Arctic Chill (19 page)

'They're crazy!' the man continued. 'I've never liked them. They've never liked me. What do you expect?'

'She was depressed,' Erlendur said. 'She regretted losing her family and she believed you had started cheating on her.'

'Bullshit!'

'Found a new one, have you?'

'A new one? What are you talking about?'

'Had you started cheating on her?'

'I don't know what you're talking about'

'Her friends say she suspected there was another woman,' Erlendur said. 'Is that true?'

'It's all a pack of lies! There is no "other woman".'

Erlendur vacillated a moment.

'Over the past couple of days I've been receiving phone calls from a woman who won't reveal her name,' he said after a pause. 'She's distraught; she knows I'm handling the case but doesn't trust herself to come forward. I don't know whether that's because she doesn't dare or can't. What she says doesn't help much either because she's always in such a state when she phones; she's probably had to steel herself to make the call, but when it comes to the crunch she backs off and hangs up on me.'

'You mean it's her?' the man asked, stunned. 'She's been in touch with you? Is ... is she
alive
? Is she all right?'

'If it is her,' Erlendur said, instantly regretting having mentioned the phone calls. He ought to have waited, waited until he had heard from the woman at least once more and persuaded her to meet him and tell him the truth.

'If?' the man said. '
If
it's her? You mean you're not sure?'

'I'm as sure as I can be,' Erlendur said. 'But that's not saying much.'

'My God! What's she thinking of? And what... what does she say? Why is she doing this?'

'Is this some sort of scam you two are cooking up?' Erlendur asked.

'Scam? No. Is that what she's saying, that it's a scam? Is that what she's saying?'

'No,' Erlendur said, trying to damp the man's eagerness. 'As a matter of fact, she doesn't say much. She ...'

He was about to say that all she did was sob down the phone, but stopped himself.

'What... what does she say? Why is she calling you?'

'She's in distress,' Erlendur said. 'That's obvious from talking to her. But she won't tell me anything. Can you enlighten me? Do you know more than you're letting on?'

'Why doesn't she talk to me?' the man said.

Instead of answering, Erlendur simply stared at the man as if to throw the question back at him. Why doesn't she talk to you?

'I haven't done anything to her!' the man shouted. 'It's a lie! I'm not cheating on her. Okay, okay, I have done, but not now. I haven't been cheating on her. You have to understand that! You have to believe me!'

'I have no idea what to believe,' Erlendur said.

'You have to believe me,' the man repeated, with all the sincerity he was capable of.

'Then again it could be the new woman you're seeing,' Erlendur said. 'You have affairs. That's no lie. Time passes. You revert to your old habits, meet another woman. You have this little secret together. Then your wife finds out and disappears.'

'That's rubbish,' the man said.

'The new mistress gets cold feet. Her conscience is killing her. She calls me and ...'

'What are you doing?' the man groaned.

'Isn't it rather a question of what you've done?'

'I've never threatened to kill anyone,' the man said. 'It's a lie!'

'Were you cheating on your wife?' Erlendur asked. 'Is that why she left you?'

The man stared at him for a long time without saying anything. Erlendur had not taken a seat and they stood eyeball to eyeball in the living room like two bulls, neither prepared to back down. Erlendur saw the rage seething in the man. He had succeeded in goading him to fury.

'Did your mistress call her?' Erlendur asked.

'You have no idea what you're talking about,' the man said through gritted teeth.

'It has been known to happen.'

'It's bullshit!'

'Was that how your wife found out that you were cheating on her?'

'I think you should leave now,' the man said.

'It's not just a simple missing-person case, is it?' Erlendur said.

'Get out,' the man said.

'You must see that something doesn't fit.'

'I have nothing more to say to you. Get out!'

'Oh, I can leave,' Erlendur said, 'but this case is not going anywhere. 'You can't drive it away. Sooner or later the truth will out'

'It is the truth,' the man yelled. 'I don't know what's happened.
Try to understand that. For God's sake, try to understand! I don't know what's
happened!'

