Outrage

33

The pill worked faster than Runólfur expected and Nína leaned heavily against him on the way up to Thingholt, towards his home. She seemed very susceptible to the drug. She clung on to him and he had to half-carry her the last few steps. They did not go in from the front of the house but through the back garden, so he did not expect anyone to notice them. He did not switch on any lights when they entered, and he laid her gently on the sofa in the living room.

He shut the door, went into the kitchen, lit candles, arranged them in the bedroom, and then lit two more in the living room. He took his jacket off. The candlelight cast an eerie glow over the flat. He was thirsty. He drank a large glass of water and put on some music from one of his favourite films. He bent over Nína, took the shawl, bundled it up and flung it into the bedroom before pulling off her San Francisco T-shirt. She was not wearing a bra.

Runólfur carried her into the bedroom, then removed the rest of her clothes and undressed himself. She was unconscious. He squeezed himself into her T-shirt and looked down at her naked motionless body. He smiled, and bit off the corner of a condom wrapper.

His whole mind was focused on the young woman.

He lay down on top of her unmoving body, stroked her breasts, and thrust his tongue into her unresponsive mouth.

About half an hour later he left the room and changed the music. Serenely, he picked out another film theme, and turned the volume up a little higher.

As Runólfur was returning to the bedroom there was a knock at the door. He looked towards it, not believing what he was hearing. On two occasions since he moved to Thingholt revellers had come to his door late at night, in search of a party on their way from the city centre after a night’s drinking. They had either forgotten the address or were lost, and he had only been able to get rid of them by answering the door. He stood in the living room, glanced into the bedroom, then back at the door. The knocking was repeated, louder this time. His caller was persistent. One such night-time visitor had been calling out for someone named Sigga who he thought lived there.

Runólfur hurriedly put on his jeans, half-closed the bedroom door, then cautiously opened the front door and peered out. There was no porch light and he could only vaguely discern a figure standing on the doorstep.

‘What-?’ he began, but got no further. A man shoved hard against the door, burst into the flat, and swiftly shut the door behind him.

Runólfur was so astonished that he did not even try to resist the invasion.

‘Are you alone?’ asked Valdimar.

Runólfur recognised him at once. ‘You?’ he asked. ‘How …? What do you want?’

‘Have you got someone with you?’ asked Valdimar.

‘Get the fuck out of here!’ hissed Runólfur.

He saw the handle of a cut-throat razor in Valdimar’s hand, and a split second later the flash of the blade. In a moment, Valdimar had clenched his hand around Runólfur’s throat and thrust him hard against the wall, holding the razor to his skin. Valdimar was a much taller, stronger man. Runólfur was paralysed with terror. Valdimar scanned his surroundings and, through the half-open bedroom door, saw Nína’s feet in the bed. ‘Who’s in there?’ he asked.

‘It’s my girlfriend,’ stammered Runólfur. Valdimar’s steely grasp on his throat made it hard for him get the words out. He felt as if his neck were in a vice. He could hardly breathe.

‘Girlfriend? Tell her to get out!’

‘She’s asleep.’

‘Wake her up, then!’

‘I … I can’t,’ said Runólfur.

‘Hey, you!’ Valdimar shouted into the bedroom. ‘Can you hear me?’

Nína did not move.

‘Why doesn’t she answer?’

‘She’s fast asleep,’ said Runólfur.

‘Asleep?’

Valdimar swivelled suddenly to stand behind him with the razor still at his throat, and grasped his hair in the other hand. Propelling Runólfur ahead of him, he kicked the door open fully.

‘I can slit your throat whenever I want,’ he whispered into Runólfur’s ear. He nudged Nína with his foot, but she did not move. ‘What’s wrong with her? Why doesn’t she wake up?’

‘She’s just asleep,’ protested Runólfur.

Valdimar made a small cut in the skin of his throat, which stung painfully.

‘Please don’t hurt me,’ begged Runólfur.

‘No one sleeps that heavily. Is she drugged? Did you give her something?’

‘Don’t cut me,’ whimpered Runólfur.

‘Did you give her something?’

