Why Did You Lie? (10 page)

Nói found himself hoping uncharitably that the couple’s bags had gone missing on the way to Europe, that they had been subjected to an intimate search at airport security and that it would rain non-stop for the rest of their trip. And that strikes would pursue them the length and breadth of the Continent. He realised he was overreacting: he must be more tired than he’d thought. Cold, tired, pissed off and in no way ready to return to work tomorrow. He fished out the box to transfer it to the correct bin. To his surprise, it was heavy and when he opened it he found a whole, untouched pizza inside. A margherita. This evidence of their lack of sophistication did nothing to improve his opinion of them.

Nói headed back to the house. His skin prickled at the thought of the dark parking area and rubbish store behind him. It felt as if someone were watching him and he couldn’t have been more relieved to get back inside.

Only then was his mind calm enough to register what he had glimpsed beneath the pizza box in the bin. Nói opened the cupboard and took out his coat.

Chapter 7

26 January 2014

The sun has gone down and the damp is creeping into their bones. Helgi has to make a superhuman effort to stop his teeth chattering. He put down his gloves earlier when changing the lens on his camera and, as bad luck would have it, one of them blew over the cliff. He could see it floating on the gentle swell, fingers splayed, as if a hand were reaching up to the surface from below. Then it sank into the depths and a large air bubble appeared and burst as if the sea were belching after swallowing this morsel.

Instead of favouring one hand over the other, Helgi has taken off his other glove too and is burrowing both hands into his pockets against the chilly wind. There is little else he can do to keep warm. Heida and Ívar are inside the lighthouse but he doesn’t like to squash in there with them. He could put on more clothes but doubts this would help much. To make matters worse, the area of flat ground on top of the stack is so small that there’s no real way of stretching one’s legs except by jumping on the spot. Helgi makes do with this, realising, as he does so, how absurd it is for a fatso like him to be bouncing up and down, hands in pockets, on a rock in the middle of the ocean. He slows down and eventually his feet are barely leaving the ground, which makes him look even more foolish. Tóti is watching him, but looks away briefly when Helgi comes to a standstill. Then their eyes meet, and although they are standing as far apart as is humanly possible on Stóridrangur – Helgi on the helipad, Tóti by the lighthouse – Helgi can detect the contempt in the other man’s face.

Helgi puffs out great clouds of breath. He hasn’t a clue what to do now that dusk is falling. Of course he could photograph his travelling companions going about their tasks by the light of their work lamps, but he feels drained after the events of the day and experience has taught him that there is little point taking pictures when he’s not in the mood. It would be better to save his batteries.

The torch at his feet flickers but, to his relief, the beam grows stronger again when he bangs it. The scramble to the lighthouse with sheer drops on either side would be even more alarming without any light. Nor does he wish to be alone in the darkness on the helipad after what he and Heida saw earlier in the fog.

Of course it must have been a trick of the light or else there must have been some other natural explanation for the dark shape. Yet he can’t shake off the feeling that there wasn’t. Perhaps he should discuss it with Heida, but so far they have done little more than exchange a glance, inhibited by the presence of Ívar and Tóti. This made it easier to ignore the experience. Now, however, armed only with a torch against whatever might be lurking in the darkness behind him, he can no longer pretend it never happened. What had Heida said? That the dead appeared in the fog when they had a score to settle with the living? If so, he’s sure the shadow must have come for Ívar. Surely not for Heida – or Tóti, even though the younger man is a bit of a jerk. At least he doesn’t give off the same aura of malevolence as Ívar. Helgi’s shivering grows worse and he starts to pick his way over to the lighthouse.

‘Had enough of skipping?’ Tóti swings his hammer, grinning at Helgi.

‘Yes.’ Helgi feels there is no point explaining the real reason or he would appear even more pathetic. The other man’s mocking look fades and his hammer pauses mid-swing. Helgi relents. ‘How’s it going?’

‘Not bad.’ Tóti surveys the battered wall of the lighthouse where numerous patches of fresh grey concrete bear witness to the repairs. Helgi thinks it’s probably like tidying up; the condition has to get really bad before anything is done about it. ‘The weather’s a bugger, though. It wasn’t supposed to be this cold. I’m hoping it’ll warm up tomorrow so I can fill in all the holes.’ Tóti bends down and switches off his work lamp. The two men are left standing in the faint illumination from the lighthouse. ‘Otherwise we’re in deep shit. I shouldn’t really have started on this with the weather like it is. It’ll probably be a total disaster.’

