Why Did You Lie? (39 page)

An ambulance drove off down the street. No siren or flashing light. The lack of urgency suggested that it was carrying Vala. Nína watched the vehicle disappear round the corner, her heart sinking. She didn’t want to think about the orphaned boy. Her own grief was nothing compared to his. He was only a child and his entire world had been obliterated. What were the chances he would ever get over it?

The front door opened and Nína retreated into hiding. As she skulked by the wall of the house she heard quick footsteps approaching over the snow behind her. It was Örvar, crimson in the face and even angrier than before. Though Nína didn’t know why, she knew his anger was directed at her.

‘Nína!’ He slowed his pace and, panting, hobbled the last few steps towards her. ‘For fuck’s sake.’

‘What?’ Nína had no need to fake surprise. She realised she was about to receive a bollocking but had no idea what for.

‘You’re to get out of here this minute.’ Örvar stood, bent double, with his hands on his knees like the jogger on the footpath. His face could hardly be seen for the clouds of steam.

‘Me? Why? What have I done?’ There must be some misunderstanding.

‘Stay here and don’t move an inch while I find someone to drive you back to the station. You’re to wait for me there. And don’t count it as work time.’ Örvar straightened up and limped round to the front of the house.

Ignoring what he had said, she hurried after him and seized his arm. ‘What’s wrong?’

Örvar rounded on her, his expression furious. ‘The patholo-gist read the letter the woman left behind.’ He broke off to catch his breath. ‘You’re connected to this case.’

‘I’m not!’

‘Not directly. But your husband’s named in the letter. I’m not saying another word now. I’ll deal with you later.’

He shook off her hand and kept walking.

Instead of chasing him she was distracted by the sight and sound of the coastguard helicopter taking off from Reykjavík airport. It appeared to be heading south but then swung round towards them. It hovered for a while above her head as if those on board were curious or taking photographs of the activity below. She wondered if she would be visible in the pictures, loitering round the corner of the house. She felt a flash of envy for the people on board. To distract herself, she wondered where they were going. It must be a leisure trip since they’d allowed themselves this detour.

Then the helicopter flew off in a south-easterly direction. How lucky the passengers were.

Chapter 33

26 January 2014

Word had leaked out at the station. Her colleagues stole surreptitious glances at her, only to drop their eyes if she met their gaze. The change was subtle, and yet … People whispered, and one jerked a furtive elbow in her direction. When she went into the coffee room to kill some time and satisfy the worst of her hunger, everything went quiet and people stared down into their cups. She could feel her cheeks burning, but although she wanted to turn back in the doorway, she forced herself to walk, her head held high, over to the small fridge. She could feel everyone’s eyes on her as she chose something at random. She’d hoped the fridge would cool her cheeks, but when she closed it they felt just as hot. As she walked out again with a bruised banana in her hand she felt a momentary urge to scream at them that it wasn’t as bad as they thought and they shouldn’t be so quick to pass judgement.

But that would only increase their embarrassment and give new life to the gossip. Resisting the temptation to pause and eavesdrop on the whispering after the door had closed behind her, she went in search of a bin where she could dump the blackened banana.

Then she sat in her office and waited.

Time crawled by and she kept wanting to thump the computer monitor in case the onscreen clock had frozen. Browsing the web didn’t appeal; all the news seemed dull, even the first tentative reports of the police operation in Skerjafjördur. From the vague wording it was clear that the reporters had failed to penetrate the tight control at the end of the street.

After slogging through all the Icelandic news outlets, she checked her e-mail in a vain quest for distraction. She wasn’t even cheered by the message from her estate agent that an Icelander based abroad was going to put in an offer on her flat, though she did at least send a reply that was terse and to the point:
Fine – I accept
. Only after the message had been sent did she realise that no offer had actually been made yet.

At last the phone rang and a number flashed up onscreen: Örvar calling from his office. She leapt to her feet and ran downstairs. Outside his door she braced herself with the thought that there were countless other jobs she could do if she was given her marching orders, though none came to mind when she tried to list them. Anything had to be better than this.

