Outrage (14 page)

‘Why didn’t you tell us you’d bought a date-rape drug?’ he asked abruptly.

‘What?’

‘Using Runolfur’s name. Were you buying it for him?’

Elinborg glared at Sigurdur Oli. She had made it clear to him that she intended to conduct this interview. He was supposed to be there purely for support.

‘Why?’ Sigurdur Oli went on. He was unsure what to make of Elinborg’s enraged expression. He thought he was doing pretty well. ‘Why did you pretend to be Runolfur?’

‘I don’t know … what?’ babbled Edvard, shoving his hands into his pockets again.

‘We’ve got a witness who sold you Rohypnol about six months ago,’ said Sigurdur Oli.

‘The description fits you,’ said Elinborg. ‘He said you used the name Runolfur.’

‘What description?’ asked Edvard.

‘He described you to a T,’ said Elinborg.

‘So?’ said Sigurdur Oli.

‘So, what?’ asked Edvard.

‘Is it true?’ asked Sigurdur Oli.

‘Who says so?’

‘Your drug dealer!’ barked Sigurdur Oli. ‘Aren’t you listening?’

‘Would you mind just letting me talk to him?’ Elinborg said calmly.

‘Tell him that if he doesn’t cooperate we’ll take him to the dealer and get the truth out of him that way,’ said Sigurdur Oli menacingly.

‘I did it as a favour for Runolfur,’ Edvard admitted, intimidated by Sigurdur Oli’s threat. ‘He asked me to do it.’

‘What did he want the drug for?’ asked Elinborg.

‘He told me he had difficulty sleeping.’

‘So why didn’t he go to a doctor and ask for a prescription?’

‘I didn’t really know what this Rohypnol stuff was, not until after Runolfur was killed. I had no idea.’

‘Do you expect us to buy that?’ asked Elinborg.

‘We weren’t born yesterday,’ growled Sigurdur Oli.

‘Honestly, I don’t know anything about drugs.’

‘How did Runolfur find this drug dealer?’ asked Elinborg.

‘He didn’t say.’

‘Apparently you mentioned some relative of yours?’

Edvard thought for a moment. ‘The supplier wanted to know. He was very nervous. Demanded to know who I was, how I’d heard about him. He was quite a scary bloke. Runolfur sent me to him and that’s why I used his name. I made up the thing about my relative.’

‘Why didn’t Runolfur just buy the stuff himself? Why did he get you to go?’ asked Elinborg.

‘We were friends. He said …’

‘Yes?’

‘He said he didn’t trust doctors, or patient records. And he confided that he drank a bit and the Rohypnol was helpful for hangovers. He said he didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that he was using it, because it was a problematical drug. He was uncomfortable asking a doctor for it. That’s what he said. I wasn’t really sure what he was on about.’

‘But why did he get you to go?’

Edvard hesitated. ‘He asked me to go as a favour to him,’ he said finally.

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know. He was embarrassed to do it himself, and …’

‘And?’

‘I don’t have a lot of friends. Runolfur and I were mates, and I wanted to help him out. He came to me with his problem and I said I’d take care of it. That’s all there was to it. I wanted to do him a favour.’

‘How much did you buy?’

‘One bottle.’

‘Who else have you bought from?’

‘Who else? No one else. It was just that one time.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me about this when we spoke the other day?’

Edvard shrugged abjectly. ‘I thought I’d get dragged into something that was nothing to do with me.’

‘Don’t you think it might have something to do with you, if you’ve bought Rohypnol for someone who might have been a rapist?’

‘I didn’t know what he was going to do with it.’

‘Where were you when Runolfur was killed?’

‘Here. At home.’

‘Can anyone corroborate that?’

‘No. I’m alone at home most evenings. You’re not seriously alleging that I did it?’

‘We’re not alleging anything,’ replied Elinborg. ‘Thank you for your help,’ she added curtly.

Elinborg and Sigurdur Oli returned to the car. Elinborg was apoplectic. ‘What the hell was that?’ she snapped, and started the car.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You ruined it, you bloody idiot. I’ve never seen anything like it. You played right into his hands. Now we have no idea whether he really was buying for Runolfur! You’ve got no evidence! How could you say that? You handed it to him on a silver platter!’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘It’s the perfect get-out for Edvard.’

‘Get-out? You don’t really think he was buying it for himself?’

‘Why not?’ asked Elinborg. ‘Maybe the pills Runolfur used were Edvard’s. He could be an accessory. Maybe he attacked Runolfur.’

