I Remember You

Chapter 32

It was as if Freyr were finally free from a drug-induced haze. He looked around his home, which he’d done nothing to brighten up the entire time that he’d lived in Ísafjörður. The outlines of everything had become sharper, and now for the first time the mismatched fittings got on his nerves. He clutched a photo of his son to his chest, as if he didn’t want Benni to see how his father lived now. He felt a certain consolation in holding his child so closely, even though the photograph in the frame was only ink on paper, a two-dimensional image of one moment in his far-too-short life. Freyr squeezed his eyes shut again and wished that the next few days and weeks would show him some mercy and pass by in a flash. Now when it seemed his sincere wish that Benni’s earthly remains be found was going to be fulfilled, he realized that despite all his attempts to be guided by logic he’d always held onto the faint hope that Benni was still alive. That hope was now gone. He was scared to tell Sara the news and so hadn’t even tried to call her; she wouldn’t answer him anyway, and he felt it would be useless to hit her with something that hadn’t even been positively confirmed. Which it would be shortly.

‘Drink this.’ Dagný had come into the room with a glass half full of golden liquid. ‘I found a bottle of whisky in the kitchen. I hope you don’t mind that I opened it.’

Freyr relaxed his grip on the photo frame and took the glass. He’d brought the bottle with him from Reykjavík; a parting gift from colleagues of his who didn’t know he wasn’t much of a whisky fan. The strong liquid stung his throat. ‘Thanks.’ He took another, bigger sip that went down more easily. ‘Is there any news?’

Dagný sat down in a chair facing him. ‘This is the car. I had the old case files looked over, and the driver bought himself something to eat at this petrol station. It was the last charge on his credit card before he used it again in Ísafjörður. The receipt was even in the glove compartment when we went through the car. The date and time fitted with the recording from the security camera.’

Freyr nodded numbly. He took another sip of whisky, hoping that he wouldn’t start feeling its effects until later. ‘No one knows what happened to him?’

‘No. He disappeared around the same time as your son. Three years ago.’ Dagný leaned back, but still seemed just as anxious. ‘After we were informed about a car that had been parked for more than two weeks at the harbour here in Ísafjörður, we made enquiries about the owner and subsequently initiated a search. He owned a house in Hesteyri and had gone over there along with the supplies he needed to renovate it, which were in his trailer. The skipper of the boat that took him over said the man was meant to call when he wanted to be picked up, but he hadn’t done so yet. He wasn’t worried about it, but from his description of the provisions that the man had taken with him, we thought it best to go over to Hesteyri and check on his situation. It was autumn and growing colder, so we had every reason to worry about him. As it turned out, he was never found.’

‘What could have happened to him? It’s not a big place, is it?’ Freyr refrained from asking what he longed to know most. It would take him a few more drinks to work up the nerve to do it.

‘We don’t know. Even though Hesteyri is a small, abandoned village, there are vast areas all around it where he could have got lost. He probably went for a hike or set off thinking he could walk to town. His phone was found there, dead. Of course you never know; the battery could have drained after he disappeared, but it could be that his phone hadn’t worked when he’d needed it to and he thought his only choice was to try to walk back.’

‘That seems likely.’ Freyr took another sip of whisky, then threw his head back and downed the rest.

‘Yes and no. There were at least two days’ worth of provisions in the house. He could hardly have started panicking before he left it.’ Dagný pressed her lips together. ‘Are you tipsy enough to tell me how you got the information on your son’s whereabouts?’

Freyr wanted to smile at her but couldn’t. The muscles in his face refused to obey. ‘No. I promised not to tell, and I can’t betray that.’ He didn’t need to refer to her job. It would be impossible to expect her not to disclose the information when it came to writing a report on the conclusion of the case. He wanted to maintain confidentiality between himself and the boy, whose only mistake had been being young and reading the situation wrongly. He’d probably felt bad enough for deciding not to say anything. Of course it might turn out that when and if the discovery of Benni’s remains made it into the press, the boy would tell his parents, but he would have to decide that for himself. Not Freyr. He himself wasn’t certain if he would tell Sara the whole story, though she was entitled to hear it. There was a risk that she might view the matter differently to Freyr and consider the boy responsible for Benni’s death, which would be unfair, but at the same time very tempting. There was no way of knowing how she would react to the shock.