Helgi nods as if he’s well acquainted with the problem. ‘It’s bound to warm up a bit. They didn’t forecast falling temperatures, did they?’

‘Dunno. But if the wind picks up, it could turn even colder.’

They have slipped into discussing the weather and Helgi is relieved when Heida emerges from the lighthouse to stretch her limbs, looking profoundly grateful to be outside in the fresh air. ‘Are you done?’ Helgi hopes she’ll say yes, so he won’t have to be alone with Tóti.

Heida drops her arms and rubs one shoulder. ‘I suppose so.’ She looks around. ‘God, it’s got dark quickly.’ She shivers. Her hazel eyes pause on the helipad and Helgi thinks he knows what is passing through her mind. ‘What time is it, anyway?’

‘Nearly seven.’ Tóti lights a cigarette. The flame illuminates his face and in the play of shadows he looks like a zombie. The smoke overpowers the briny smell of the sea for a moment and for the first time in his life Helgi finds it pleasant.

A muffled ringtone drifts over from inside the lighthouse. They hear the sound of Ívar’s voice and snatches of a conversation about food, weather and rain. Then Ívar falls silent and tuts before appearing with a frown on his face. ‘Fucking hell.’

Tóti takes a drag and leans more comfortably against the wall. ‘What?’ He seems unmoved by his workmate’s curses.

Ívar brandishes his phone at them – a small, pink, oddly feminine clamshell model. ‘That was the coastguard.’ Realising that Helgi and Heida are staring at his phone, he hastily returns it to his inside pocket. ‘The fucking chopper’s developed a fault.’

The four of them stand there in a huddle. After photographing countless people for nearly a decade, Helgi reckons he has a pretty good eye for body language. Although he can’t see himself, he assumes he is displaying the same symptoms of stress as his travelling companions: the fixed gaze and half-open mouth. Heida is the first to break the silence. ‘Developed a fault? How can it have developed a fault?’ It’s not the most intelligent question but nobody points this out.

‘It just broke down. I don’t know what’s wrong but they say they were forced to do an emergency landing on Snæfellsnes.’

The Snæfellsnes Peninsula is miles away.

‘What does that mean?’ Tóti asks, the cigarette trembling between his fingers. ‘Fucking Snæfellsnes.’ Helgi opens his mouth to point out that the peninsula is hardly to blame, but Ívar gets in first.

‘I gather they’ll have to transport it back to Reykjavík. Once it’s there the mechanics can get a better idea of what’s wrong and sort it out. The guy I talked to didn’t like to hazard a guess about how long the whole thing would take – depends on spare parts and what have you.’

‘Surely they could send another chopper to fetch us? What the hell’s the problem?’ Heida is getting more worked up with every word. ‘My child’s with a babysitter. I can’t stay here forever.’

‘The coastguard only have three choppers. One’s undergoing a routine service that takes several weeks and the third was hired out to do a job in the Faroe Islands that’s running a bit behind schedule.’

‘Behind schedule? What do you mean “behind schedule”?’ Heida looks ready to throttle Ívar. ‘If they’ve hired out the helicopter until a certain date, they should damn well return it then. What the hell does it matter if the job’s behind schedule?’ She speaks without pausing for breath, then breaks off, panting, and gives Ívar a murderous glare. Then she seems to come to her senses, her fury evaporates and her expression relaxes. She drops her eyes and kicks at a stone that bounces a short way before shooting over the edge. ‘What about other helicopters? Couldn’t they borrow one to come and get us?’

‘Choppers with winching equipment are few and far between. And I, for one, have no intention of being pulled up by hand into some old rust bucket.’ Smoke pours out of Tóti’s mouth with every word. ‘It won’t be a problem. So there’s no point getting your knickers in a twist.’

Heida glares at Tóti but doesn’t rise to this. Helgi admires her self-control; although quick-tempered, she’s clearly no fool. There’s absolutely no room to quarrel here.

‘Won’t we just have to resign ourselves? At least we’ve got phone reception. Couldn’t you get the babysitter to stay a bit longer?’ Helgi attempts a friendly smile.

‘I suppose so. Do I have any choice?’ The anger hasn’t entirely left her voice.