‘That wimp?’

‘There you go again. Can’t you treat people with a bit of respect?’

‘He wouldn’t have needed any help from me to make up a story like that. I bet he came up with it ages ago - that is, if he
is
lying to us.’

‘Why won’t you ever admit you’ve made a mistake?’ asked Elinborg. ‘You screwed up. Royally.’

‘Hey, steady on.’

‘He picked up on what you said. I think everything he said after that was a lie.’ Elinborg sighed heavily. ‘I’ve never had a case like this before.’

‘Like what?’

‘Every single person I speak to seems to be a viable suspect.’

14

Elinborg’s father was resting in the bedroom. It was Monday, his bridge night, and he would be going out to one of his friends’ homes. He had been playing bridge on Monday evenings with the same group for as long as Elinborg could remember. Year had followed uneventful year in a blur of bids and slams. They had grown old gracefully, those young men who had once patted her on the head and teased her and played cards, and consumed the snacks served by her mother. They had a quiet dignity, a friendliness, and an inexhaustible eagerness to explore the mysteries of bridge. Elinborg had never learned the game, nor had her father shown any interest in teaching her. He was a good player and had taken part in tournaments, occasionally bringing home a minor trophy, which he would put away in a drawer. But age had its consequences and these days, if he was to be alert for an evening at the card table, he needed to take a nap in the afternoon.

‘Hello, dear!’ said Elinborg’s mother as she opened the door. Elinborg had her own key and let herself in.

‘Just thought I’d look in.’

‘Is everything all right?’

‘Yes. How are you?’ asked Elinborg.

‘I’m well. I’m thinking of doing a bookbinding course.’ Her mother was sitting in the living room, reading an advert in the paper. ‘My friend Anna is doing it, and she says I should try it too.’

‘That’s a good idea, isn’t it? You can take the old man with you.’

‘I don’t think so. He can never be bothered to do anything. How’s Teddi?’

‘He’s fine.’

‘And what about you?’

‘Fine. Busy.’

‘I can see that - you look a bit tired. I’ve been reading about this awful murder in Thingholt. I just hope you’re not involved with that. It’s not the kind of thing normal people can cope with.’

Elinborg had heard it all before. Her mother was disappointed that she had ‘finished up’ in the police, as she put it. She thought the job was beneath her daughter. Not because it was unimportant - far from it - but she simply could not bear to think of her Elinborg dealing with crooks. She imagined other people - nothing like her daughter - pursuing criminals, arresting them, questioning them and locking them up. Her daughter just wasn’t that kind of woman.

Elinborg had long ago given up defending her profession. She understood that most of her mother’s objections stemmed from fears of her daughter being surrounded by the dregs of humanity. Elinborg did what she could to protect her mother by playing down her role in apprehending violent criminals and giving her a sanitised impression of the job. Perhaps she had gone too far. Sometimes Elinborg felt her mother was in a state of denial about her line of work. ‘Really, there are days when I can’t help wondering what I’m doing in this job,’ Elinborg said.

‘Of course you do,’ her mother answered. ‘Would you like some hot chocolate?’

‘No, thanks. I just wanted to check that you were both all right. I’ll be off home now.’

‘Now, now, dear, it will only take a minute. No need to rush away - they’re all old enough to look after themselves. Sit down for a minute and relax.’

Quick as a flash, her mother had placed a saucepan on the stove, with a little water in the bottom and a bar of dark chocolate that was melting in seconds.

Elinborg sat at the kitchen table. Her mother’s handbag was hanging from the back of a chair. She remembered how she had always liked the fragrance of her mother’s bag when she’d been a little girl. Whenever she was under pressure and needed a brief respite from her day-to-day routine she found it comforting to visit her childhood home and ground herself again in her old surroundings.

‘It’s not so bad,’ said Elinborg. ‘Sometimes we achieve something worthwhile. Arrest people, stop violence, help victims.’

‘Of course,’ said her mother, ‘But I don’t understand why
you
should have to do it. It never occurred to me that you would stay in the police for so long.’

‘No,’ said Elinborg. ‘I know, but somehow it worked out that way.’

‘Not that I ever understood the geology thing either. Or that Bergsveinn.’

‘His name’s Bergsteinn, Mum.’

‘I don’t know what you ever saw in him. Teddi’s entirely different, of course. Reliable. He’d never let you down. And what about Valthor, how is he?’

‘All right, so far as I know. We don’t talk much these days.’

