Rupture

by Ragnar Jónasson

‘And just as Ellert was about to form a government?’

  ‘That’s right. It couldn’t have happened at a worse time. I didn’t know Snorri myself, but we all knew he was a burden on the old man, and on the party. Of course, none of us suspected just how far down the road he had gone and nobody imagined that it could end so violently. We discussed it between ourselves and we were concerned that it could harm the party if it came out, especially if Ellert was the party chairman or even Prime Minister by then.’

  ‘Who told you about this?’

  ‘I don’t know. I just heard that Snorri had been involved in the attack.’

  ‘Was it your friend Lára?’ Ísrún asked, firing a shot in the dark – a shot that hit its mark.

  ‘Yes … she knew about it. She was the chair of the youth wing back then. I remember she asked us all to keep it to ourselves, and the next day she told us that Ellert had decided to stand down. So from then on it wasn’t a party problem, well, not exactly. So we decided to not say a word to anyone,’ he said. He paused, before continuing breathlessly. ‘I was amazed that he got away with it. I don’t think he was even arrested or anything. I can tell you, I thought it was deeply unfair. Maybe I have an unusually strong sense of right and wrong. It kept me awake night after night, and when I heard the poor woman was dead, I just couldn’t keep quiet any longer.’

  ‘You said it had been discussed within the party. Did many people know about this at the time?’

  ‘Yeah, it was. But not many, I don’t know …’

  It was as Ísrún had suspected. There were probably only a very few people who had heard the rumour, but it was difficult for Nói to admit it, as it would make his guilt for having stayed silent even greater.

  ‘You and Lára?’

  ‘Yes. And one or two others. Just the top of the youth wing.’

  ‘And Marteinn?’

  ‘Marteinn?’ he asked in surprise.

  ‘Did he know about this?’

  ‘I don’t know. Or, well … maybe Lára mentioned that she had talked to him. They’ve always been close,’ he said and Ísrún felt sure she could hear the innuendo in his voice.

  ‘Why didn’t you speak to the police? Either now or then?’

  ‘I didn’t want to get caught up in a formal investigation. You understand? I found the boyfriend’s name easily enough and got through to him after a few calls. He lives with his parents. I reckoned it was the right thing to do, but hell, I regret it now. It’s best to keep your mouth shut and not get involved in other people’s affairs.’

  ‘You’re probably right,’ Ísrún said.

  44

  ‘You make a lovely couple,’ the old lady said with a sly smile at Ari Thór and Kristín.

  He had taken Kristín’s advice and checked out if the midwife from Ólafsfjördur had delivered Hédinn. To his astonishment, the old midwife, Björg, was still alive and well, and she had been the one who had helped bring Hédinn into the world.

  They sat in her living room in a spacious house in Ólafsfjördur.

  ‘It’s good of you young people to visit an old woman like me, especially on such a chilly Saturday.’

  Outside, the weather was worsening and it had rained without pause all day. Ari Thór had heard that, in some cases, excessive rain caused flooding in these parts; it did in Siglufjördur, when there was too much water for the mountain rivers to handle. It could certainly be said that the weather was unpredictable all year round, and even when it wasn’t snowing, the forces of nature could wreak havoc.

  Although well into her eighties, Björg was quick on her feet. She had been happy to meet and invited Ari Thór to pay her a visit. She offered them pancakes with jam and cream, and warm bottles of Appelsín soft drink. A vast crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. The living room was lined with bookcases and the spaces between them were hung with paintings and photographs with no apparent order to them. The objective appeared to be to leave no wall space uncovered.

  ‘You’re not short of books,’ Kristín observed. Ari Thór was relieved that she had come with him as his skills in maintaining small talk were limited.

  ‘I hoard books,’ Björg said. ‘Just like my father. This was my parents’ home and now it’s mine. When I’m gone it’ll most likely become a holiday home for some distant relatives in Reykjavík.’

  ‘I can see you’re in fine health,’ Kristín said lightly. ‘I’m a doctor, so I ought to know what I’m talking about.’

