Snowblind (17 page)

Nobody said a word.

‘Well, now. We meet here on Thursday. That will be the final rehearsal. Any questions?’

There was a moment’s silence again, before Anna stood up and spoke in a low voice that was clear enough to be heard throughout the auditorium.

‘I saw a report that Hrólfur might have been … murdered.’

Úlfur jerked in alarm and he shook his head sharply, muttering under his breath. But then he raised his voice so it filled the hall. ‘Stupid! Damned stupid! Isn’t this just some wicked gossip? Speculation?’ he shouted. ‘There’s all kinds of idle talk when someone well known passes away under unusual circumstances.’ He took out a handkerchief and mopped his forehead. ‘Shall we call this meeting to an end? Let’s all be on our way home before we’re literally snowed in.’

Anna’s phone rang. It was a number she didn’t recognise but she answered it. ‘Yes … I’ll be home shortly,’ she said. ‘You know the address? That’s right. I live in the basement.’

She could feel the sweat start to rise on her skin. Her fingertips were suddenly damp. The police.

Had they found out about the affair?

If not, maybe she ought to use the opportunity to ask them about Karl? She had to be sure of him. Should she mention the life insurance? That could cause him problems, but only if he was guilty.

She knew she had to be sure.

The weight of snow on the road was almost too much for the little police 4×4 to cope with. Maybe it would have been more sensible to stay at home and become gradually cocooned as the drifts piled up. The houses all looked the same through the falling snow: shadowy detached buildings hidden in the swirling snowflakes driven by the northery gale. Having parked the car once, only to find it was outside the wrong house, Ari Thór finally found the right one. It looked spacious, a two-storey dwelling with a basement and a double garage.

There was no mistaking Anna’s nervousness when he arrived. She shook his hand, her palm sweaty and her eyes darting from side to side, avoiding his gaze as she tried to muster a smile. Ari Thór watched her carefully.

The basement flat was dark, with every curtain drawn.

‘Best to keep them closed,’ Ari Thór said to break the ice. ‘There’s no need to watch all that snow piling up.’

She laughed awkwardly.

‘Well … Actually, I love the snow. I could sit by the window and watch it all day. I just wish I was still eight years old and could go and sled down the slopes.’

‘Of course,’ he said, wishing he could feel as positive.

They sat at the kitchen table, which presumably doubled as the dining table, a potted plant that he didn’t recognise stood in the middle of its dark wood surface.

‘This won’t take long,’ said Ari Thór. ‘I just need to ask a few questions about Hrólfur.’

She sat in silence.

‘It has been rumoured that Hrólfur may have come across something that, well, he’d have been better off not knowing about.’

She looked at him apprehensively.

‘Do you have the feeling that there might be something behind this? Is there anyone in the company who might have something to hide?’

Her eyes immediately gave her away, but he could see she was trying to remain calm.

‘Nothing that I am aware of,’ she said nervously.

‘You’re sure?’ He looked hard at her as she dropped her eyes, wringing her hands.

‘I’m completely sure.’ She put one hand on the table and lifted it again, leaving a damp palm print behind. ‘Completely sure,’ she repeated, and tried discreetly to mop her forehead with her sleeve.

‘Do you think someone could have pushed him? Was there anyone who might have wanted to get rid of the old man?’ Now his voice was sterner; her discomfort had succeeded in making him almost uncomfortable. ‘Some secret that mustn’t become public knowledge, whatever the price?’

She stood up. ‘I’m sorry. I need a glass of water.’ At the sink she turned on the tap before answering. ‘There’s nothing I can think of.’

‘You got on well, did you, you and Hrólfur?’

‘Yes, of course.’

Ari Thór had a suspicion where Anna’s sensitive spot might lie and aimed for it.

‘Do you have the lead in the production you’re rehearsing now?’

‘No.’

It was a short, sharp answer.

‘Really? … The out-of-town girl got the part instead of you?’

‘You mean Ugla?’

‘Yes, exactly. Ugla.’ Ari Thór waited for her to sit down again.

She clasped the glass of water between her hands.

‘Was that Hrólfur’s decision?’