Örvar was engrossed in reading a document and ushered her silently to a seat while he finished. Then he slapped his hand on the desk and turned his attention to her. She sat bolt upright, her eyes roaming round the room.

‘You’ve got a real knack of getting yourself into trouble.’

‘That’s not fair.’ While he was ignoring her, Nína had decided not to make this easy for him. She had nothing to lose. Well, not much.

‘We’ll have to agree to disagree about that. Anyway, it makes no difference.’ Örvar wasn’t going to let her divert him from his purpose.

Nína wondered which of them was finding this more uncomfortable, and decided that on balance it was probably him. Buoyed up by the thought, she lifted her chin defiantly.

‘What happened earlier was entirely unacceptable and the only possible argument in your defence is that you had no idea your husband was connected to the case. The thing is, I suspect you did know.’

‘That’s right.’

‘What’s right? That you knew there was a link?’

‘Yes. Though not until last night – after I’d spoken to Aldís here at the station. Before that I hadn’t a clue that the couple in Skerjafjördur even existed.’

‘That’s no excuse, Nína. If you knew, you knew. The point is that you knowingly compromised the investigation.’

‘I’m not going to try and make excuses. I worked out the connection between Thröstur and Vala about five minutes before I bumped into you on your way out. I was coming to tell you but I changed my mind.’ Nína shifted in her chair. She wasn’t used to being the subject of serious accusations and she didn’t like it. It was extraordinary how decisions that had seemed self-evidently right at the time proved to be so obviously wrong once you were forced to analyse them out loud. ‘If I was going to make excuses I’d point out that I couldn’t trust my boss to tell me the truth. I had no choice but to go along myself if I wanted to know what was happening. On top of that, I believe it’s essential that I’m included in the consultation. I know more than anyone about Thröstur’s case.’

‘May I remind you that we’re not investigating what happened to your husband. That case has been closed, so you could have shared your findings with us without going to the crime scene.’

‘What was in the letter, Örvar?’

‘Why should I tell you? You’re in no position to make any demands.’

‘Because it’s vital. Both for me personally and for the investigation. If my husband’s mentioned in the letter I might be able to shed some light on what it says. And it might also help me to accept what’s happened.’

‘I can’t allow you to read it.’ Örvar raised his hand before she could protest and continued: ‘But I can paraphrase its contents for you – though it won’t help you with the grieving process or whatever you’re hoping you’ll achieve by reading it. You’ll be as distressed afterwards as you were before. In case you hadn’t realised, this is a disciplinary interview and you should be grateful I decided to keep it informal or your conduct would have been brought to the attention of my superiors. I needn’t go into the effect this could have on your future prospects in the police.’

Nína’s expression didn’t change. Judging by the speed at which the tale of Thröstur’s connection to the case had reached the station, it was unlikely another day would pass without someone in the upper echelons of the police getting wind of it. Örvar was merely protecting himself. In a formal interview she would have had an opportunity to mention the missing files and even if he had chosen to leave her comment out of his notes, he knew her well enough to realise that she was perfectly capable of adding it beside her signature. A formal interview and discussion of Nína in the commissioner’s office would also bring to light the manner in which her complaint had been handled.

‘What did the letter say?’

Örvar frowned, the wrinkles deepening round his eyes. They reminded Nína of the rays she used to draw around the sun when she was a child. Then his face relaxed and pale lines remained. When he spoke again it was in a different, less combative, tone. ‘It wasn’t a suicide note. Not from what I can tell. And the pathologist agrees with me.’

‘Was it her who reported me?’ Nína asked, curious rather than bitter.

‘Yes.’ Örvar made no attempt to hide the fact. ‘She knows who you are and when she spotted Thröstur’s name in the letter she took appropriate action. I hope you’d have done the same in her shoes.’

‘Maybe.’ There was no way she was going to give him the satisfaction of agreeing with him.

‘The letter’s a sort of summary intended for her husband, Nói, who was found dead on the beach. Of course all suicide notes are different, but this would have to be among the oddest I’ve seen. Unless she didn’t mean to end it all as quickly as she did but the drugs took the decision out of her hands.’