  ‘Thanks for seeing us,’ Ari Thór broke in. ‘I was surprised … Pleased, I mean …’

  ‘That I’m still alive?’ Björg said with a smile that showed off a fine set of false teeth. ‘I can well believe it. How long ago was it now? I’ll have to work it out; mental arithmetic, like in school in the old days,’ she said and frowned.

  ‘Fifty-five years,’ Ari Thór said. ‘Hédinn will be fifty-five in May.’

  ‘Good heavens,’ Björg sighed. ‘And it’s as if it was yesterday. Time certainly flies. I must have been about thirty then and a prettier sight than I am now.’ She ran her bony fingers through her shock of silver hair. ‘And my hair was better back then.’

  ‘You remember that day?’ Ari Thór asked.

  ‘Do I remember it? It’s the only birth I attended in Hédinsfjördur and the place had been practically abandoned. The father radioed over to Ólafsfjördur. His wife was in labour and he asked me to come as soon as I could. He came to meet me as I came down the mountain. It was spring, so there was more light than in the winter. I’m not sure I’d be able to manage a trek like that now,’ she giggled. ‘I’ve been over to Hédinsfjördur a few times since the tunnel opened; I enjoy going over there on my way to Siglufjördur, or simply to stop there and enjoy the beauty of the place. I still have my driving licence and I can manage some driving, even if it’s only slowly. My old Lada’s in the garage. I used to have a Moskvitch in the old days, but that’s long gone,’ she said with a smile.

  Ari Thór helped himself to a pancake and hoped that Björg would keep her narrative going, preferably continuing her story about Hédinsfjördur. But she seemed to be waiting for more questions from him or Kristín.

  ‘Was there anything odd or unusual that you noticed there?’ he asked.

  ‘No, nothing that comes to mind. They were anxious, as is normally the case, but I can’t say I formed much of an opinion of the people there. I didn’t know them at all and never saw any of them again. And in those days, it was a long way between Ólafsfjördur to Siglufjördur, and there was the usual rivalry between neighbours. Siglufjördur people had their own way of life and we had ours. Things are better now, of course. Times have changed and we’ve been united, which wasn’t so painful after all.’

  ‘Did the birth go well?’ Kristín asked.

  ‘No. It was difficult. The poor woman had to stay in bed all day. I didn’t go home until the following day.’ She sighed.

  ‘It must have been unusual – staying the night in such a remote place,’ Kristín said.

  ‘Yes – and no. You get used to all kinds of things in my job. It was an experience to see Hédinsfjördur, and it was such a beautiful day. It was a good thing to do. You asked if I had noticed anything odd,’ she said, turning to Ari Thór. ‘I remember that I expected the fjord to be grim and lonely, but it wasn’t that way at all. It was a bright, beautiful place and the sun shone. It wasn’t until I went inside the house that I felt overwhelmed by the silence and the loneliness. It was very strange. I didn’t feel at all happy in that house, I can tell you.’

  Ari Thór thought of the ruins. They had had an eerie feel, especially when he had gone close to them. If Jórunn had taken her own life due to depression, as seemed to be the case, was it the fjord that had affected her so badly, or the house and the people living there?

  ‘I remember that what I missed there was music, as strange as that may sound,’ Björg said suddenly.

  She stood up and went over to an old-fashioned record player in a corner of the room. There
were no records anywhere, but there was one to be seen on the turntable as she lifted the lid. She dropped the needle onto the record and an old tune – an English ballad from the war years – filled the room.

  ‘Vera Lynn?’ Kristín asked.

  ‘Clever girl,’ Björg said, sitting down again. ‘I’ve lived through changing times: a World War and then a Cold War, and I don’t know what else.’ She sighed again, as if there were too many memories crowding in on her.

  ‘Do you remember the people living there at the time?’ Ari Thór asked, his interest in ballads low at that moment. ‘Do you know how many of them there were?’

  ‘There were four people. Two couples. I remember the news of the death there the following year. There wasn’t much said about it publicly, but I have the feeling it was a dreadful tragedy.’

  ‘No workman there? A young man?’ Ari Thór asked, knowing, after his conversation with Thorvaldur, what answer to expect.

  ‘No, I don’t recall seeing anyone else there, and it certainly wouldn’t have passed me by. Why do you ask?’

