Outrage (24 page)

‘I’m talking about premeditated murder,’ said Elinborg. ‘I’m saying your daughter went there with the express intention of killing Runolfur. I want to find out why. What was her motive? Who did she get to be her accomplice?’

‘I have never heard such a load of nonsense,’ said Konrad. ‘Surely you don’t mean that seriously?’

‘Runolfur didn’t just lie down and die,’ said Elinborg. ‘We can also consider the events from a different viewpoint. We haven’t disclosed the fact that Runolfur himself had ingested Rohypnol shortly before he died. And I don’t think he took it of his own accord. Someone must have compelled him. Or slipped it to him, just as he drugged your daughter.’

‘He took the stuff himself?’

‘We found traces in his mouth. He took a considerable quantity. That puts a different light on the story you and your daughter are telling, don’t you think?’

‘What are you getting at?’

‘Someone forced him to swallow the pills.’

‘Not me.’

‘If your daughter’s telling the truth, I can’t see how she would have been able to do it. And there aren’t a lot of other candidates. I think you took revenge for his rape of your daughter. To me it looks like a classic payback killing. Nina managed to phone you and ask for help. You hurried over to Thingholt, and she opened the door for you. Perhaps Runolfur was asleep by then. When you saw what had happened, what he had done to her, you went wild. You gave him a taste of his own medicine, and then you slashed his throat - in front of your daughter.’

‘That’s ridiculous. It wasn’t me!’ Konrad exclaimed.

‘So who was it?’

‘It wasn’t me, and it wasn’t Nina,’ he said. ‘I know she could never hurt anyone. She’s simply not like that - even if he’d drugged her and she wasn’t herself.’

‘You shouldn’t underestimate what people will do in self-defence.’

‘She didn’t do it.’

‘Well,
someone
made him swallow the pills.’

‘Then it must have been someone else. Some other person there, in the flat with them.’ Konrad leaned forward over the table between Elinborg and him. ‘Nina couldn’t do it. And I didn’t do it, I know that. So there’s only one other possibility. There must have been someone else there with Runolfur. Someone other than my daughter!’

25

The idea that a third person could have been present at Runolfur’s place was not new to the police. Elinborg had twice questioned Edvard about his whereabouts on the night of Runolfur’s death and he gave the same answer both times: he had been alone at home watching television. His story could not be corroborated. It was not impossible that Edvard was lying, but the police were not aware of any motive for him to have killed his friend. And Elinborg’s assessment of him was that he would hardly have been capable of such a drastic act. Her theory that he was involved in Lilja’s disappearance was tenuous: there was no evidence that he had given the girl a lift to town, and even if he had that was not proof of anything. He could claim to have dropped her off anywhere, after which she had disappeared. Yet Elinborg could not let go of Edvard.

She spent the day questioning Nina and Konrad, whose accounts remained unchanged throughout repeated interviews. Nina was more convinced than ever that she must be responsible for Runolfur’s death; she almost seemed to hope that she had done it. Konrad, on the other hand, was tending in the opposite direction; he felt that his daughter was fundamentally incapable of the deed, and he steadfastly denied having killed Runolfur himself. No test could now confirm whether Nina had been drugged and had therefore been physically incapacitated. The police had only her word for it, that she had no memory of the events. It was entirely possible that she had been fully conscious the whole time.

And then there was the matter of Runolfur. He could hardly have taken the Rohypnol voluntarily. Someone must have compelled him - someone who wanted payback. Was it possible that Nina had forced the drug down his throat? So many questions remained unanswered. To Elinborg’s way of thinking, Konrad and Nina were the most likely suspects. Nina had not confessed directly but Elinborg was expecting to elicit a full confession before long, after which she thought the father and daughter would tell her where the murder weapon was. Not that she was pleased about it. Runolfur had dragged down good people to flounder in the filth of his unsavoury world.

Later that afternoon Elinborg parked, yet again, some distance from Edvard’s house to observe what went on there. His car was parked in its usual place. Elinborg had checked the website of the college he taught at and had found his timetable: he generally finished around three o’clock. She was not sure what she expected to gain by keeping an eye on Edvard. Perhaps her sympathy for Konrad and his daughter was making her a little biased and unduly keen to exonerate them.

