Outrage (29 page)

‘Did you know I’d return?’

‘I wasn’t surprised. I expected you. And I’ve been waiting.’

‘Please tell me what’s worrying you. I can see there’s something you want to tell me.’

‘I saw that you called on Kristjana.’

‘You villagers don’t miss much.’

‘I wasn’t spying on you. I just noticed. She knows all about what happened. Did she tell you?’

‘What
did
happen?’

‘Everyone knows about it.’

‘About what? And who are you? What’s your name, for a start?’

‘My name’s Vala.’

‘Why all this pussyfooting around, Vala?’

‘I think most people here know what happened, but they’ll never say. And I don’t want to tell, either - I don’t want to get him in trouble. So … I don’t know whether I even ought to be talking to you at all. It’s just that the silence is unbearable. I can’t take it any more.’

‘Why don’t you tell me everything? Then we’ll see. What are you scared of?’

‘No one here talks about it,’ said Vala, ‘and I don’t want to get anyone into trouble.’

‘About what? Get who into trouble?’

‘Everyone keeps their mouth shut and pretends nothing happened - that nothing ever happens here. That everything in the garden’s rosy.’

‘And isn’t it?’

‘No, it isn’t.’

‘So what is it like? Why did you bring me down here last night?’

The girl made no reply.

‘What do you want me to do?’ asked Elinborg.

‘I’m no snitch. I don’t want to tell tales about people. And I don’t want to speak ill of the dead.’

‘No one needs to know what we talk about,’ Elinborg assured her.

Suddenly, Vala changed tack. ‘Have you been in the police for long?’

‘Yes, quite a long time.’

‘It must be a horrible job.’

‘No. Sometimes it is, like when you’re sent to a secretive little place like this. But there are better days. For instance, when I meet a girl like you and I think I can do something for her. Who was it that died who you don’t want to tell tales about?’

‘I never finished secondary school,’ the girl said, evading the question. ‘Maybe I’ll go back and get my qualifications one day, and go to university. I’d like to study something.’

‘Who was Adalheidur?’ asked Elinborg, indicating the simple white cross on the grave.

‘I was just a little girl when it happened.’

‘When what happened?’

‘I was probably about eight at the time, but I never heard anything about it until I was twelve or thirteen. There were all sorts of rumours floating around and I remember they seemed very sad but exciting too, in a weird way. They said she’d gone mad. She was supposed to have got some illness, some mental thing. She only worked part-time, and cooked and cleaned for her brother. She was mysterious, kept herself to herself. She didn’t speak to people, cut herself off from what went on in the village, lost touch with everything and everyone. She had almost no contact with anyone but her brother. He took wonderful care of her after she got ill. Or I thought she was ill, anyway. That’s what they said, when I was a little girl. They said poor Addy wasn’t well. She seemed like a grown woman to me - she was twelve years older. Her birthday’s nearly the same as mine - there’s five days’ difference. She was the same age I am now when it happened.’

‘Did you know her at all?’

‘Yes, we worked together at the fish factory. She was a lot older, of course, like I said, and not easy to get to know - reserved. I was told she’d always been that way, slightly odd. She’d been a loner who kept out of other people’s way, and they left her alone, too. They said she’d been fragile and sensitive. Not someone you would notice. That made her easy prey, I suppose.’

Vala took a deep breath. Elinborg sensed the girl’s distress. ‘Then, when I was older, I heard other things about Addy and what had been done to her. Some people found out about it but said nothing. Maybe they found it hard to believe. Or embarrassing. Or shameful. It took years before the whole village knew. I think everyone is aware of the truth now. I’ve no idea how the rumours started, because Addy herself never said a word. She never made any accusation. Maybe he boasted about it when he was drinking. Maybe he was proud of what he did. I doubt that he had any regrets, somehow.’

Vala fell silent. Elinborg waited patiently for her to continue.

‘Addy never told anyone the truth. Except her brother, probably, in the end. I think he must have heard the rumours by then, too. She was living with a shame of her own making. I’ve read a lot about women like her. Most of them, if not all, need special therapy. Apparently they blame themselves. They live with their anger and cut themselves off.’

