Outrage (16 page)

‘I can’t imagine anyone seeing Edvard as a threat,’ said Sigurdur Oli. ‘He’s such a loser.’

‘Do you think Edvard was involved in Lilja’s disappearance?’ asked Elinborg.

Finnur shrugged. ‘He was interviewed during the investigation - but then, we talked to almost everyone there.’

‘Did he teach her?’

‘Not at the time she disappeared, but he’d taught her the previous year,’ said Finnur. ‘He might have had no involvement. I’m not saying he did. We got nowhere with the case, couldn’t even reach a conclusion about whether a crime had been committed, or whether the girl might have taken her own life for reasons we knew nothing about. Or it could have been an accident. We found nothing.’

‘How long ago was it? Six or seven years?’

‘Six. It was in 1999. I remembered Edvard when Siggi told me about him. We spoke to all the teachers, and I did that interview myself. I remember he lived here in Reykjavik and drove up there every day. Siggi says he’s teaching at the Breidholt College here in town now.’

‘He left Akranes College four years ago,’ said Sigurdur Oli. ‘And don’t call me Siggi.’

‘They were friends, Edvard and Runolfur,’ said Elinborg. ‘According to Edvard they were great mates.’

Elinborg went over in her mind the case of the missing girl, Lilja. The Akranes police had been contacted by the girl’s mother, who was worried because she had not seen or heard from her daughter for more than twenty-four hours. Lilja, who lived with her parents, had left the house to visit a friend, telling her mother they planned to go to the cinema and that she might stay the night at her friend’s place, as she often did. It was a Friday evening. Lilja had no mobile phone. On the Saturday afternoon Lilja’s mother called the friend’s house. The girl told her that she and Lilja had intended to see a film, but in the event she had not heard from her. She had assumed that Lilja had gone to visit her grandparents on their farm in the country.

On the Sunday there was still no trace of the missing girl. The media were informed and a photo was circulated, but without result. An extensive search and investigation yielded very little. Lilja was a student at the comprehensive college and lived an unremarkable life: she attended her classes, and went out at the weekends with friends, or spent time with her maternal grandparents who ran a horse farm in nearby Hvalfjordur. She loved horses, helped out on her grandparents’ farm in the summer holidays, and dreamed of working with them full-time in the future. There was no evidence of alcohol or drug abuse. She had no boyfriend but was one of a close-knit group of friends; the other girls were devastated by her disappearance. Search parties were sent out and townspeople combed the area around the little town. Lilja was never found, nor did any clue to what had become of her that Friday evening ever come to light.

‘Didn’t the girls know anything?’ asked Elinborg.

‘No,’ Finnur replied. ‘Only that they didn’t believe she’d killed herself. They found that a ridiculous suggestion. They thought it more likely that she’d had an accident, or even been murdered. We came up empty-handed.’

‘I don’t suppose you remember what Edvard said at the time?’ asked Elinborg.

‘You can look it up. All the reports and statements are on file,’ said Finnur.

‘I shouldn’t think he said any more than the rest of them - the other teachers: she was a good, conscientious student and they had no idea what had happened to her.’

‘And now it turns out that Edvard was trying to get his hands on a rapists’ drug?’

‘I just wanted to pass on what I know,’ said Finnur. ‘I think there’s something a bit dodgy about the connection to your Runolfur. The bloke was working at Akranes when the girl went missing and he’s been buying Rohypnol. It’s worth looking into.’

‘You’re absolutely right,’ said Elinborg. ‘Thanks for the tip - we’ll be in touch.’

‘Let me know what comes of it,’ said Finnur, and left.

‘I think …’ started Elinborg, but then she drifted off into her own thoughts in mid-sentence.

‘What?’ asked Sigurdur Oli.

‘It puts a new twist on everything,’ said Elinborg. ‘The two of them, Runolfur and Edvard, and the girl from Akranes. What if there’s a link?’

‘What link?’

‘I don’t know. Could Runolfur have known or found out something about Edvard, something that backfired on him? Meaning that Edvard had to get rid of him? Could the drugs at Runolfur’s place have belonged to Edvard? Maybe Runolfur took them off him. Maybe Runolfur had no intention of using them?’

‘And there was no woman with him on the night his throat was cut?’

‘What if it was some kind of dispute between the two of them?’

