Why Did You Lie? (43 page)

‘How did you find them out?’

‘Do you remember the good cop who sometimes came round to visit us? That guy Örvar?’ Thorbjörg nods. ‘I went to see him and said I’d really like to read the reports about Dad. I asked him very nicely and thanked him sincerely for how kind he’d been to us at the time, when nobody else would listen. He fell for it. Asked me to come back the following day as he’d have to search for them in the archives. When I arrived he handed me the reports and said I could have them. Most of the old files were about to be thrown away so it was lucky I’d come when I did. But he told me to keep it to myself. He wasn’t really supposed to hand them over unofficially like that but in the circumstances – since they were about to be chucked out anyway – it would be simplest for everyone if I just took them. That’s how I found out the names of the other two witnesses, and it wasn’t hard to track them down. He doesn’t seem to have told anyone. Not yet, anyway.’

Thorbjörg wants to swallow but her mouth is dry. Alas, she didn’t misunderstand anything. ‘There’s no point going on with the story. It’s too late now.’

‘I’m going to tell you anyway. I want to; I need to talk about it and you’re the only person who understands. After that I promise never to mention it again.’ Helgi continues his account without giving her another chance to object. ‘As you of all people should know, I’m used to handling alkies, so I went round for a drinking session with Lárus. I’d made contact with him, pretending to have received the same kind of letters as I’d sent him, and that his name had come up in one of them. He was eager to meet me and I made sure he knocked back a hell of a lot of booze. We talked a load of nonsense; he was almost incoherent and all I had to do was put forward the odd stupid theory about where the letters might have come from. When he passed out, I injected a solution of pills dissolved in spirits into his abdomen through his belly button. Then I waited till he croaked. No one caught on, and I suppose that may have made me a bit careless. Two dead and no repercussions. I should have been more careful.’ For the first time since Helgi began his tale, there is a shade of regret in his voice. ‘I killed the wrong people. A couple of foreigners. I’d been watching them from a distance for several days and I wasn’t to know they weren’t the right people. How could I have known?’

‘I don’t know, Helgi dear. I don’t suppose you could.’ Thorbjörg is beginning to wonder if this is a dream. Or a nightmare. Soon she’ll wake up and find nobody sitting in the chair and her son still estranged from her. It would be the better of two evils.

‘I waited for my chance, hung around the neighbourhood for several evenings and followed them up to the holiday chalet where they spent three days. Teased them a bit by catching a cat near where I lived that looked like their pet, killing it and putting it on their barbecue. Unfortunately their own cat was always inside – it would have been better to have used the real one. I didn’t get to witness their reaction, as I’d hoped, but it had the desired effect because they fled back to town. I passed them coming from the opposite direction, turned round and followed them home. When the bloke went out again shortly afterwards I seized my chance, rang the bell and the woman opened the door. Before she could say anything I shoved her. She fell, hit her head and was dazed. It didn’t really matter because I’d decided to make it look like she’d fallen downstairs. It’s a two-storey house, you see. After I’d dragged her up to the top and pushed her down a couple of times the bloody man came back. He’d only gone out to fetch a pizza. And he spoke English.’

‘Those poor people. I do hope they didn’t have children. You could have done the same to a foreign child as Ívar did to you. Do you realise that?’

Helgi clearly doesn’t want to hear this, as he ignores his mother’s interruption. ‘I ended up having to kill him too. With some scissors I found in a bathroom upstairs. I dragged the woman into the bedroom and laid her on the bed, then hid behind the door. The man searched the whole house for her then finally came into the bedroom to see what was wrong with her, and I stabbed him in the back. Again and again, until finally he stopped breathing. I left them there and pulled the curtains so nobody could see in. Then I took the house keys away with me and came back that night to get rid of their bodies and remove anything that appeared to belong to them. I didn’t want the owners of the house to suspect anything. Luckily it was near the sea. I brought an old rubber dinghy and my rifle from home, lugged their bodies on board in the dark and tied a few rocks to them to make sure they wouldn’t float. When the dinghy had drifted far enough out I shot a hole in it and it sank. Did you know I was a hunter?’