Freyr put the glass on the table and leaned his head back. How long had it taken Benni to die? An hour? Two? Three? He didn’t want to know the answer, yet the question burned inside him. It was completely pointless, as it would never be answered. He might just as well wonder what might have happened if this and that had been different. What if the boy who’d gone with Benni down to the petrol station in search of a hiding place hadn’t suddenly remembered that he was late for his cousin’s birthday party and gone home? What if the boy had stopped to talk to some of the other kids and let them know that Benni was planning to hide in the green container that they thought looked like a submarine, which was sitting on a trailer at the petrol station? What if he’d actually known what a septic tank was, and had said that instead of submarine? And then what if the driver hadn’t detached the trailer from the car to check for possible damage to the coupling; would Benni have found himself a different hiding place, realising that the trailer might be leaving soon? But none of this had happened. It was a series of coincidences. What if the kids hadn’t grown tired of their hiding places in the safe parts in the neighbourhood and decided to expand the hiding area all the way to the petrol station? And what if they’d decided to tell the police or their parents about it? What then? Would death have claimed Benni in some other way, and if so, how?

Freyr tried turning his mind to something else; he had so many questions. But it was difficult. Over and above all this speculation and regret, he was plagued by images of the final moments in Benni’s life. There was no room for any doubt; as the moment the car had driven off, it had been too late. The only thing that could have happened differently was that Sara might have learned the truth about Benni’s fate earlier if Heimir had told anyone what had actually happened. It would still have been too late to save Benni’s life, since the boy didn’t hear of his friend’s disappearance until the next day. When he heard from the policemen who came to his house that they were searching for Benni, he had tried to tell them, but the men looked so stern and disbelieving that he had second thoughts. He’d misread the situation and thought he might get into trouble for planning to hide with Benni in the petrol station. The children were strictly forbidden from crossing the street that lay between the neighbourhood and the garage. When the policemen’s faces turned serious at what he said, his child’s mind had been quick to tell him that Benni had probably left his hiding place before he vanished, and he’d changed his story.

Freyr told himself there was no point going over this endlessly; it was clear that Benni would already have been dead by the time the other boy finally heard the news. Had he been conscious he would have made his presence known when the septic tank was taken off the trailer and put on the boat that brought it over to Hesteyri. He’d probably had a diabetic seizure when he realized his situation as the car drove off, his panicked state calling for insulin that his weakened bodily functions were unable to supply, and after that there had been no hope. Why he hadn’t made his presence known when the trailer was hooked back up to the car was a question that would never be answered; maybe he’d considered it but feared a tongue-lashing from the trailer’s owner. But really, if there were anyone to blame, it was Freyr himself. If he hadn’t gone to meet Líf he wouldn’t have hit the other car, and then the trailer wouldn’t have been there when Benni and the boy turned up. Then Benni would have hidden behind something fixed, been found, and life would have continued as it was supposed to. ‘I’m such an idiot, Dagný.’ He didn’t explain this, and she didn’t press him.

‘I think we should get going. If you’re sure you want to come along.’ Her tone was embarrassed, as if she worried that their conversation would take a personal turn. He didn’t blame her. ‘I found a skipper who’s willing to take us over. Veigar’s coming too; I’m not on duty so it’s better for him to be there. But the sea is rough, so if you suffer from seasickness I’d advise you to think twice about it.’

Freyr looked at her. He hadn’t the slightest idea whether he suffered from seasickness, since he’d rarely ever been to sea. Nor did it matter; he was prepared to puke his guts out to get to Hesteyri. ‘I’m coming with you.’ His voice contained all the conviction that was lacking in his soul.

The torch was of little use against the dark, but from the boat’s deck Freyr could see the outlines of houses on the low ground between the beach and the mountains, whose upper reaches couldn’t be distinguished from the heavily clouded night sky. ‘I tried to warn them.’ The captain pulled tightly on the rope with which he’d tied the boat fast to the pier. The sea was choppy and it was best to make sure that the boat would definitely still be there when they turned back. ‘I didn’t want to scare the life out of them, so I didn’t go into too much detail, but I can tell you that this house doesn’t have a great reputation. You can see over the fjord from there and probably a lot of people have died looking across at it, the last thing they ever saw in this life. It must have had some effect. There’s nothing like the desperation of a drowning man; maybe it’s contagious.’