Runólfur made no answer.

‘Did you drug her?’

‘She …’

‘Where is it?’

‘Don’t cut me again. It’s in my jacket pocket, in the other room.’

‘Hand it over.’ Valdimar marched Runólfur ahead of him back into the living room.

‘You’re still at it,’ he said.

‘She likes it this way.’

‘Like my sister did!’ howled Valdimar. ‘She asked for it, did she? Asked you to rape her, you filthy bastard?’

‘I don’t know what she told you …’ gasped Runólfur. ‘I didn’t mean … I’m sorry, I …’

Runólfur took the pills from his jacket pocket and held them out to Valdimar.

‘What are these?’ asked Valdimar.

‘I don’t know,’ said Runólfur, his voice faltering in terror.

‘What are they?’

Valdimar sliced again at Runólfur’s throat.

‘Ro … Rohypnol,’ groaned Runólfur. ‘It’s a sleeping pill.’

‘You mean a date-rape drug?’

Runólfur said nothing.

‘Swallow them,’ Valdimar told him.

‘Don’t …’

‘Swallow them!’ bellowed Valdimar, making another cut. Blood flowed down Runólfur’s neck. He placed a pill between his lips.

‘And another one!’ ordered Valdimar.

Runólfur was in tears. ‘What … what are you going to do?’ he asked, putting another pill in his mouth.

‘And another.’

Runólfur had given up resisting and swallowed the next pill. ‘Don’t do anything to me,’ he begged.

‘Shut up!’

‘I could die if I take too many.’

‘Take your jeans off.’

‘Valdi, please …’

‘Get them off!’ said Valdimar, making another small incision in Runólfur’s neck. He whined in pain. He unbuttoned his jeans and dropped them to his ankles. ‘How does it feel?’ Valdimar asked.

‘Feel?’

‘How does it feel?’

‘What …?’

‘How does it feel to be raped?’

‘Don’t …’

‘Like it, do you?’

‘Please don’t,’ sobbed Runólfur.

‘How do you think my sister felt?’

‘Don’t …’

‘Tell me! What do you suppose it’s been like for her, all these years?’

‘Don’t …’

‘Tell me! Do you think she felt the way you do now?’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know … I didn’t mean …’

‘You disgusting shit!’ whispered Valdimar in Runólfur’s ear, then slit his throat cleanly from left to right. He released his hold on Runólfur, who collapsed to the floor. Blood gushed from the wound. Valdimar stood by the dead man, then opened the front door and strode out into the night.

Elínborg listened to Valdimar’s account in silence, watching his face and listening to the intonation of his voice. He showed no remorse for what he had done. It was more as if he had carried out a task that had to be completed if he were to regain his peace of mind. It had taken him two years but now it was over. If anything, Elínborg felt, he seemed relieved.

‘You don’t regret what you did?’

‘Runólfur got what he deserved,’ answered Valdimar.

‘You appointed yourself judge, jury and executioner.’

‘He was my sister’s judge, jury and executioner,’ retorted Valdimar. ‘I see no difference between what I did to him and what he did to Addý. My only concern was that I might lose my nerve. I thought it would be more difficult. I didn’t think I’d be able to do anything to him. I was expecting more resistance, but Runólfur was a pathetic, cowardly little shit. I should think most men like him are.’

‘But there are other ways to achieve justice.’

‘Like what? Addý was right. Men like Runólfur get put away for a year, or maybe two. If they are even prosecuted, that is. Addý … Addý said to me that Runólfur might as well have killed her. It made no difference. I don’t see what I did as a serious crime. In the end, you do what you have to. Something must be done, to put things right. Should I just have stood aside and allowed him to carry on? I wrestled with that question until I couldn’t take it any more. When the system takes the side of the filth like that, what are you supposed to do?’

Elínborg thought of Nína and Konrád and their family, and how their world had been ravaged. She remembered the sad little gathering at Runólfur’s home — Unnur and her family, who had nothing but their silent pain.

For Valdimar, that was not enough.

‘Had you been planning this for long?’ asked Elínborg.