The question is bizarrely ordinary compared to all that has gone before. Of everything he has poured out it’s the only detail Thorbjörg would have liked to hear. If only he had come here and told her about himself, what he’d been up to for the past few years and what he did for fun. He could have left out the rest. Every sentence, every syllable. ‘I just can’t listen to any more of this, Helgi dear. I feel so bad when I do because I’m terrified you’re going to be found out.’

‘I won’t be. Weirdly, no one seems to suspect me. Everyone’s so satisfied that Ívar’s the bad guy that they have no reason to consider any other angles. No one’s put two and two together and worked out that I’m Stefán’s son. They all just see me as the victim who was lucky to escape with his life. You’re probably the only person who could give me away. And I’d understand that. I never really meant to get away with it. There wasn’t any plan as such. You just have to play some things by ear.’ Helgi smiles at her but his eyes are dead. ‘Of course it’s a pity that four people died who didn’t deserve it. The foreign couple, the husband and the carpenter at the lighthouse. I thought he was Ívar. They’d swapped places in the night. That was me being careless again. I was stressed because I thought we were going to be lifted off shortly. I’d sent the guy some letters and tormented him slowly but surely about what was to come. He was the only person I seriously wanted to kill. But not by pushing him over the cliff. That was too good for him.’

‘He was the only one who deserved it, Helgi. Those other people were different. Do you understand that?’ Thorbjörg doesn’t know why she feels this matters. It’s too late now. But he doesn’t hear what she says; catches the words but not their meaning. When he resumes his account it’s as though there has been no interruption. As though he had merely paused to draw breath.

‘When I first tracked Ívar down I stalked him for a while and even struck up conversation with him in a bar when I saw that he was drunk and off his guard. He told me he was going out to a lighthouse to do some maintenance work and like a typical drunk he started insisting I come along. He was supposed to be going alone and when I was given permission to go too, I thought it would be no problem. Once we were out there on the rock I could overpower him and force him to pay for what he had done to us. With interest. But it didn’t work out like that. We weren’t alone after all, and I made a mess of things.’

‘Yes.’ Thorbjörg has almost lost the power of speech. All she can say is ‘yes’ or ‘no’. She can’t begin to form a coherent sentence.

‘But because the idea was to throw myself off the cliff once I’d tortured and killed Ívar, I had to deal with the third witness the evening before we went out to the lighthouse. I only had Saturday to do it, and it didn’t turn out too well. Not at all the way I’d planned. I’d been watching the house in the hope of finding some clever solution to the problem of catching her alone but that didn’t work out. Luckily I still had the keys to the house, though, so that made things easier.’

Spare me
, thinks Thorbjörg and her wish is granted. When Helgi starts speaking again it is about Ívar.

‘I took a satnav to the lighthouse with me, which I’d taken from the house because I thought it belonged to the foreigners. The woman’s watch, too, and some of the letters I’d printed out. I put them in Ívar’s bag when he wasn’t looking. Pretty clever. I reckon that was what finally convinced the police of his guilt.’ His expression is proud, as it had been that time he came home with his school report, the spring after his father died. She had barely glanced at the string of A minuses, commented in an offhand way that she used to get straight As herself, then put down the report and lit a cigarette. He had never shown her his marks again after that and she had never shown the slightest interest in his school work.

Helgi hasn’t touched her since coming into her hospital room. He doesn’t do so now either when he suddenly leans close to her and whispers: ‘To tell the truth, I’m a bit worried about the policewoman, Thröstur’s wife, and that Örvar who gave me the reports. They might put two and two together. Everyone else is satisfied that Ívar was responsible for all the killings.’

Thorbjörg suddenly finds her voice. ‘She doesn’t know anything, so there’s no need for you to worry about her. And surely he doesn’t either – if they had any doubts, they’d have said so by now.’ She tries to disguise her despair. She’s had enough; this has to stop.