Veigar snorted. ‘We’ll look in on them; it’s their house we’re heading up to. Their phones are off and they haven’t called, you say?’

‘No, but I didn’t expect them to. We’d already agreed that I would come and fetch them tomorrow evening. I’m hoping they’ll be ready to leave right now, so I don’t have to make the trip tomorrow. The forecast is pretty bad, so they could be stuck here for another day or two. It isn’t strange that they’ve turned off their phones; I asked them to save the batteries in case anything came up. They probably took me at my word.’

Freyr turned off his torch to conserve the power. ‘The house looks empty. It’s as dark as the others.’

The skipper shot him a patronizing look. He didn’t need torch-light to see how little the man thought of him. Freyr had sat there pale and silent the entire trip, though it had had nothing to do with seasickness. He’d concentrated on listening to his travel companions chatting back and forth, sometimes lowering their voices to say things he didn’t manage to grasp. In this way he’d managed to keep his head together, not fall apart at the thought of what lay ahead. He prayed to the God in whom he didn’t believe that the septic tank would still be disconnected, that the man had gone missing before he’d got it in working order and that the three people from Reykjavík who were here for the same purpose had started on some other project than getting it set up. His child deserved much better. He felt nauseous – but not from seasickness. ‘There’s no electricity here, mate. They’re probably there, even though the house isn’t as lit up as the houses down south.’

‘I understand.’ Freyr was happy that the man seemed to have no idea who he was or what he was doing there. This ensured that the way he acted towards Freyr was motivated by something other than pity, which was fine by him; it meant less risk of him breaking down.

They stepped onto the pier and went ashore. The pier creaked loudly beneath their feet, but only silence and stillness awaited them at the top of the beach. Houses that had once been surrounded by vibrant life now either stood empty or had been converted into summer cottages. Freyr felt as if the buildings were gazing hopefully at them, wondering if the residents had finally returned. He half expected to hear a soft sigh when the houses realized they hadn’t. But of course no such thing happened; there was only the silence, and it was so oddly heavy that none of them wanted to break it. So, saying nothing, they simply set off. For everyone but Freyr, the walk was nothing more than a necessary part of getting to the house; to him, every step was an important stage in an inevitable reckoning with the tragedy he’d caused for those he loved most.

Maybe the alcohol was finally starting to have an effect, or else depression was beginning to grip him, but Freyr felt as if he could hear a whispering in the dead vegetation that bordered the path leading from the pier. Their torch beams cast peculiar shadows, making it look as if something were moving on both sides. The cones of light swung irregularly to and fro, making it difficult for them to focus their eyes on anything. In one place Freyr thought he heard footsteps a few metres away, as if someone were walking beside the path, a silent escort who didn’t want to be seen. He stopped and swung his torch round, pointing it left and right and then at the high, uncultivated ground, but saw nothing. He also tried to shine the light into the wall of vegetation surrounding the path, but saw nothing except darkness between the yellowed stalks.

‘What?’ Dagný had turned and walked back to him as he stood and stared at the light.

‘I thought I heard someone, but I can’t see anything.’ He straightened up.

‘Probably just a fox. There are lots of them here.’ She looked at him as if searching for signs that he’d lost his mind. ‘You can wait here or down at the pier. I’ll come and get you when we know whether your theory is right. It’s not necessary for you to be with us the whole time, and probably not wise.’

‘No, no, I’m fine. Don’t worry.’ Freyr tried to appear confident. Of course he should wait and let them call for him when everything was finished, but he couldn’t. He wanted to witness with his own eyes every step that revealed the whereabouts of his son, rather than sit alone in the darkness, waiting for whatever might come.

‘Okay, then.’ Dagný didn’t sound convinced. ‘You go in front. I don’t want you lagging behind and getting lost. We have enough to worry about as it is.’