‘Is it still because of Birkir?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe he’s just at a difficult age.’

‘Yes, of course, he’s growing up. He’ll come back to you. He’s such a fine lad, Valthor. And intelligent.’

So is Theodora, thought Elinborg, but did not say anything. Valthor had always been a favourite with his grandmother. The other children sometimes felt left out, and Elinborg had mentioned it to her. ‘Nonsense!’ had been the old lady’s response.

‘Do you ever hear from Birkir?’ she enquired.

‘Occasionally. Hardly ever.’

‘Doesn’t he keep up with Teddi?’

‘No more than with me.’

‘I know Valthor misses him terribly. He always says he needn’t have left.’

‘Birkir wanted to go,’ answered Elinborg. ‘I don’t know why Valthor goes on about it. I think we’re all over it now. We’re on good terms with Birkir, even though he doesn’t contact us often. He’s fine. He and Valthor are in touch, although I don’t get to hear much about it. Valthor never tells me anything. I hear it from Teddi.’

‘I know Valthor can be a bit pig-headed, but …’

‘It was Birkir’s decision to go and live with his father,’ said Elinborg. ‘It was nothing to do with me. He tracked his father down, although the man had never acknowledged him in any way, never asked about him, in all these years. Not once. And all of a sudden he was the central person in Birkir’s life.’

‘Well, he
is
his father.’

‘What about us? What were we, then? Childminders?’

‘Youngsters that age always want to break out and go their own way. I remember well how eager you were to leave home.’

‘Yes, but this is different. It’s as if we had never been his parents, as if he’d just been a guest in our home. And that’s not how we treated him. He called you Gran. Teddi and I were his mum and dad. And then one day it was all over. I was angry with him, and so was Teddi. It was no problem that he wanted to get to know his father - of course that was natural - but when he cut us off completely it was awful. I told him so, but he wouldn’t listen. I don’t know what went wrong.’

‘Perhaps nothing went wrong. Things just happen. You can’t always control them.’

‘Maybe we didn’t do enough, didn’t devote enough time to them. One fine day they become complete strangers, all because we didn’t spend enough time with them. We no longer mean anything to them. They learn to take care of themselves, not to need us. Then they move out, and they’re gone. Never talk to you again.’

‘That’s only right,’ answered her mother. ‘They have to learn to look after themselves. They must become self-reliant, not dependent on others. Can you imagine what it would be like if you still lived here? It’s bad enough, having your dad around the house all day.’

‘So why do I always feel guilty that I don’t do enough for them?’

‘I think you’ve done a fine job with them, my dear. Don’t worry yourself about it.’

The bedroom door opened and Elinborg’s father appeared. ‘Hello, darling,’ he said, pushing back his tousled hair. ‘Have you caught the killer yet?’

‘Oh, stop it!’ exclaimed her mother. ‘As if our Elinborg’s out chasing murderers!’

From her parents’ house Elinborg went back to the station where she worked late into the evening. She did not get home until past ten o’clock. Teddi had taken the children out for burgers, followed by ice cream, so they were in high spirits. She looked in on Valthor to ask how he was. He was watching TV and simultaneously surfing the net, and seemed fully occupied. Aron was with him in his room, watching TV. He hardly answered his mother’s greeting. Distractedly they informed her that Teddi had gone to a meeting.

Theodora was in bed. Elinborg peeked into her room. A small reading lamp shone from the bedside table but Theodora was asleep. Her book had fallen from her hand and lay open on the floor. Silently Elinborg approached the bed, intending to switch the light off. Theodora was absolutely self-sufficient. She never had to be reminded to tidy her room - unlike her brothers. She tidied it every day, and even made her bed before leaving for school. Her dozens of books were kept in perfect order in a large bookcase, and her little desk was always as neat as a pin.

Elinborg picked the book up. It was one of her own from childhood. She’d passed it on to her daughter: an adventure story by a well-known British writer whose language was probably a little ornate for modern children. It was one of a long series of books which were great favourites with Theodora. Elinborg remembered reading them voraciously as a child, and waiting impatiently for each new story. She turned the thick yellowed pages with a smile of remembrance. The spine was damaged and the cover tattered by the many young hands through which it had passed. She noticed that she had written her name in clumsy joined-up script on the title page:
Elinborg, class 3G
. The thrilling events were illustrated by excellent drawings, and Elinborg paused over one image; she had a feeling that there was something important in the picture. She stared at it for a long time until she identified what had caught her attention. After gazing at the drawing again, she woke her daughter up.