Outrage

31

In daylight Elínborg was able to form a clearer sense of the location of the churchyard, which lay to the north of the village, next to the sea. It was enclosed by a low stone wall that was sorely in need of repair and had even collapsed in places, and was partially obscured by the tall, withered winter grass. A picturesque little wooden church, painted white and with a red roof, stood at the end of the churchyard.

The small gate was ajar.

Elínborg found the cross she was looking for easily. Around her were low, mossy gravestones, lying flat on the cold ground, their inscriptions worn and indecipherable, while other stones stood upright amidst the grass, resisting the elements. In among the old memorial stones were simple wooden crosses, like the one that marked Adalheidur’s resting place.

The cross was quite without ornament, identified only with a plain black plaque bearing Adalheidur’s name, the dates of her birth and death, and the inscription Rest in Peace. Elínborg noticed that Adalheidur’s birthday was the date on which Runólfur had been killed.

She raised her eyes. The sky was overcast, but it was a windless day and the sea was mirror-smooth. She looked out along the fjord towards the ocean, to the distant horizon, and felt a sense of peace within herself. The spell was broken by the shrill call of a redwing, which perched briefly on the church tower before flying off into the mountains.

Elínborg realised that she was no longer alone. She glanced up towards the road, and saw the girl in the blue down parka standing there watching her. They stood there for some time without speaking, looking at each other, before the girl set off down towards the churchyard and clambered over the wall.

‘It’s pretty here,’ said Elínborg.

‘Yes,’ the girl agreed. ‘It’s the prettiest place in the village.’

‘They certainly knew what they were doing when they chose this spot for the churchyard,’ said Elínborg. ‘By the way, thanks very much for leaving me here alone last night,’ she added.

‘I’m sorry,’ said the girl. ‘I didn’t know what to do. I still don’t know what I’m doing. When you came back here …’

‘Did you know I’d return?’

‘I wasn’t surprised. I expected you. And I’ve been waiting.’

‘Please tell me what’s worrying you. I can see there’s something you want to tell me.’

‘I saw that you called on Kristjana.’

‘You villagers don’t miss much.’

‘I wasn’t spying on you. I just noticed. She knows all about what happened. Did she tell you?’

‘What did happen?’

‘Everyone knows about it.’

‘About what? And who are you? What’s your name, for a start?’

‘My name’s Vala.’

‘Why all this pussyfooting around, Vala?’

‘I think most people here know what happened, but they’ll never say. And I don’t want to tell, either — I don’t want to get him in trouble. So … I don’t know whether I even ought to be talking to you at all. It’s just that the silence is unbearable. I can’t take it any more.’

‘Why don’t you tell me everything? Then we’ll see. What are you scared of?’

‘No one here talks about it,’ said Vala, ‘and I don’t want to get anyone into trouble.’

‘About what? Get who into trouble?’

‘Everyone keeps their mouth shut and pretends nothing happened — that nothing ever happens here. That everything in the garden’s rosy.’

‘And isn’t it?’

‘No, it isn’t.’

‘So what is it like? Why did you bring me down here last night?’

The girl made no reply.

‘What do you want me to do?’ asked Elínborg.

‘I’m no snitch. I don’t want to tell tales about people. And I don’t want to speak ill of the dead.’

‘No one needs to know what we talk about,’ Elínborg assured her.

Suddenly, Vala changed tack. ‘Have you been in the police for long?’

‘Yes, quite a long time.’

‘It must be a horrible job.’

‘No. Sometimes it is, like when you’re sent to a secretive little place like this. But there are better days. For instance, when I meet a girl like you and I think I can do something for her. Who was it that died who you don’t want to tell tales about?’

‘I never finished secondary school,’ the girl said, evading the question. ‘Maybe I’ll go back and get my qualifications one day, and go to university. I’d like to study something.’

‘Who was Adalheidur?’ asked Elínborg, indicating the simple white cross on the grave.

‘I was just a little girl when it happened.’

‘When what happened?’

‘I was probably about eight at the time, but I never heard anything about it until I was twelve or thirteen. There were all sorts of rumours floating around and I remember they seemed very sad but exciting too, in a weird way. They said she’d gone mad. She was supposed to have got some illness, some mental thing. She only worked part-time, and cooked and cleaned for her brother. She was mysterious, kept herself to herself. She didn’t speak to people, cut herself off from what went on in the village, lost touch with everything and everyone. She had almost no contact with anyone but her brother. He took wonderful care of her after she got ill. Or I thought she was ill, anyway. That’s what they said, when I was a little girl. They said poor Addý wasn’t well. She seemed like a grown woman to me — she was twelve years older. Her birthday’s nearly the same as mine — there’s five days’ difference. She was the same age I am now when it happened.’

‘Did you know her at all?’

‘Yes, we worked together at the fish factory. She was a lot older, of course, like I said, and not easy to get to know — reserved. I was told she’d always been that way, slightly odd. She’d been a loner who kept out of other people’s way, and they left her alone, too. They said she’d been fragile and sensitive. Not someone you would notice. That made her easy prey, I suppose.’

Vala took a deep breath. Elínborg sensed the girl’s distress. ‘Then, when I was older, I heard other things about Addý and what had been done to her. Some people found out about it but said nothing. Maybe they found it hard to believe. Or embarrassing. Or shameful. It took years before the whole village knew. I think everyone is aware of the truth now. I’ve no idea how the rumours started, because Addý herself never said a word. She never made any accusation. Maybe he boasted about it when he was drinking. Maybe he was proud of what he did. I doubt that he had any regrets, somehow.’

Vala fell silent. Elínborg waited patiently for her to continue.

‘Addý never told anyone the truth. Except her brother, probably, in the end. I think he must have heard the rumours by then, too. She was living with a shame of her own making. I’ve read a lot about women like her. Most of them, if not all, need special therapy. Apparently they blame themselves. They live with their anger and cut themselves off.’

‘What happened?’

‘He raped Addý.’ Vala gazed at the cross. ‘The word spread gradually that she’d been raped, and who the man was, but she never said anything and no one was ever charged. No one was tried. And no one lifted a finger to help her,’ said Vala.

‘Who did it?’ asked Elínborg. ‘Who raped her?’

‘I’m sure Kristjana knows about it. Knows perfectly well what her son did. She lives in a state of denial. She has a rough time here. The kids make fun of her, break her windows.’

‘You’re talking about Runólfur?’

‘Yes. He raped Addý — and she never got over it. They found her in the sea down here, just below the churchyard. She’d floated down here, to her place of rest.’

‘What about Runólfur?’

‘Everyone here knows who killed him.’

Elínborg gazed at Vala for a long time. In her mind she saw an elderly man swerve over calmly into the oncoming traffic — and smile at the heavy lorry bearing down on him.