From where she sat Elinborg could see the dry dock of the old harbour, soon to make way for new residential developments on the former dockside. History would be erased at a stroke. She thought of Erlendur, who clung to the old ways. She did not always agree with him - after all, progress demanded space. Erlendur had ranted on about one particular building, the Grondal House, which was to be moved from its location in the old town to the open-air museum on the outskirts of the city. Why, he had fumed, shouldn’t it stay where it was, in the heart of the old town where it belonged, in the context of its history? The building was important, he said, bearing the name of the nineteenth-century writer Benedikt Grondal who had written his autobiography - Erlendur’s favourite book - under that very roof. The Grondal House was one of only a handful of nineteenth-century buildings remaining in Reykjavik: ‘And so they’re going to uproot it,’ Erlendur had grumbled, ‘and dump it in the middle of nowhere!’

Elinborg had been sitting in the car for nearly two hours when at last the door opened, and Edvard emerged and drove off. She followed him. He made his way first to a cut-price supermarket, after which he called at a laundry and then at a video-rental shop that was closing down. On the front of the shop was a sign: EVERYTHING MUST GO. CLOSING-DOWN SALE. Edvard spent a long time inside before reappearing loaded down with videos, which he put in the boot of his car. He stood outside for a long time talking to the owner before driving off.

His next port of call was a telephone company - the same one that had employed Runolfur. Through the window Elinborg watched Edvard examining mobile phones. A shop assistant came over to him and they discussed the phones at length, until Edvard made his selection and bought one. He drove back towards his home, stopping on the way at a burger joint. He took his time over his meal and Elinborg almost decided to abandon her surveillance. She did not know what she expected to find out; she was probably tailing an innocent man.

She rang home, and Theodora answered. They spoke briefly. Theodora had brought two friends home from school and did not have time to chat with her mum. Teddi was not home yet, and Theodora had no idea where her brothers were.

Edvard finished eating and returned to his car. Elinborg said goodbye to her daughter and followed him again. He was heading westwards towards his home, along by the old harbour. At the old dry dock he slowed down and pulled over to park with his wheels up on the pavement. He seemed to be looking out over the dry dock and across the bay to Mount Esja. Elinborg was in a quandary. She could not pull in behind him so she went on and stopped in the next car park, where she waited until Edvard drove slowly past towards his home.

Elinborg parked in her usual spot and switched off the engine. Edvard carried his clean laundry, groceries and videos inside, and shut the door behind him. It was evening now and Elinborg felt guilty about neglecting her family, who these days were surviving mostly on takeaways provided by Teddi. She resolved that she must give more priority to her home life; she must be there for Theodora and the boys, and make time for Teddi, who tended to spend his evenings in front of the television. He claimed to watch mostly documentaries, wildlife programmes especially, but that was rubbish. She had often come home to find him absorbed in mindless drivel such as American reality TV - weddings, models or castaways, it was all the same. Those were Teddi’s new ‘wildlife documentaries’.

Elinborg saw one of Edvard’s neighbours come out and open his garage door. Inside was an old car, which he set to waxing and polishing. It was a classic car, unfamiliar to Elinborg: a large, flashy vehicle dating from the 1950s, with baby-blue bodywork, shiny chrome fittings, and tall, dramatic fins at the rear. Teddi adored that kind of car, especially Cadillacs: Caddies, he said, were the best cars ever made. Elinborg had no idea whether this was a Cadillac, but she knew exactly how to strike up a conversation with the owner. She got out of her car and walked over to him.

‘Good evening,’ she said as she looked in at the garage door. The owner of the car looked up from what he was doing and returned her greeting. He was fiftyish, with a friendly, cherubic face.

‘Is this your car?’ asked Elinborg.

‘Yes,’ replied the man. ‘Yes, it’s mine.’

‘It’s a Cadillac, isn’t it?’

‘No, actually it’s a Chrysler New Yorker, ‘59 model. I got it sent over from America a few years back.’

‘Oh, a Chrysler?’ responded Elinborg. ‘Is it in pretty good nick?’

‘It’s in very good condition,’ the man replied. ‘It doesn’t need any work, just a bit of spit and polish now and then. Do you like classic cars? You don’t meet a lot of women who are interested.’

‘No, not exactly. It’s my husband who loves them. He’s a motor mechanic and he had a car like this once, but he sold it in the end. He’d like this one.’