‘Yes … I mean, it was probably a joint decision, between him and Úlfur.’

‘Surely you weren’t happy with that?’

She continued to hold the glass tight. ‘No.’

Ari Thór was silent, waiting.

‘No,’ she repeated. ‘It was very unfair. She didn’t deserve it. But Hrólfur had a great fondness for her.’

‘In what way?’

Ari Thór could breathe a sigh of relief that not
everything
became public knowledge in this small town. News of his friendship with Ugla had clearly not reached Anna.

‘She rented his flat. I think he had almost started to treat her as his own child.’

‘Didn’t he have children of his own?’

Anna looked perplexed. ‘No, I thought you knew that.’

Ari Thór steered the topic back to its former course.

Strike while the iron’s hot.

‘So it could be argued that your position is better now that he’s gone?’

‘What do you mean? Do you think I pushed him?’

Instead of becoming angry, she was more obviously unsure of herself.

‘Not at all.’

Ari Thór longed to ask her straight out if she had done it, but held back. He mustn’t let his own temper lead him into a mistake. He also had to admit it was highly unlikely that a young woman would have pushed an old man down the stairs simply to get a part in an amateur production in a small town. On the other hand, she obviously had something to hide. The question was whether or not it was something to do with Hrólfur’s decision not to cast her in the lead role? Was this something she was trying to avoid discussing? Or was there something else, some other secret that she was hiding?

At last she took her first sip of water.

Ari Thór would probably have accepted a glass if it had been offered. The little flat was hot, with every window closed.

He noticed that she had changed her clothes since the funeral; not that he remembered what she had been wearing, but it certainly wasn’t the red wool sweater and the black tracksuit bottoms she was wearing now. Ari Thór was stuck in his black suit, like being caught in the grip of a nightmare.

He had asked enough aggressive questions. Now it was time to reduce the tension and hope that she would let something slip.

‘Are you working – or studying perhaps?’

‘Working. I finished university in Reykjavík.’

‘Haven’t I seen you in the Co-op?’ he asked in an amiable tone.

‘That’s right. I work there, and at the hospital.’

‘So you must know Linda?’

‘We work together. How is she?’

Her question seemed to be sincere, he thought. ‘No change, I’m afraid.’

‘Do you have any idea who might have attacked her?’

‘The case is under investigation,’ Ari Thór answered shortly.

‘Did he do it? Karl?’

‘No, he’s in the clear.’

‘Really? You’re sure?’

Ari Thór wondered whether the question stemmed only from straightforward curiosity.

‘Yes. The indications are that he was elsewhere at the time. Why do you ask?’

‘Well, no reason, really. I was just wondering about … about the insurance.’

‘Insurance?’

‘Yes. But that’s all right if he’s innocent.’

‘What insurance are you talking about?’ he repeated, trying not to let his interest show.

‘There was a salesman who was up at the hospital in the summer. We all bought life insurance.’

‘Including Linda?’

She nodded.

‘You know who the beneficiary is … if she dies?’

‘Yes, of course. Karl, obviously. Linda and I talked about it when we decided to go for it.’

‘And Karl knows about this?’ Perhaps she wasn’t the right person to ask, but he posed the question all the same.

‘I haven’t a clue,’ she said, with more animation than the question warranted.

‘A large amount?’

‘A few million, I think.’

This case was constantly taking new directions, and again the spotlight had shifted to Karl, the man who seemed to have the perfect alibi.
Damn it.

Ari Thór stood up. ‘Thanks for your time, Anna.’

‘Yes … sure.’ She seemed slightly nervous again.

‘I’ll see you around.’

He was struggling not to show his excitement at the new information.

Winter greeted him again at the door. Winter in all its majesty, if that was the right word.

The freezing darkness swallowed him up.

The snow had continued to fall through Saturday evening and far into the night. After dozing fitfully for a few hours Ari Thór finally managed to get to sleep. The weather was affecting him badly. Usually he was able to read before turning in, but now he couldn’t focus, thinking only of the darkness closing in on him. He had tried to listen to classical music to drown out the deafening silence of the incessant snowfall, but it was as if the music magnified the gloom.