  Ari Thór wasn’t keen to go into explanations and posed another question instead. ‘Do you know why they didn’t contact the midwife in Siglufjördur?’

  ‘Sigurlaug? She was a few years older and probably wouldn’t have trusted herself to make her way over there. It wasn’t easy, I can tell you.’

  ‘But it’s just as well you were able to go there,’ Kristín said. ‘She had a healthy boy with your help.’

  ‘That’s quite right, my dear,’ Björg replied. ‘It was a job that brought me a great deal of joy. Helping others is a wonderful thing. You understand that, surely. Didn’t you say you’re a doctor?’

  Kristín nodded but didn’t comment directly. ‘Maybe you’d like to meet the boy you delivered there?’ she suggested; Ari Thór had the impression that she wanted to change the subject.

  ‘A fine idea,’ Björg said, glowing with pleasure. ‘If you see him, then you can tell him he’s always welcome here.’

  *

  Ari Thór and Kristín dissected the visit on the way back to Siglufjördur, although they didn’t mention Björg’s comment they made a lovely couple.

  The rain had stopped, so Ari Thór agreed to stop in Hédinsfjördur, as Kristín’s interest in the place had been piqued and she wanted to see the ruins of the farm.

  ‘I hope you’re wearing good shoes,’ he said.

  They briskly walked in silence under the heavy clouds. It was only when they reached the ruins that an idea came to Ari Thór’s mind. The last time he had been here he had wondered whether both Jórunn and the young man had lost their lives in this place, but now he knew that was not the case. Only Jórunn’s spirit lay over the lagoon.

  Part of Ari Thór would have liked to believe that being in close proximity to where she had died had now led him on the trail to the truth – that maybe Jórunn had whispered a solution to the mystery to him, but he was too down-to-earth by nature to put his faith in that idea. All the same, he shivered. Now he was in the fjord, it was as if he could see everything more clearly than before, the facts and the narratives beginning to slot into place. He would have to add to the information he already had before being able to test his theory, however.

  At the same moment, the heavens opened. Ari Thór and Kristín grinned to each other and ran for the shelter of the car as if the devil were on their tails. Kristín tried to start a light-hearted conversation on the way back, but he just nodded absently. He would need to call Ísrún and ask her to check Maríus’s bankbooks carefully, and maybe take a closer look at some other documents. Then he was going to listen again to the recording of Ísrún’s conversation with Nikulás, and talk to Thorvaldur once more. After that he might need Ísrún to ask Nikulás a few more questions.

  Instead of starting the car and heading for Siglufjördur, he turned to Kristín at his side, smiling at him through her wet hair.

  ‘I want to tell you a strange story …’ he began, ‘… a true story that ends with a terrible death, right here in Hédinsfjördur over half a century ago.’

  45

  ‘Thanks for coming,’ Ísrún said.

  Lára sat opposite her in a little coffee shop not far from the TV station’s offices. Ísrún had chosen a corner table that would allow them to talk in peace and quiet, but for the moment they were the only customers in the place anyway. She had persuaded Lára to meet on the pretext of preparing for the interview with Marteinn.

  ‘No problem, Ísrún,’ Lára replied, appearing unusually nervous.

  ‘I have to admit …’ Ísrún began slowly, taking a sip of her cappuccino ‘… there’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.’

  ‘Talk to me about?’ Lára asked, and Ísrún could see the fear in her eyes.

  ‘I spoke to an old friend of yours earlier – Nói. He told me an interesting tale. Based on that, I’ve a theory that could … well, I suppose it could wreck the Prime Minister’s career,’ Ísrún said, not bothering to understate the drama of the revelation.

  Lára sat petrified, her coffee untouched in front of her. This political fox was about to crack and Ísrún was ready to strike, and was not planning to show any mercy. She’d placed her cards on the table and was now waiting to see the reaction.

  ‘You all lied about Snorri back then,’ she said, ‘that he’d been involved in that assault, and Marteinn was up to his neck in the rumour mill, clearing the way for himself to become party chairman and Prime Minister.’

