the easiest place to get to, even if you wanted to.’
‘It isn’t difficult now,’ Ari Thór commented.
‘That’s true. These days I live in the western end of Reykjavík, but it has occurred to me to take a trip north to take a look at these new Hédinsfjördur tunnels and the place where Anton stayed. Is the farm still there?’
‘An avalanche fell on it, unfortunately, but the ruins are still there.’
‘I don’t think it was a good idea for a young man to stay there, not in a place that’s so completely isolated. The endless darkness affects people’s state of mind; it did the lady of the house, I believe. According to Anton, she became increasingly peculiar by the day. I can hardly imagine how it must be to live in such a remote place.’
This supported the theory that Jórunn had taken her own life, Ari Thór thought. The same details of how badly she had coped with conditions there kept coming up. He realised that Thorvaldur still had not said who had supported Anton’s studies, so he asked again.
‘It was the man who took him on to work in Hédinsfjördur,’ replied Thorvaldur. ‘I don’t recall his name. He was the little boy’s father. He was an acquaintance of Anton’s father’s. I gather he was pretty well off.’
‘Gudmundur,’ Ari Thór muttered, surprised once again at the man’s generosity. ‘Do you know when Anton went to Hédinsfjördur?’
‘Let’s see,’ Thorvaldur said. ‘I’m not sure of the year, but he was fifteen or sixteen at the time.’
‘When was he born?’
‘1940.’
‘So could he have arrived there shortly after Hédinn was born?’
‘That sounds right to me. They needed the help as the baby took up so much of their time. I think it was autumn when Anton went there.’
‘So that was probably 1956,’ Ari Thór said. ‘Hédinn was born that spring. Was Anton there the whole winter?’
‘Yes, through the worst time of year. We used to talk about it when we met at Christmas; he often said what a miserable Christmas it had been there. I have a feeling that the time he was there left him with a terrible fear of the dark that stayed with him for many years.’
‘And he went back home in the spring?’
‘He was gone by the time the woman died, as I said,’ Thorvaldur replied. ‘I think he left not long after Christmas – in January or February. He was asked to leave, as far as I remember, but his wages until the spring were paid.’
‘Do you know who asked him to leave?’
‘The one who paid for his studies. I understand that he set it all up.’
‘And this scholarship was part of the package?’ Ari Thór asked, thinking that Gudmundur’s behaviour towards Anton was certainly very peculiar.
‘Good grief, no,’ Thorvaldur replied. ‘That came later, not long after the woman’s death. The man came to see Anton’s family. Anton remembered it well, because he was afraid he’d have to go back to work in Hédinsfjördur, which was the last thing he wanted to do. But it turned out that the man just wanted to thank him for his work by paying his passage to Norway and giving him enough money to study for one winter once he was there. But, in the end, things worked out in such a way that Anton only ever returned to Iceland as a visitor. The same’s true of me, I suppose. Although I’ve moved back now, I still feel like a tourist every single day.’
Another surprise from Gudmundur. Ari Thór wondered if something other than altruism lay behind his generosity. Thorvaldur was hardly likely to answer that question for him, though, so he steered the conversation elsewhere, towards Delía’s opinion that the place in Hédinsfjördur had been haunted.
‘Did Anton ever mention that the place might have ghosts?’
‘Ghosts?’ The surprise was evident in Thorvaldur’s voice. ‘Not that I recall. He didn’t have much to say about Hédinsfjördur that was pleasant, though. He said that it had been a terrible place to live, but I don’t remember him saying he had seen ghosts there.’
Ari Thór then repeated Delía words to Thorvaldur; ‘He said that he had seen something supernatural … or, yes, something abnormal.’
Thorvaldur was silent for a moment.
‘Well, now that you mention it, I recall something along those lines,’ he said finally.
‘Do you remember what he meant?’ Ari Thór asked eagerly.
‘I vaguely remember … that’s right. It was something to do with breastfeeding. It’s hard to believe, but it’s true. He mentioned something once, when my wife was breastfeeding our son; but I can’t recall the details,’ he chuckled.