When Erlendur finally got home he sat down in his armchair without turning on the lights in the flat and lay back, grateful for the rest. He looked out of the window and his thoughts went to Eva Lind and the dream that she wanted to tell him.

His mind conjured up an image of a horse struggling in a bog, with eyes bulging and nostrils flaring. He heard the sucking noise when it managed to free a foreleg before sinking even deeper.

He longed to be at peace. He longed to see the stars that were
obscured behind the clouds. He wanted to seek solace in them: the awareness
of something greater and more important than his own consciousness, the awareness
of vast tracts of time and space where he could lose himself for a while.

The family had lived in rather cramped conditions in the little house that now stood derelict. The brothers had to share a bedroom. Their parents had the other bedroom, and apart from that there was a big kitchen with a pantry opening off it, and a little parlour containing old furniture and family photographs, some of which now hung in the sitting room of Erlendur's flat. He took a trip out east every few years to sleep in the ruins of what had once been his home. From there he would walk or ride up onto the moors, and even sleep under the open sky. He enjoyed travelling alone; the gradual sensation of being overwhelmed by the profound solitude of his childhood haunts, surrounded by places and incidents from a past that was still so vivid to him, that filled him with nostalgia. He knew it only existed in his memory. When he was gone there would be nothing left. When he was gone it would be as if none of it had ever existed.

Like the evening when he and Bergur were lying in the darkness of their room, too over-excited to sleep, and heard a car drive into the yard. They heard the front door open and their parents' voices inviting someone in. They heard but did not recognise the visitor's deep voice. Visitors were rare at this time of night. The brothers did not dare to leave their room but Erlendur opened the door a crack and they lay and eaves-dropped. They could see the kitchen, the visitor's feet, solid black shoes and black trousers, his crossed legs. They could see one of his hands resting on the kitchen table, big, with thick fingers and a gold ring sunk into the flesh. They could not hear what was said. Their mother stood by the table, half turned away from them, and they could see one of their father's shoulders where he sat diagonally opposite the visitor. Erlendur went to the window and peered out at the car. He did not know the make, had never seen the car before.

He decided to tiptoe into the passage. He meant to go alone but Bergur threatened to tell, so he allowed him to come too. They opened the door with extreme caution and crept out. Their mother did not notice them, their father and the visitor were hidden from sight. Erlendur began to make out what they were saying. The visitor's deep voice became clearer, the words more distinct, whole sentences took shape. He spoke calmly and clearly, as if to ensure that what he said would have the right impact. Erlendur noticed the smell the visitor brought with him, a strangely sweet fragrance hung in the air. He crept closer, Bergur on his heels, making such an effort to be silent that he had got down on all fours in his stripy pyjamas.

Erlendur was seven years old. It was the first time he heard mention of the vilest crime of all.

'... which means it could well be,' the visitor said.

'When was this?' their mother asked.

'Around dinnertime. The murder was probably committed in the afternoon. It was a gruesome scene. He must have gone off his head. Gone completely off his head and run amok in the room.'

'With a filleting knife?' their father whispered.

'You never know with these incomers,' the visitor said. 'He'd been working at the fish factory for two months. They say he was very quiet. Taciturn and withdrawn.'

'The poor girl,' their mother groaned.

'As I say, we haven't noticed anyone out this way today,' their father said.

'Could he be hiding nearby?' their mother asked and Erlendur could hear the anxiety in her voice.

'If he means to cross on foot, he may pass this way. There's a possibility that he will. We wanted to let you know. He was spotted heading in this direction. We're watching the roads but I don't know what good that will do.'

'What should we do?' their father asked.

'Oh my God,' Erlendur heard his mother whisper under her breath. He looked at Bergur behind him and gestured to him not to make a sound.

'We'll catch him,' the visitor said from behind the kitchen door. Erlendur stared at the solid black shoes. 'It's only a question of time. There's back-up on the way from Reykjavík. They'll help us. But you're right, of course; it's horrific to have something like this happen here in the East Fjords.'

'At least you know who it is,' their father said.