Night after night, his dreams dragged him into dark and treacherous places where he struggled to breathe, held under by an unknown force that could only have come from within. He would be training at the pool, practising diving, with a mask on his face – swimming deeper and deeper until he reached the bottom, where he looked up and enjoyed the moment. When it was time to push upwards he felt as if his feet were stuck fast to the bottom of the pool, trapped and as heavy as lead; he watched other swimmers break through the surface, while he stayed down below, unable to move. And so it continued. Yet again Ari Thór awoke, suffocated and crushed, the sensation of drowning unbearably real, as if his lungs were actually filling with water. As fear gripped him, and paralysed by sleep, he stretched out a hand for someone – Kristín, maybe, some kind of warmth.

Once again, it was impossible to return to sleep – sleep that became less restful as the dreams became increasingly relentless, like the blizzard outside his windows. To make matters worse, his injured shoulder still caused him considerable pain. He was on his feet very early on his day off, despite his intention to catch up on some sleep, shake
off the debilitating exhaustion and relax after a tough week. Peering out the kitchen window, he could see that the snow had not let up, menacing in its evident desire to bury the town of Siglufjördur. He sat at the kitchen table, staring at the so-called view outside.

Does spring ever come here?

He soon gave up and pulled the curtain across the window, and then drew them over every other window as well.

It wasn’t until midday that he turned on the radio to hear about the night’s events. An avalanche had fallen on the Siglufjördur road, on the other side of the mountain, closing off the only route into town. He felt physically bruised by the news. Nobody had been hurt, fortunately, but this meant that there was no way in, no way out. Nobody would be leaving by land, and travelling by sea was hardly an option. He felt both shaken and deflated; the situation sucking out of him what little energy remained. He tried to breathe slowly, deeply, but it made no difference and his heart hammered wildly in his chest. He heard the presenter announce that there would be no attempt to try to clear the road that day, and possibly not even the next day, as a result of the forecast of more poor weather. After that, the news turned into white noise, incomprehensible words that blurred into one.

Ari Thór’s thoughts spun in his head as he tried to convince himself that everything would be fine. It was a temporary situation and the road would re-open in a day or two. He opened the door, intending to meet the weather face-to-face, reassure himself that it was not an enemy. The wind had gained strength and a snowdrift had formed halfway up the door. He closed it quickly.

It’ll be fine.

Pulling himself together, he called the station to see if he was needed – more as a distraction than anything else.

‘Just checking in,’ Ari Thór tried to sound casual. ‘Need any help?’

‘We’re busy as always,’ Tómas said warmly. ‘But you need the rest, my boy. Nothing we can’t cope with.’

‘OK, just wondering, you know, because of the news. It’s pretty horrible.’

‘The news?’ Tómas sounded surprised.

‘The avalanche …’

‘Oh, the avalanche. That’s nothing unusual, happens every year, more or less. It fell on the road in the middle of the night, so no-one was injured, thank goodness. On a more positive note for us, it’s clear now that Karl can’t go anywhere. He’s stuck here.’

After speaking with Tómas, Ari Thór went back upstairs and lay down again. With his eyes closed and his body still he courted sleep for many hours. It was evening by the time he switched on the radio again. The road was still blocked and would be until Tuesday at the earliest.

He hadn’t eaten much all day, and the only thing in his fridge was a herring fillet, which he had picked up from the fishmonger after he had spoken to old Sandra. He had felt he needed to try and get a taste of the good old days. He had found a simple recipe, frying the herring in a pan; lightly salted to bring out the flavour. The result was surprisingly good, different from other fish he had tasted, with a slight taste of fat, but decent enough, and he only wished he had someone to share it with.

He picked up his phone. He needed to hear Kristín’s voice – anyone’s voice.

He listened to the ringing, about to hang up when it was finally answered.

‘Hi.’

It was a sharp greeting, as if she didn’t have time to talk to him, yet this was their first call in over a week.

‘Hi. How are you?’

Ugla.

The kiss and his conscience were all troubling him. How could he act as if nothing had happened?
Ugla.
The name echoed through his head, booming and overwhelming.