There was something sinister about this whole affair, Ari Thór thought, some inexplicable incident that had been kept secret. He was certain that he was coming closer to a solution, but he would need to dig deeper.
‘That’s all he said?’
‘As far as I recall. He just said that my wife breastfeeding our boy reminded him of something that had given him sleepless nights. He said it was something abnormal; yes, I think that was exactly the word he used. Odd expressions like that stick in your mind.’
‘That’s been a great help,’ Ari Thór said. ‘Do you mind if I get in touch with you again if I have more questions?’
‘Be my guest. It’s not often there’s a chance to talk about such a fine man. He had few friends in Norway and he didn’t know his relatives in Iceland well, having left the country at such a young age. Any memories of Anton will die with me.’
‘There’s one thing I must ask,’ Ari Thór added. ‘It certainly looks as if Anton was in Húsavík when the woman died, but can you imagine that he might have had anything to do with her death?’
‘You mean, could he have poisoned her?’ Thorvaldur asked in amazement.
‘Yes; is there any possibility?’
‘Are you off your head, young man?’ Thorvaldur rumbled, his voice rising.
Ari Thór did not answer right away, leaving Thorvaldur to continue.
‘He was a fine man. The idea is ridiculous. Out of the question,’ Thorvaldur said, calming down. ‘Anton was certainly no killer.’
43
It was Saturday afternoon when Ísrún tracked Nói down. When she introduced herself, he was suspicious.
‘What? Why are you calling me? You’re not taping this, are you?’
She assured him that she had no intention of recording the conversation.
‘Is this something to do with the power station we’re working on?’ he asked, but Ísrún could hear in his voice that he didn’t think this was likely. He clearly suspected the reason for the call, but didn’t hang up, maybe because he wanted to be sure of what was happening.
‘It’s not something I can comment on; it’s not my responsibility. All enquiries have to go through our press officer,’ he continued.
She had no doubts about which tactics to use on him.
‘This is nothing to do with engineering,’ she said cheerfully. ‘There’s something else I wanted to ask you about. You can speak freely, as I’ll take care not to mention your name in connection with anything you tell me.’ She chose
her words carefully; if he came up with something hot, then she would use it in one way or another. All she had essentially promised was to not name him as a source.
She screwed up her courage to carry on. ‘I know a lot about this matter already, so you’re free to hang up if you like, but if you do, then there’s no guarantee I’ll keep your name out if it.’
‘Listen …’ he stammered. ‘Is this about Snorri? Or what?’
This was already too easy, she thought. ‘That’s right, it is. I’m just trying to get an overview of events. I’m not interested …’ she told him, then repeated herself to add emphasis. ‘I’m not interested in bringing you into this without good reason. I can imagine you’d prefer to keep out of it?’
‘Listen … I have nothing to do with it … I can’t afford to get mixed up with news of some murder. They’d go crazy at work, you understand?’
‘Of course, I understand perfectly. I’m trying to climb the ladder, just the same as you are. It’s a hard world.’
‘Exactly,’ he agreed, a little calmer now.
‘Is it true that you told Emil, the man who ran Snorri down, that Snorri had been involved in the assault on Emil’s girlfriend two years ago?’
‘Well, yes. I called the guy because I couldn’t keep the secret of what had happened any longer, you understand? His wife, or girlfriend, had just died, after that horrible attack. He deserved to know who was behind it don’t you think?’ he asked in a desperate attempt to seek validation of what he had done.’
‘Of course.’
‘I … I …’ he stammered. ‘I had no idea he was going to murder Snorri!’ He sighed. ‘I’m really torn up after the news yesterday. I feel like it’s my fault. But I did the only thing I could have done, don’t you think?’
‘Right,’ Ísrún agreed, relieved that there was no struggle to get information out of this man. ‘But how did you know it was Snorri who was behind the assault?’
‘There was talk about it in the party at the time, not long after it happened.’
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