Freyr raised no objection to this, since it was simpler and would speed up the process. Nor could he deny that he’d been at the point of pushing the vegetation aside to see what lay beyond it when Dagný had interrupted him. As they trudged onwards in the cold he was careful not to look over his shoulder or aim the torch anywhere but straight ahead, so that Dagný wouldn’t realise that he still felt as if something were following them. He desperately longed to turn around and ask whether she could hear whispering or a crackling in the brush, but was afraid she would send him straight back down to the boat. So he bit his lip and pushed back the desire to flee, despite his body shouting at him to stay alert and run away from this strange threat. When they’d crossed a little stream and come to the house, their destination, Freyr realized that he was drenched with sweat despite the still, cold air.

‘It’s like a graveyard.’ Veigar immediately regretted his choice of words and tried to make up for them. ‘I can’t hear a thing. Not even snoring.’

Dagný frowned and her expression seemed exaggerated in the light from the torch. ‘Are you sure this is the right house?’ She turned to the captain.

‘Yes. Definitely. They brought all this stuff with them on the boat.’ He pointed at a stack of timber and something unrecognisable under a sailcloth. ‘Shouldn’t we just knock?’

They stood silently, side by side, staring at the house. No one responded to the skipper’s suggestion, though it was a sensible one. Freyr took this to mean that he wasn’t the only one to feel something odd was going on; the sounds had disappeared as they stepped off the path but that didn’t change the fact that there was still something unpleasant in the air. Even the house, which was in every way a charming old-fashioned Icelandic wooden house, seemed oppressive to him as it stood there silently, daring them to knock on the door. The torch beams managed to illuminate only a portion of the gable facing them, and the long wall, which should have been visible, receded into the darkness. It was Dagný who cut to the chase. ‘Veigar, come with me. You two wait here while we go and see whether these people are all right.’

‘Suits me.’ The captain gave Freyr a hearty clap on the shoulder. He didn’t seem to mind having to wait outside. ‘We’ll just wait quietly out here, eh?’

Freyr staggered a little – the old man hadn’t spared his strength, perhaps intentionally. Freyr had no business in the house; the septic tank was outdoors and maybe already down in the ground. He might even be standing on it. The thought caused him to take two instinctive steps sideways, but when he aimed the dull beam of his torch at the ground there was nothing to see but a thin layer of snow. He wondered whether he should walk around the house but couldn’t bring himself to do it; it would be better if Dagný and Veigar were there. A loud knocking broke the silence and hung in the air. ‘Is anyone home?’ Veigar’s voice resounded and Freyr thought it impossible that anyone could sleep through such noise. The knocking began again and Veigar called out: ‘This is the police. We’re coming in.’ The screech of the doorknob was piercing, but it wasn’t followed by a creak suggesting the door was being opened. Dagný and Veigar then came round the corner and said they were going to check whether the back door was unlocked. Otherwise they would have to break in.

Freyr and the skipper followed them automatically, keeping far enough back to give no impression of wanting to go in with them, but close enough to see what was happening. Dagný and Veigar stepped up onto an old porch that was in a rather sad state of repair and went straight to work, knocking hard on the door and calling out to those who were supposed to be inside. ‘Of course they might be down at the doctor’s house,’ the captain shouted to Veigar just as the old, stocky police officer was about to throw himself against the door, shoulder first. ‘I remember now that I let them have the keys so they could move there if they encountered any… inconvenience.’

Veigar and Dagný turned to them. Their faces weren’t visible, but it was clear they were less than happy with the skipper. ‘Was there any light there? Or smoke coming from the chimney?’

‘Uh, no.’ The old man took one step closer to Freyr as if to enlist him as a team-mate.

‘All right then. If they’re not here, we’ll go and check that house.’ They both turned back to the door and Veigar threw himself against the tired old wood. It gave a loud crack but didn’t budge. He tried again and at the third attempt the door flew open. ‘Oh, Christ!’ Dagný and Veigar turned aside and a second later the stench reached Freyr and the skipper, forcing them to cover their noses and mouths. ‘That’s fucking disgusting!’ Veigar spat on the porch and Freyr was tempted to do the same. The stench was unlike anything he’d ever smelled, and he’d encountered some rank odours in medical school. This one most resembled the smell that he remembered from forensic medicine when they’d opened the belly of a man who’d drowned and been found after several days in the sea. A salty, rotten stink.