‘What happened?’

‘He raped Addy.’ Vala gazed at the cross. ‘The word spread gradually that she’d been raped, and who the man was, but she never said anything and no one was ever charged. No one was tried. And no one lifted a finger to help her,’ said Vala.

‘Who did it?’ asked Elinborg. ‘
Who
raped her?’

‘I’m sure Kristjana knows about it. Knows perfectly well what her son did. She lives in a state of denial. She has a rough time here. The kids make fun of her, break her windows.’

‘You’re talking about Runolfur?’

‘Yes. He raped Addy - and she never got over it. They found her in the sea down here, just below the churchyard. She’d floated down here, to her place of rest.’

‘What about Runolfur?’

‘Everyone here knows who killed him.’

Elinborg gazed at Vala for a long time. In her mind she saw an elderly man swerve over calmly into the oncoming traffic - and smile at the heavy lorry bearing down on him.

32

Back at the guest house Elinborg did a few hours’ work in her room, which she had converted into an ad hoc office. She made a number of phone calls to Reykjavik to gather more information. She spoke to Sigurdur Oli and they planned their next move. Police officers would be sent to the village but it would take time for them to reach her. Sigurdur Oli urged Elinborg to take no further action until backup was in place. She told him not to worry. Konrad and Nina were still in custody, and Elinborg was not surprised to learn that Konrad had changed his story once again: he now denied killing Runolfur and maintained that his daughter Nina was also innocent.

Darkness was falling when Elinborg left the guest house, crossed the main road and walked down towards the harbour - the same route she had taken on her first visit. The garage was at the northern end of the village and she headed in that direction. She thought about the snow that was forecast, and hoped she would not be snowed in here. She looked up at the sign over the door; now she knew for certain that a shotgun had once been fired at it. Vala had told her that years ago, when he was still drinking, Valdimar had taken a potshot at his own sign.

Elinborg stepped into the reception area. Everything was as before, and Elinborg reflected that it had probably not changed since the day when the garage had opened for business. On the wall behind the counter hung a pin-up calendar displaying a photo of a scantily clad girl. It showed the year 1998. Days, weeks, years had no meaning here. Time seemed to stand still. Everything in sight - the counter, the old leather armchair, the desktop calculator, the order book - was coated in a thin layer of sooty grime from engines, spares parts, lubricants and tyres.

Elinborg called into the garage, but received no answer. She advanced cautiously into the workshop, where the Ferguson tractor stood in exactly the same place. As on Elinborg’s last visit, there were no other vehicles inside. Against the wall were two open tool-lockers.

‘I heard you were back,’ said a voice.

Slowly, Elinborg turned around. ‘You must have been expecting me,’ she said.

Valdimar was standing behind her, wearing a checked shirt and ragged jeans. In his hand he held a set of overalls, which he started to put on. ‘So you’re on your own, are you?’ he asked.

Valdimar must have been well aware that Elinborg was alone. Yet there was no veiled threat in his question, which seemed calculated to engender trust rather than fear.

‘Yes,’ replied Elinborg without hesitation. As he slipped the overalls over his shoulders and pushed his arms through the sleeves, Valdimar reminded her of her husband Teddi.

‘I live up above,’ explained Valdimar, pointing at the ceiling. ‘I didn’t have much work on, so I took a nap. What time is it?’

Elinborg told him the time. She did not feel at any risk. Valdimar was calm and polite.

‘So you don’t have far to go to work,’ she said, smiling.

‘It’s convenient,’ replied Valdimar.

‘I’ve been down at the churchyard,’ Elinborg told him. ‘I saw your sister’s grave. I gather she committed suicide two years ago?’

‘Have you ever lived in a little place like this?’ asked Valdimar. He moved closer to Elinborg, cornering her against one of the tool lockers.

‘No, I never have.’

‘They can be weird.’

‘I imagine they can.’

‘Outsiders like you can never really understand what it’s like.’

‘No, I don’t suppose we can.’