‘You mean Runolfur and Edvard?’

‘What if Runolfur was threatening to go to the authorities? Could he have been blackmailing Edvard?’

‘Edvard can spin us any story he likes, of course,’ said Sigurdur Oli. ‘He knows the Rohypnol was found at Runolfur’s place. It’s been on the news. It’s dead easy for him to claim that Runolfur asked him to get hold of it.’

‘With a little help from you …’ observed Elinborg, unable to resist the dig.

‘No - as I said, he must have worked out his story long before we turned up. Shall we go and bring him in?’

‘No, not yet,’ answered Elinborg. ‘We need to do a bit more groundwork - talk to Valur again. I’m going to look up the records about the missing girl. Then we’ll go and have another word with him.’

Elinborg dug out the police records about Lilja’s disappearance. According to the file, Edvard had taught maths and sciences at Akranes Comprehensive College. His statement was short and provided no leads. He said he had no knowledge of where Lilja had been on the Friday of her disappearance. He remembered her clearly, having taught her the previous year. She was not an outstanding student, he said, but a pleasant, quiet girl. He said he had finished teaching early that Friday, and gone home to Reykjavik.

17

The search for the limping man whom Petrina had seen hurrying towards house number 18 had yielded meagre results; the witness was unreliable, to say the least, and the description of the lame man was questionable. It occurred to Elinborg to consult an orthopaedic specialist, who might be able to shed some light on the question of the apparent leg brace. It might mean no more than that he had broken his leg, yet it could be something far more significant.

The orthopaedist, whose name was Hildigunnur, invited Elinborg to call in at her surgery. Hildigunnur was fortyish, fair-haired and fit, a walking advertisement for a healthy lifestyle. She was intrigued by Elinborg’s line of enquiry, which she had briefly explained over the phone.

‘So what kind of leg support is it, precisely, that you’re looking for?’ asked Hildigunnur, once she and her visitor had sat down.

‘We don’t really know, that’s the thing,’ said Elinborg. ‘The description’s rather vague, and our witness isn’t awfully reliable, to tell the truth. More’s the pity.’

‘But your witness said she may have seen metal rods, isn’t that right?’

‘What she actually said was that she had seen an “aerial” but I think she might have meant some sort of brace, maybe metal, which was fixed to the man’s leg. He was wearing jogging trousers, with the leg open up to the knee.’

‘Was he wearing orthopaedic shoes? Was it that kind of limp?’

‘Possibly. We don’t know.’

‘If the person has a physical disability, I’m thinking it could perhaps be a club foot. Special shoe attachments are used for that. Another possibility is a degenerative disease leading the muscles to atrophy. Or he could have undergone surgery, possibly an arthrodesis.’

The last word meant nothing to Elinborg.

‘Perhaps you’re talking about a full-length leg brace?’ Hildigunnur suggested.

Elinborg looked at her. ‘Sounds about right,’ she said.

‘And of course it could just be a fracture,’ Hildigunnur pointed out, with a smile.

‘We’ve checked that angle,’ said Elinborg, ‘but we came up with nothing useful. We’ve examined reports of broken legs and other leg injuries going back several weeks, but no joy there.’

‘Well, let’s go on brainstorming. Leg deformities - caused by polio, for instance - are a known phenomenon here in Iceland. The brace was only on one leg, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes, so far as we can tell.’

‘Do you know how old he is?’

‘Not exactly, unfortunately.’

‘The last polio epidemic here was in 1955 and an immunisation programme started the following year. After that the disease was eliminated.’

‘So if it does relate to polio, then he’s over fifty?’

‘Yes, but then there’s also the Akureyri Disease, as it’s called.’

‘Akureyri Disease?’

‘It was an infectious disease that had various polio-like symptoms. It was believed to be a variant of polio. The first case was diagnosed up north near Akureyri in 1948. If I remember correctly, about seven per cent of the population of the town fell ill, including some of the boarding students at Akureyri High School. But I don’t think it caused permanent physical handicaps. I may be wrong about that, though.’

‘Are there any files about patients who got polio, for instance?’

‘I’m sure there must be. A lot of them were sent to the Isolation Clinic in Reykjavik. You could get in touch with the Ministry of Health - they may still have records.’