  ‘No!’ Lára yelped, her voice quivering, looking up but not meeting Ísrún’s eyes. ‘Marteinn had nothing to do with it. You can’t pin any dirt on him! I refuse to allow the gutter press to drag him through the mud because of some unsubstantiated gossip.’ Her hands shook so much, she had to pick up her cup in both hands to lift it to her lips.

  ‘Marteinn had nothing to do with it?’ Ísrún repeated. ‘So it was your idea?’

  Lára started. She swept the fire-red fringe away from her eyes. ‘Well … yes.’

  She had already said too much. Ísrún wondered if she was now turning over in her mind whether or not to shoulder the blame alone.

  ‘Yes,’ she said again, after a short pause. ‘Yes.’

  ‘So you started the rumour that Snorri had attacked that woman?’

  ‘Yes.’ Lára looked at the floor.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It wasn’t intended to turn out this way, you understand? Snorri was completely screwed up at that time, a bomb waiting to go off. And his father was about to become Prime Minister. He’d have dragged his father down sooner or later. I just speeded up the process.’

  ‘To make sure of Marteinn’s position?’

  ‘And to save the party. We’re in a fantastic position now. Marteinn has never been more popular and he’s going to be leading the country for years to come. We’d be out by now if Ellert had taken office,’ Lára gabbled.

  ‘The ends justify the means.’

  ‘Exactly,’ she mumbled.

  ‘Were you the one who let Ellert know about these rumours?’

  Lára nodded, her face a picture of shame.

  ‘And what about Snorri? He was murdered!’ Ísrún barked, raising her voice without meaning to. ‘Snorri was murdered because that poor man, Emil, believed he had attacked his wife.’

  ‘I don’t understand how that could have happened,’ Lára wailed. ‘We … I made sure it was all smoothed over once we had reached our goal of getting Ellert to step down.’

  ‘Your friend Nói called Emil and told him the story. Nói believed what you had told him and his conscience was eating him up. He wanted Emil to know the truth. Not everyone’s as strong as you are,’ Ísrún sneered.

  ‘Hell …! Then Snorri’s death is Nói’s responsibility. If he can’t keep his mouth shut …’

  ‘I’m not sure I can agree with you there,’ Ísrún said. ‘Why did you take such a far-reaching decision on Marteinn’s behalf? Because you believed in him … or was t
here something more between you?’

  ‘That’s none of your business,’ Lára said awkwardly.

  ‘And he didn’t have a clue about all this?’

  ‘He had no idea!’ Lára said heatedly. ‘He’s squeaky clean, an honest man. Those of us who are close to him sometimes have to take difficult decisions for the cause. That’s the way it is.’

  ‘How did you know that Snorri wouldn’t simply deny it?’

  ‘He … Well … Marteinn and Snorri were good friends back then. Marteinn knew, and he told me himself, that Snorri could sometimes be off his face for a week at a time – on booze or drugs. And the week that the assault took place, he was exactly that. I thought it was the perfect opportunity. The police hadn’t arrested anyone, so it all seemed to work out – at least for long enough that Ellert could be persuaded it was time for him to retire.’

  Ísrún was finding it difficult to believe that Marteinn had been as innocent as Lára was trying to portray him.

  ‘Snorri never heard about this rumour?’ she asked.

  ‘I understand they discussed it, Snorri and Ellert. Marteinn heard about it. But Snorri couldn’t remember a thing and was in no position to be able to say where he had been. He said he’d never done anyone any harm, but couldn’t be certain. His father wasn’t prepared to take a chance, and stepped back from politics right away. Everyone took care not to let the police get wind of it, of course. So there was no harm done. Ellert was getting on in years and Marteinn was just as popular as he was. It was obvious that under the circumstances Marteinn would be the one to lead the government. And that’s what happened.’

  ‘No harm done? Snorri is dead.’

  ‘I didn’t kill him!’ Lára yelled. Then she paused, and said more quietly, ‘You’re going to use this, are you?’

  ‘You can bet your life I will,’ Ísrún said, getting to her feet.

  ‘I’ll resign. Marteinn had nothing to do with it.’

  Ísrún paid for her cappuccino and left without a word.