‘I hardly understand some of it myself - and I live here. Even if I explained it to you, it would only be a fraction of the truth. And that fraction of the truth would be seen as a lie by Haddi down at the filling station, for instance. Even if you spoke to every single person - and spent twenty years doing it - you’d never get more than a tiny glimpse of what it’s like to live in one of these villages. How people think. The relationships within the community. The ancient bonds that link people. And keep them apart. I’ve lived here all my life, and there’s still so much I don’t understand. But this is my home. Even though your friends may suddenly turn into your worst enemies. And people keep their secrets, to the grave and beyond.’

‘I’m not sure …’

‘You’ve no idea what I’m talking about, have you?’

‘I believe I know some of what happened.’

‘They know you’re with me,’ said Valdimar. ‘They know why you came back. They know you came here to talk to me. They all know what I did, but they don’t say anything. No one says a word. Not bad, is it?’

Elinborg said nothing.

‘Addy was my half-sister, four years older than me. We were close. I’ve never met my father - I don’t know who he is, and I don’t care to know. My sister’s father was some Norwegian seaman who stopped here just long enough to knock our mum up. They didn’t think much of my mum, here in the village. It took a long time before I realised that she was a pariah. You find out, bit by bit, because you get teased. Otherwise you’d never be any the wiser. She was a good mother to us, and we never had anything to complain about - even if we had the odd visit by a social worker, some strange caller carrying a briefcase, not like anyone else, who looked my sister and me over and asked stupid questions. They never found anything wrong - because, although she had her problems, my mother was a fine woman. She worked her fingers to the bone at the fish factory, and although we were poor we never went without. My mum, with her two little bastards - that was what we were called - was known by a certain name in the village. I shan’t tell you what. I got into three bad fights about that - got my arm broken once. Then she died, and was at peace. She’s lying in the churchyard, next to her daughter.’

‘Your sister didn’t go so peacefully,’ said Elinborg.

‘Who have you been talking to?’

‘That’s not important.’

‘There are good people here, too. Don’t get me wrong.’

‘I know that,’ said Elinborg.

‘Addy didn’t tell me anything. Not until it was too late,’ said Valdimar, his features hardening. He grasped a large spanner that lay on the front tyre of the tractor and swung it in his hand. ‘It’s one of those things that happen. She closed up. She was alone when he attacked her. We were short of money, so I got work on a freezer-trawler, and I was out at sea for weeks at a time. I’d just gone when it happened.’

Valdimar fell silent. Hunched forward, he tapped the spanner gently against his other hand. ‘She never told me anything. Never told anyone. But when I got back she was like a different person. She’d changed in some unfathomable way. She wouldn’t let me near her. I didn’t know what was happening - I was just a sixteen-year-old kid, after all. She hardly left the house, locked herself away, wouldn’t meet her two best friends. I wanted her to go to the doctor, but she wouldn’t. She asked me to leave her alone - said she’d get over it. She wouldn’t say over what. And she did make a partial recovery. It took a year or two. But she was never the same again: she was always frightened. Sometimes she would fly into a rage for no apparent reason. Other times she just sat and cried. She was depressed and anxious. I’ve read about it since - she was a textbook case.’

‘What happened?’

‘She was raped by a man from the village, in a quite horrible way. She couldn’t bring herself to tell me, or anyone else, exactly what he did to her.’

‘Was it Runolfur?’

‘Yes. There was a dance in the village. He tricked Addy into going with him down to the river near the community centre. She had no reason to suspect anything - she knew him well. They’d been classmates right through school. I’m sure he thought of her as easy meat. When he was done, he went back to the dance, carried on having a good time as if nothing had happened. But he dropped a hint of what he’d done to one of his friends, and that was how it spread gradually around the community. Except for me. I never heard a word.’

‘So that’s where it began,’ Elinborg murmured, as if to herself.

‘Have you found out about any other women he raped?’ Valdimar asked.

‘The woman we’ve got in custody. No one else has come forward.’

‘Maybe there are more like Addy,’ said Valdimar. ‘He threatened to kill her if she spoke out.’ Valdimar stopped knocking the spanner against his hand, looked up and met Elinborg’s stare. ‘All those years, she was a broken woman. However much time passed, it made no difference.’

‘I believe that,’ said Elinborg.

‘And when she was finally able to confide in me it was too late for her.’