‘Oh, well, send him over to see me, by all means,’ the man said. ‘I’ll take him out for a spin.’

‘Have you lived here long?’ enquired Elinborg.

‘Since my wife and I were married. Must be about twenty-five years now. I like to be near the sea. We often go for a walk along the shore here, around by the harbour.’

‘I hear it’s all going to be cleared for new construction at the old dock. What do the locals feel about that?’

‘I’m not happy,’ said the man. ‘I don’t know about anyone else. I feel we shouldn’t always be chucking out our history, and the traditional ways of life and work. It’s not as if we’ve got much left: all the businesses that used to be down by the harbour are forgotten now. And the dry dock will go next.’

‘I don’t suppose your neighbours are pleased.’

‘No, probably not.’

‘Do you know them well?’

‘Reasonably.’

‘I was passing through and thought I recognised the man in the yellow house over there, the one with the alder tree growing over it. Do you happen to know his name?’

‘Do you mean Edvard?’ asked the man.

‘Yes, Edvard, that’s right!’ exclaimed Elinborg, as if she had been racking her brains. ‘That’s him. I used to work with him,’ she said. ‘Is he still teaching, or …?’

‘Yes, he’s a teacher. At one of the secondary colleges - I don’t remember which one.’

‘We used to teach together at Hamrahlid High School,’ Elinborg said. She felt bad about lying to her new acquaintance but she was reluctant to admit she was a police officer. The word would spread quickly through the neighbourhood and soon get back to Edvard himself.

‘Right,’ said the man. ‘I don’t see much of him. He keeps himself to himself, and you hardly notice him.’

‘I know. He’s a bit of a mystery. Has he lived here long?’

‘I think he moved in about ten years ago. He was still a student back then.’

‘But he could afford to buy a house?’

‘I wouldn’t know anything about that,’ the man said. ‘But I think he used to have a lodger for a while, a few years ago. Maybe that helped towards the mortgage.’

‘Yes, I remember him mentioning that,’ Elinborg lied. ‘Didn’t he teach in Akranes at one time?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘Did he drive up there every day?’

‘Yes, he did. He had the same car he’s driving now. It’s pretty decrepit. As I say, I don’t know Edvard very well even though we’re neighbours. He’s more of an acquaintance, really. I don’t know much about him.’

‘Is he still single?’ asked Elinborg, trying to feel her way forward.

‘Oh, yes. Edvard doesn’t seem to have much to do with women. Not that I’ve noticed, at any rate.’

‘He was certainly no party animal when I knew him.’

‘That hasn’t changed, then. I never see anyone at the house at weekends,’ said the man, with a smile. ‘Or at all. He’s pretty much a loner.’

‘Good luck with the Chrysler,’ said Elinborg. ‘She’s a beauty.’

‘Yes,’ the man replied. ‘She’s a real humdinger.’

As Elinborg was pulling up outside her home, her mobile rang. She turned the engine off and glanced at the screen. She did not recognise the number and was in two minds about answering. It had been a tiring day and she longed for a few hours of peace and quiet at home. She looked at the number, trying to place it. The children sometimes used her phone, and occasionally one of their friends would ring her number by accident. The ringing was irritating but she was reluctant to turn it off. She decided to answer.

‘Good evening,’ said a woman’s voice. ‘Is that Elinborg?’

‘Yes, I’m Elinborg,’ she snapped.

‘I’m sorry to call so late.’

‘That’s all right. Who is this?’

‘We haven’t met,’ said the woman. ‘I’m a bit worried, although I probably shouldn’t be. He can look after himself, and he likes to be alone.’

‘Excuse me, who is speaking?’

‘My name is Valgerdur,’ the woman replied. ‘I don’t think we’ve spoken before.’

‘Valgerdur?’

‘I’m a friend of your colleague Erlendur. I’ve tried to contact Sigurdur Oli but he’s not answering.’

‘No,’ said Elinborg. ‘He won’t pick up if he doesn’t recognise the number. Are you all right?’

‘Yes, thank you. I just wanted to find out if Erlendur has been in touch with either of you. He’s gone to the East Fjords and I haven’t heard from him.’

‘No, I haven’t either,’ said Elinborg. ‘How long is it since he went to the east?’

‘Nearly two weeks now. He’d been working on a difficult case, which I think he found very distressing. I’m a bit worried about him.’