‘I’m not so sure.’ Helgi stands up, wincing as the wound in his side catches. ‘I’m not at all sure.’ He smiles his mirthless smile again. ‘The policeman who interviewed me whispered in my ear that she’s involved in some kind of dispute with a colleague she’s lodged a complaint against. He sounds like a total shit. It occurred to me to find out his name, in case I need to take steps to deal with her. It’s extraordinary how easy it is to make people think ill of someone. I’m sure suspicion would fall on him if anything happened to this Nína. At any rate, I can make certain it does.’

He goes to the door, then turns to say goodbye. ‘Dad was going to take me on a hunting trip the weekend he died. I haven’t looked forward to anything since then. Not a thing. But I think I’m ready to now.’ He stares at his mother in surprise, as if he’s only just noticed the state she’s in. Then he limps out, calling to her in parting, without looking back: ‘Hope to see you later.’ He closes the door behind him.

Thorbjörg doesn’t feel able to share the sentiment. To think she had been under the impression that she had been going through hell recently. Now the day of reckoning is well and truly here. Now she will have to pay for all the tears, disappointment, humiliation and heartache she caused her son. But she can’t feel sorry for herself. It’s only what she deserves.

Fifteen minutes later the door opens and out comes a man of around Nína’s age. She smiles at him but he doesn’t seem to notice her and limps away, one hand pressed to his side. It strikes her as odd that he should be wearing a dressing gown. She raises her eyebrows, rises to her feet and enters Thorbjörg’s room. The woman is gazing up at the ceiling, her belly as distended as it was the last time Nína saw her.

‘Hello. Remember me?’ Nína smiles awkwardly at the woman, who turns her head slowly towards her. ‘I won’t bother you for long. I just wanted to say a few words.’ The woman’s expression is not what she had been hoping for. The yellow eyes stare wildly at her as if Nína had threatened to set fire to her pillow. ‘I’ll come back later if it’s a bad moment.’

‘Yes, that’d be better. I need to be alone for a while.’ The hoarse voice trembles a little and the look of terror intensifies, as if she fears Nína more than anything else in the world.

‘No problem. I’ll come back another time.’ Nína closes the door behind her and stands just outside, feeling mortified. God, that was embarrassing. But what had she expected? That everything would be fine, just because the truth had come to light? That the woman lying in the hospital bed would suddenly be cured? When it comes down to it, virtually nothing has changed. The woman’s life is as wrecked now as it was before.

The same is true of her. Nothing has changed, really. If anything, even more pain lies in store. She can’t be angry with Thröstur any more, and it’s as if the anger has been holding back the worst of the sorrow up to now. Instead of feeling rage she is alive to the injustice of it all, which makes the whole thing even more unbearable. She can’t even take her anger out on Ívar because he’s dead.

After this evening there will be no room for any emotion but grief. She will be overwhelmed by grief for Thröstur and must be careful that it doesn’t prove too much for her, doesn’t blind her to all that is good and beautiful in this world. She mustn’t let that happen.

She sees that it is time to head over to Thröstur’s room. She wants to get there the moment the hour she allotted his sister and father is up, to give herself as long as possible to sit beside him. His death throes will not last long, according to the doctor. Thröstur will lie there motionless but alive, but a few minutes or hours later he will be lying there motionless and dead. No gasps, no rattling, no groans will mark his parting from her and this life.

Nína holds her head high as she walks out of the door to the ward. All at once the dress and heels seem perfectly in keeping with the occasion and she moves with increased confidence. She has dressed herself up for Thröstur. His last hours are to be a celebration; she is not going to weep. Instead she will whisper to him stories about all the good times they had, all the laughter they shared over the years; memories that will always have a place in her heart. Thröstur can take them with him as a parting gift when he leaves, never to return.

The door closes behind her. She walks over to the lift without noticing the man wearing a dressing gown, who is watching her with one hand pressed to his side.

Have you read …

THE UNDESIRED