Something shot out through the door and they all gasped. ‘What the hell was that?’ The captain now stood so close to Freyr that Freyr had to step slightly aside to avoid losing his balance. They waved their torches, searching silently for an explanation. Finally they saw a small creature trembling near Freyr, a little dog that had certainly seen better days. Its coat appeared sticky and had formed clumps in several places on its scrawny body. ‘I’d forgotten him; they brought this dog with them.’ The skipper held one hand to his chest. ‘Scared the shit out of me.’

‘Is there anything else you’ve forgotten to tell us?’ Dagný walked angrily past them to the dog. ‘It would be great if you’d share it with us before we go in.’ She bent down to the little animal, which initially took a few steps back but then went to her and allowed her to pick it up. ‘God, he’s shaking, poor thing. Do you remember his name?’

‘Hvutti, Patti, or something like that.’ The captain stared at the dog, not particularly kindly. ‘What a wretched little scrap. Call that a dog…’

Dagný didn’t answer him, but handed the dog to Freyr. ‘Keep your eye on him. I’m not planning to chase him around all over the place before we can go back.’ Freyr took the dog, which looked into his eyes as if to check whether he was trustworthy. Its little body felt like no more than skin and bones and it would probably be easy to forget he was holding it at all if it weren’t for the trembling that shook it from limb to limb. Freyr used his free hand to stroke the poor thing’s head, unafraid that it would bite. It really didn’t matter to him, and it might even make Freyr feel better. But the dog gave no indication of wanting to bite him and instead shut its eyes and relaxed slightly. Then it turned its head towards the house and growled softly, recovering its courage in the security of Freyr’s embrace. As he adjusted the creature in his arms he noticed that his hand was stained with something after touching the dog. He couldn’t see clearly what it was, but when he smelled his hand he realized it was blood. Instinctively he held the dog away from his body, then called to Dagný and Veigar: ‘The dog’s covered in blood!’ They turned to look. ‘But he’s not injured, so it must be from someone else.’ They nodded, their faces grave, and turned back to the house.

‘What?’ The captain shone his torch on the dog and stepped back when he saw what Freyr was talking about. ‘What the fuck…? This doesn’t look good.’ He turned towards the house. ‘I’m glad I don’t have to go in there.’

They watched Veigar and Dagný cover their noses and mouths in the crooks of their arms and walk in. Freyr and the old man said nothing, but through the curtainless windows they watched the torch lights move through the house. The lights stopped suddenly and moved up and down and back and forth in the same place. A few moments later one of the beams set off in the direction it had come from and Dagný appeared at the door, calling for Freyr.

‘Can you come inside? We’ve found a woman. She seems to be injured, I think you’d better look at her before we move her.’ Freyr handed the dog to the skipper, who was less than happy about taking the filthy creature and being left alone outside. But Dagný forbade him to move, and the seriousness in her voice made the man obey. In their haste, Dagný and Freyr neglected to defend themselves against the stench that met them like an invisible curtain in the doorway. But they forgot about it as soon as they were in. The little that Freyr could see of the house’s interior appeared to be much as he’d expected: everything rather old and battered, though in several places the owners’ attempts to renovate the place were visible – and even the dull light couldn’t hide how badly they’d done. ‘She’s here.’ Dagný made way for Freyr to enter the kitchen. ‘Watch out for the hole in the floor back there. You don’t want to fall down it; the smell seems to be coming from there.’ Veigar was hunched over a person lying face down on the floor, her head in a dark pool that Freyr hoped wasn’t blood, but suspected almost certainly was. That could explain the state of the dog.

Freyr searched the woman for signs of life. He ran his hands down the back of her neck. It was uninjured. He asked Veigar to pass him a knife, and used it to cut away the woman’s clothing. With her pale back exposed, he examined the remainder of her spine, which appeared undamaged, and couldn’t find any other injuries. Her breathing was irregular and rattly. ‘Help me turn her over, carefully.’ Veigar hurriedly obeyed and together they turned the victim onto her back. Veigar started in surprise when he saw her injuries. Bloody red crosses had been cut into her face, and she could count herself lucky that she hadn’t lost her eyes, the cuts had come so close to them. Freyr reached for Veigar’s torch and aimed the beam to get a better view. It took all his powers not to let the woman’s head fall back to the floor. Freyr could have sworn that he heard low, nasty, childish laughter coming from the hole in the floor behind him, but he was too flabbergasted even to be frightened.

It was Líf. Or what was left of her.