Elinborg did not make it home for dinner. She rang Teddi to say she did not know when she would be back. He was used to these calls, and simply told her to take care. They spoke briefly. Elinborg asked him to make sure that Theodora took her knitting to school in the morning. She was supposed to knit fifteen rows for the class, but Theodora detested all handiwork lessons at school, whether needlework or carpentry. Her current project, a woolly hat, had largely been knitted by her mother.

Elinborg rang off and put her mobile in her pocket, then pressed the doorbell. She heard it ringing inside. A long time passed, and nothing happened. She rang again and heard a rustling before the door was finally opened by a dishevelled woman in a white dressing gown.

‘Good evening,’ said Elinborg. ‘Is Valur in?’

‘Who are you?’

‘I’m from the police. My name’s Elinborg, I spoke to him a couple of days ago.’

The woman looked Elinborg up and down, then called out to Valur that someone wanted to see him.

‘Does he sell from here?’ asked Elinborg bluntly.

The woman looked at her as if she did not understand the question.

Valur appeared. ‘You again?’ he remarked.

‘Would you mind coming for a short ride in the car with me?’ asked Elinborg.

‘Who is this?’ the woman asked.

‘It’s nothing,’ replied Valur. ‘Go inside - I’ll deal with it.’

‘Oh, yeah, you deal with everything!’ she sneered and went back into the flat, where a baby could be heard crying.

‘Why don’t you leave me alone?’ said Valur. ‘Are you on your own? Where’s that wanker who was with you before?’

‘This won’t take long,’ said Elinborg. She hoped she hadn’t woken the baby by ringing the doorbell. ‘Just a quick drive, that’s all.’

‘What drive? What’s this fucking bullshit?’

‘You’ll see. You could earn some brownie points. I expect someone like you needs them.’

‘I don’t work for you,’ said Valur.

‘Really? I’ve heard that you do, actually. I’m told you can be quite cooperative, despite giving me such a rude reception. My friend on the Drug Squad says you tell them all sorts about other dealers. He said if I mentioned it you might be less bloody-minded. Or I can go and get him, and all three of us can go together. But I’d rather not disturb him unless it’s absolutely necessary. He’s a family man, like you.’

Valur gave the matter some thought. ‘What do you want me to do?’ he said.

Elinborg waited for Valur in the car, and when at last he came out she drove him to Edvard’s small house. On the way she explained what was expected of him. It was an easy task - all that was required was that he should tell the truth. She did not want to summon Edvard down to the station and have him identified by Valur as the man who had bought Rohypnol, using Runolfur’s name. She did not want to tip Edvard off and make him anxious and agitated, but she did need confirmation that it was he who had bought the drug from Valur. She had had another talk with her friend on the Drug Squad, who admitted after a little persuasion that the Squad occasionally found that its interests coincided with Valur’s. Both he and Elinborg were eager to reduce the number of dealers on the streets of Reykjavik, although for different reasons. Elinborg’s colleague resolutely denied that the Squad was turning a blind eye to Valur’s little ways. That was out of the question.

‘But you know he’s selling date-rape drugs,’ Elinborg said.

‘That was news to us.’

‘Come on. You know all there is to know about this guy.’

‘He’s not selling any more, we know that. But he’s still well connected in the business. We have to weigh up the benefits. It’s not cut and dried - you should know that as well as I do.’

Elinborg pulled up near Edvard’s home and switched off the engine. Valur was in the passenger seat.

‘Have you been here before?’ she asked.

‘No,’ replied Valur. ‘Can we get this over with?’

‘The man who called himself Runolfur lives here. I need you to confirm that we’re talking about the same person. I’m going to get him to come to the door. It should be easy for you to see whether you recognise him.’

‘Then can we get the fuck out of here?’

Elinborg walked over to the house and knocked at the door. The glow of a television was visible through the threadbare curtains. She had noticed them when she had called on Edvard with Sigurdur Oli. They had once been white, no doubt, but now they were brown with years of accumulated filth. She knocked again, harder, and waited patiently for a response. Edvard’s wreck of a car was parked outside, as before.

Finally the door opened, revealing Edvard.

‘Hello again,’ said Elinborg. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you. I’m afraid I might have left my bag here when I was here yesterday. It’s a leather satchel, a sort of handbag, brown?’

‘Your bag?’ asked Edvard in astonishment.