‘Ever since Addý told me. She didn’t want me to do anything. Didn’t want me to get into any trouble. She always worried about her little brother. I don’t know whether you really understand. What she went through — both when he violated her and for the years afterwards. All those long years. Really, Addý no longer existed. She wasn’t my sister any more, not the real Addý. She was just a shadow, a travesty of herself, who was withering away and dying.’

‘An innocent man and his daughter are in custody because of you’ said Elínborg.

‘I know, and I feel terrible about that,’ replied Valdimar. ‘I’ve been keeping up with the case and I intended to give myself up. I really don’t want innocent people to suffer because of me. I would have given myself up. I was going to. There were some things I needed to sort out first, and I’ve been doing that for the past few days. I don’t suppose I’ll be coming back here.’

Valdimar put down the spanner. ‘How did you work out it was me?’ he asked her.

‘My husband’s a mechanic.’

Valdimar looked at her, at a loss.

‘The father of the girl we’ve got in custody thought he smelt paraffin in Runólfur’s flat. She must have woken up just after you left, because when her father arrived there was still a trace of the smell of your clothes in the air. He assumed that Runólfur must have been using paraffin to burn something. I was reminded of it by a smell in my own home, so I asked the father about it. It seemed to be an oily smell, a garage smell. I thought of you at once — the man who’s always in his workshop. I thought about Runólfur’s past, and this village, and made a few enquiries.’

‘I went straight from here to Reykjavík, in my work clothes,’ said Valdimar. ‘It was Addý’s birthday that Sunday, and it felt like an appropriate time to make it right. I don’t think anyone noticed me go. I left in the early evening, and I was back by the next morning. I hadn’t made any preparations or planned anything. I didn’t really know what I intended to do. I just set off as I was, in my overalls. I took an old straight razor with me.’

‘The pathologist said the cut was smooth, almost feminine.’

‘I’ve slaughtered a few beasts in my time.’

‘Oh?’

‘There used to be an abattoir here. I often worked there during the autumn season, after the sheep round-up.’

‘When people here heard that Runólfur was dead, they must have put two and two together?’

‘That’s quite possible, but no one ever mentioned it to me. Maybe they felt the score had been settled.’

‘Do you think Runólfur’s father knew what his son had done?’

‘He knew. I’m sure of it.’

‘You told me the other day that you once visited Runólfur in Reykjavík,’ said Elínborg. ‘That must have been before you knew about the rape?’

‘Yes. I ran into him in the middle of town and he invited me over. We met quite by chance. I didn’t stay long. We were from the same village, but I didn’t know him particularly well and … I didn’t like him, really.’

‘Was he renting a place at that time?’

‘He was staying with a friend. Some man named Edvard.’

‘Edvard?’

‘Yes. Edvard.’

‘When was this?

‘Five or six years ago.’

‘Can you remember precisely? How many years ago, exactly?’

Valdimar thought about it. ‘It was six years ago, 1999. I was in Reykjavík buying a second-hand car.’

‘So six years ago Runólfur was living in Edvard’s home?’ asked Elínborg. She recalled Edvard’s neighbour mentioning a lodger.

‘Yes, so he said.’

‘Was it in the west of town?’

‘Not far from the centre, near the dry dock. That’s where Runólfur was working.’

‘Runólfur worked at the dry dock?’

‘Yes. He said he worked there part-time when he was at college.’

‘Did you meet this Edvard at all?’

‘No, Runólfur just told me about him. Made fun of him. That’s why I can recall it so clearly — I remember being struck by how nasty Runólfur was about him. He called him a wimp, but of course Runólfur was …’

Valdimar did not complete the sentence. Elínborg had taken out her mobile phone and at that instant a police car drew up outside. Two uniformed officers got out. Elínborg looked at Valdimar.

He hesitated, looked around him, passed a callused hand over the tractor seat, and glanced at the half-open tool lockers.

‘Will I get long?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know,’ answered Elínborg.

‘I don’t regret what I did,’ said Valdimar. ‘And I never will.’

‘Come on,’ said Elínborg. ‘Let’s get this over with.’