‘Is it possible that she didn’t swallow them voluntarily but was forced?’

‘They don’t think so but it complicates matters that the woman was covered in bruises from her accident. Tomorrow they’ll start comparing photos taken at A&E with the injur-ies on her body. At first sight none of the bruises appear to have been made by force – there are no signs that she was strangled or anything like that.’

Nína nodded, grimacing. ‘Could she have drowned her husband, then taken her own life?’

‘No. She hadn’t been anywhere near the sea. Her plaster cast was completely dry. So were her other dressings. They would have been soaking if she’d been on the beach. Besides, he could easily have fought her off given the state she was in. No, some other person was at work there – almost certainly the same person who killed the other two people who were found in the sea.’

‘The Americans?’

‘No one’s sure but they think so. We found a phone at the bottom of the garden, which is believed to have been theirs. Our first priority was to check the passenger lists and it appears the couple didn’t leave the country as planned. Their onward tickets to Europe haven’t been used and there’s no evidence that they took a different flight. So it seems likely to me that it’s them. No other people have been reported missing, apart from some young drug addicts, but these bodies are adults.’

‘Is there nothing about them in the letter?’

‘Nothing that would explain their deaths. Vala wrote about herself for the most part. She described an incident from her childhood that she believed had brought down disaster on her family.’

Nína pricked up her ears. ‘I know what it was. When I met you on your way out earlier I was going to tell you that she was one of the three child witnesses to the 1985 case, along with Thröstur and Lárus Jónmundsson. Now they’re both dead and Thröstur’s as good as.’ She took a deep breath. ‘One thing’s been seriously bothering me ever since I found out that Vala was one of the children, and that is that I can’t remember if you told me it was three boys or if you didn’t specify their sex. I’ve decided to give you the benefit of the doubt.’

Örvar pretended not to hear this. ‘Why didn’t you say anything? You had plenty of opportunity.’

‘Yeah, right. Earlier in the car, when I asked you about the files, you didn’t answer, just started talking on the phone. That gave me time to think and I decided not to mention it until after the examination of the crime scene. Anyway, I suspect it wasn’t really news to you. If you removed the evidence, you must have been aware of the woman’s name.’

Örvar stared at her in silence. Nína met his eyes levelly. Then he turned his head away and looked out of the window for a while as if giving all his attention to the weather. Then he looked back at her. ‘When I set off I hadn’t a clue who the woman was. Someone mentioned the man’s name when we were on the beach, but not his wife’s. It wasn’t until the pathologist chased after me that I heard it was Vala, or I’d never have agreed to take you along.’

Nína didn’t comment on this. After all, she had forced herself on him. ‘What does the letter say about Thröstur?’

Örvar leant back in his chair and stroked his chin, as if pretending to ponder whether he should confide in her or not. Which was pointless, as they both knew he would in the end. Then he leant forwards over the desk again. ‘According to Vala’s letter, he rang her about an article he was intending to write. He wanted to warn her it was coming out but also to ask if he could quote her. Lárus too.’

‘About the old case?’

‘Yes. Originally the article was supposed to be about historical child-abuse cases – cases that had been hushed up and shelved at the time. He’d been through the newspaper archives and found among others a case that had been dropped when the journalist who was working on it died.’

‘Stefán Egill Fridriksson?’ Nína was impatient for him to get to the point.

‘Yes. It sounds as if you know all about it. Perhaps I shouldn’t be wasting my time telling you if you’re already up to speed.’

‘I don’t know all about it. But the journalist could hardly be anyone else. I found some documents belonging to Stefán among Thröstur’s papers. Now I understand why they were there. Go on.’

‘From what Thröstur seems to have told Vala, he realised that his house was connected to the case Stefán had been intending to write about. There was a picture of your garage among the files. Afterwards Thröstur discovered that the journalist had killed himself. At that point it dawned on him that he had been sitting outside the garage as a child, with Lárus and Vala, while Stefán was hanging himself inside.’ Örvar gave Nína a moment to digest this.