'You'd better lock your doors tonight and keep tuned to the news,' the visitor said. 'I don't want to alarm you unnecessarily but better safe than sorry. The murderer may still be armed. With a knife, that is. We don't know what he's capable of

'And the girl?' their mother asked falteringly.

The visitor was silent for a space before answering.

'Sigga and Leifi's daughter,' he said eventually.

'No!' their mother gasped. 'You can't mean it? Dagga? Little Dagga?'

Erlendur saw his mother sink slowly onto the kitchen bench, staring at the stranger in horror.

'We can't find Leifi,' the visitor said. 'He's out there somewhere with a shotgun. He may come this way too. If you see him, try to talk him out of it. He'll only make matters worse by going after this man. Sigga said he was beside himself.'

'Oh, the poor man!' Erlendur heard his mother whisper.

'I can understand him only too well,' their father said.

Erlendur didn't know what to do as he stood rooted to the spot by the kitchen door. Bergur was on his feet beside him. He did not understand the seriousness of the matter, but he wanted to hold his brother's hand and slipped his little paw into Erlendur's. Erlendur looked down at him and again gave him a sign not to make a sound. He heard their father put the question that had begun to prey on his own mind.

Are we in any danger?'

'I don't think so,' the stranger said. 'But all the same it makes sense to take care. You never know when something like this happens. I wanted you to know. I've still got one more place to visit, then—'

A chair scraped on the kitchen floor, the visitor was standing up. Erlendur squeezed his brother's hand and they fled back down the passage to their room and shut the door behind them. They heard their parents say goodbye to the man at the front door and when they looked out of the window they saw a shadowy figure stride swiftly to the car and climb inside. The engine started, the headlights came on and the car drove off and disappeared down the drive.

Erlendur opened the door a crack and peered out. He saw his parents talking quietly by the front door, then his father did something he had never done before: he thoroughly locked both the front door and the back door to the laundry. His mother checked the windows and firmly closed those that were open. When he saw her heading his way, he and Bergur leaped into bed just before the door opened and she appeared in the gap to check on them. She came into the room and made sure that the window was locked. Then she tiptoed out again and shut the door.

Erlendur could not sleep. He heard his parents whispering in the kitchen but did not dare go out to them. His brother, who understood nothing, soon dozed off but Erlendur lay wide awake in the darkness, dwelling on thoughts about the murderer who might be heading towards their house, about the girl's father, hunting for him with a shotgun, beside himself with rage and hatred and grief. He listened as the night sounds magnified around him. What had previously been the friendly creaking of a loose sheet of corrugated iron out in the sheepsheds now became blood-curdling proof that someone was lurking outside. If he heard the bleating of a ewe he was sure it was the murderer on the prowl. A gust of wind against the house made his stomach lurch.

He pictured Dagga and the filleting knife, visualising the grisly scene until he thought his heart would burst. They knew the girl well. She was from a neighbouring fjord, the daughter of friends, and had babysat for the brothers on several occasions when their parents had to go out.

Erlendur had never before heard of the existence of crime, let alone murder, but in an instant that evening this changed and his world became a different and more pitiless place. There was some destructive force in humans whose existence he had never suspected before, a force he feared and could not comprehend. The following day his parents talked to him and Bergur about what had happened but spared them the details. They stayed inside all day. Erlendur asked why men did such things but his parents had no answers. He kept up an endless stream of questions; he wanted to understand what had happened even though it was incomprehensible, but his parents could not give him the answers he was looking for. He discovered that the man with the gold ring and black shoes was the local magistrate. The radio news reported the murder and the exhaustive hunt that was now under way for the man who had committed the atrocity. As the family sat in the kitchen listening, Erlendur saw the anxiety on his parents' faces, sensed the horror and grief and devastation and knew that from now on nothing would ever be the same again.

The murderer was apprehended two days later in the northern town of Akureyri. He had never been anywhere near them. People were certain that if the girl's father had found him first he would have shot the killer dead. The father had roamed around with his gun all night and half the next day before he was picked up by the police, a broken man.