‘Listen … I’m at work.’

Again. She was always at work, with never a moment for anything else.

‘All right,’ sighed Ari Thór, before blurting out, ‘It just snows and snows non-stop here. There was even an avalanche last night.’ It felt good to say the word out loud.
Avalanche
.

‘Yes, I know.’ She sounded distracted. ‘I heard it on the news. There isn’t any threat to the town, is there? I thought it was somewhere else in the district, on the road to Siglufjördur? To tell the truth, I wasn’t really worried about you.’

Everything she said was true and it sounded so innocently sensible in her voice that he felt instantly calmer.

‘How are things with you?’

‘I’ll have to call you back later. I can’t chat while I’m at work,’ she said, straight to the point as usual.

‘No, of course. I’ll speak to you later.’

It was Sunday. Piano day. Ugla. Would she be expecting him? Could he turn up after that kiss, after having scuttled away? He put off taking a decision, and tried to close his eyes again.

Hell.
There was nothing to lose. He stood up from the bed, pulled on his down anorak, tugged the hood up around his head and wrapped a scarf around his neck before venturing out into the blizzard, over the drifts and through the almost impenetrable walls of snow, eyes half-closed against the stinging wind. His phone was in his pocket, in case Kristín should call him back;
if
Kristín called him back.

Ugla greeted him as if nothing had happened; wearing the same navy jeans and white T-shirt as usual, she beamed at him and asked him inside.

They sat in Ugla’s living room long into the evening, talking about nothing and everything, the piano lesson forgotten. The flat was warm and welcoming; through the open curtains, he could see the drifts building remorselessly, while the tenderness of her voice dampened the fear, the ache inside him.

‘A glass of wine?’ She asked when they had chatted for a while.

‘Sure, just not too much, I have to work tomorrow.’

She returned with two glasses and a bottle of red. When she had
poured the wine, she fetched a couple of candles and lit them. The scene was set.

‘Any news on the investigation?’ Ugla asked. ‘Or should I say investigations?’

‘Not really, we’re still working on it. I have a feeling someone is hiding something in relation to Hrólfur’s death.’ Ari Thór believed that he could trust Ugla, speak to her openly about the case, in full confidence. The only thing not up for discussion was the kiss, but it hovered in the background as if imprinted on the living room walls.

‘I have to admit that this stuff really gets to me,’ she said. ‘The attack on Linda, and Hrólfur’s death. It’s all a little bit too close to home. I mean, can I be sure that I’m safe?’ She sounded genuinely scared.

‘I’ll look out for you,’ Ari Thór replied.

‘I think most people now believe that Hrólfur was killed. That’s a terrible thought, isn’t it? I can sense the fear in town, and it has become worse by the day since Linda was attacked.’

Ari Thór longed to put his arms around her and tell her that everything would be fine.

The bottle was quickly emptied. Ugla fetched another one from the kitchen and sat on the sofa next to him, her body pressed close to his. He could smell her clean hair and found himself wanting to bury his face in it.

For a while, they sat in silence, sipping their wine, and then Ugla placed a hand carelessly on his knee. Her touch stirred him, and he struggled to answer when she asked him if he liked the wine.

Ari Thór smiled, turning towards her, knowing what was coming as she kissed him lightly on the lips. He backed away, torn by the feelings he was experiencing.

One more kiss wouldn’t do any harm? He ran his fingers through her long, sweetly scented, fair hair, put his arms around her and returned the kiss, a long, passionate one.

There was a warming energy about her that was not only a much-needed antidote to the suffocating snow outside, but also to the emptiness that had been growing in his heart.

Her invitation to the bedroom was too strong to resist.

After that evening he wondered, more often than he liked to admit, at what point a betrayal had taken place. Did it really matter whether he had slept with her or not? When he had taken her hand and followed her into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him, hadn’t the crime already been committed?

Was the avalanche an excuse? An avalanche on the far side of a huge mountain and so far away that he didn’t even hear a murmur of it, yet so close that he hadn’t been able to think straight all day?

Did he genuinely have an excuse? More to the point, did he care?