‘It’ll turn out all right in the end,’ said Ívar. ‘We’ll just have to tough it out. If the worst comes to the worst we can ask them to send a boat for us and hope the chain gets us to the bottom of the rock in one piece. Though I don’t recommend it, except in an emergency. The fastenings must be seventy years old. So I’ll let you lot go first.’ Ívar zips up his anorak in an effort to appear nonchalant but Helgi detects a hint of fear or uncertainty in the man’s manner. ‘We’d better go easy on the food.’ He accompanies this with a glance at Helgi, making no attempt to disguise the fact. Helgi flushes scarlet.

Tóti chokes on his smoke. ‘Hang on a minute. How long do they reckon it’ll take to rescue us? Are we talking about one more night or two?’ He is staring intently at Ívar. ‘Three? Four?’

‘I’m not sure and neither are they, as far as I can tell. All I know is that they asked me about our supplies and when I told them roughly how much we had, that’s what they said.’ He breaks off and sucks his teeth, then takes his big knife out of its sheath and starts scraping imaginary dirt from under his fingernails. After that he lays down the knife on top of the cool-box and starts rooting aimlessly in the box beside it. ‘They also advised us to start collecting rainwater tonight.’

‘Jesus Christ.’ Tóti flicks his cigarette butt out into the darkness.

Helgi is desperate to roll over on his thin sleeping mat and find a more comfortable position on the hard concrete floor but it’s impossible. It’s a miracle as it is that he and Heida have both managed to squeeze inside the lighthouse and lie so as to touch as little as possible during the night. If he so much as rolls over onto his back, it will mess up the arrangement. Perhaps, being so much smaller, Heida’s more comfortable.

‘Are you asleep?’ Heida’s voice is muffled, as though she’s pulled the sleeping bag over her head.

‘No.’ Helgi stops himself from adding: ‘You?’

‘I hate it here.’

‘Hopefully we’ll be able to go home tomorrow.’ Helgi feels like a teenager again. He doesn’t know quite what to say and can’t remember ever being in such an awkward situation with a member of the opposite sex. When the time came to split up for the night, Ívar ruled that Heida should sleep inside and choose who she wanted to share with. The other two would sleep up on the gallery, or narrow catwalk, that ran around the lantern room. Heida picked Helgi almost before Ívar had finished speaking, and he got the impression that Tóti was annoyed by this, though he tried to disguise the fact. Helgi had been surprised himself as he had assumed she would regard Tóti as the best of a bad lot. Perhaps she feels Helgi is the least likely to try anything. She’s probably right.

‘It’s not really about the babysitting. My little girl’s in safe hands with my parents. That was just all I could think of at the time. I didn’t want to admit how I feel about this place. There’s something sinister about the atmosphere.’

Helgi draws a deep breath. ‘Isn’t it just the confined space and the danger of falling off? Otherwise it’s no different from anywhere else.’ He says this quite against his own instincts because he knows exactly what she means. As he stares at the open doorway, his longing to turn over intensifies, as though he is afraid of seeing something dart past or the shape of a figure standing out there motionless, watching the lighthouse, waiting for them to fall asleep before moving closer, coming inside …

‘Where are all the birds?’ From the sound of her voice, Heida must have stuck her head out of her sleeping bag. She sits up. ‘They were making a constant racket earlier.’

Helgi listens and has to admit that she’s right. The only sound is the breakers at the bottom of the cliff. ‘I expect they’ve gone to sleep. Or flown away.’ He hopes she’ll say something else to distract his attention from the noises outside but no such luck. There is a rustling, then she says goodnight, her voice muffled inside her sleeping bag again.

Helgi waits for sleep to claim him, with nothing but the sound of the waves in his ears, but his mind seems intent on keeping him awake, just in case. Weariness wins out in the end, though, so he is oblivious to the commotion up on the gallery later that night.

Chapter 8

21 January 2014

The office was windowless. The only other such rooms in the building were used for conducting interviews, as storerooms or for coffee-making facilities. Nína had been allotted this cubbyhole when she joined the police and had never applied to move, even when other offices became available. She couldn’t face the thought of packing up all her stuff; it had taken her less than a year to fill the shelves and accumulate piles of papers that she didn’t dare throw out without going through them first. Besides, she rarely spent any time at her desk, so the claustrophobia and airlessness weren’t a problem. Yet now she regretted not having applied to move. She longed to see the sky and felt as if her office walls were closing in on her, as if it were an extension of the basement.