Reykjavik Nights

49

Early next morning Erlendur left home and walked down to the CID offices on Borgartún. He had not slept a wink. After leaving the pipeline, he had showered, changed his clothes and eaten a quick breakfast. He could, of course, have called to report the body as soon as he got home, but he believed there was no urgency. A few hours would make no difference, and besides he wanted to beg a favour of the detectives.

When he asked to speak to Hrólfur, he learned that he was on holiday, but he could see Marion Briem instead. He knew the name well; Marion was the driving force in CID. They had crossed paths two or three times since Erlendur joined the force. He learned that Marion had recently returned from a long sabbatical in Denmark and so had not been involved in Oddný’s case.

Marion, who was taking off a coat when Erlendur knocked on the door, recognised him immediately.

‘Erlendur, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Not in uniform?’

‘I’m off duty,’ Erlendur explained.

‘I see. What brings you here?’

‘I want to report a murder.’

Marion put down the coat, trying to conceal any sign of astonishment.

‘What do you mean?’

‘In fact, I believe it’s a case of double murder,’ Erlendur said. ‘One of the victims was a woman called Oddný. The other was a vagrant I knew, called Hannibal. He was unlucky. It looks as if he was the wrong man in the wrong place. The woman was the main target. They both died at around the same time in Kringlumýri. And I’m fairly confident that the murderer was the same in both cases.’

‘Oddný, isn’t that the woman who went missing last year?’ asked Marion.

‘Yes. And Hannibal’s the man—’

‘Who drowned in the flooded pit.’

‘Correct.’

‘Hrólfur told me a junior officer had come in and asked a lot of strange questions about those two,’ said Marion. ‘I take it you’ve found the woman.’

‘She’s buried in the hot-water pipeline not far from the diggings. The pipeline was Hannibal’s last refuge. Oddný probably tried to hide there, which is how Hannibal got mixed up in the whole thing. It cost him his life.’

‘Have you been conducting a private investigation?’ asked Marion.

‘I knew Hannibal,’ Erlendur explained. ‘His sister asked me to find out how her brother drowned. I’ve been meaning to report my discoveries. Then this morning I found Oddný. I’ve worked out who the killer is too. But I wanted to ask you a favour.’

‘Which is?’

‘I’d like to be granted a few minutes with him before you take him away.’

The house in Fossvogur stood at the bottom of the valley, a boxy, modern structure, its immaculately tended garden now in full bloom. The verdant lawn was freshly mown and neatly edged; pansies and peonies flowered in tidy rows along the walls of the house. The red garage door was closed. It was still early and the morning breeze held the scent of summer and the promise of a glorious day.

Erlendur approached the front door and rang the bell. There was a lengthy wait before Gústaf opened it.

‘You again,’ he said. ‘What do you want? And what... why are they here?’

‘I asked them to come with me,’ Erlendur replied.

In the drive behind him was a patrol car containing two uniformed officers. A new-looking, unmarked vehicle was parked beside it. Marion Briem stepped out, accompanied by two plainclothes detectives, their eyes on the house. Another team of officers had been deployed to the pipeline, where a section of the wall, and the concrete slab on top, would be removed to provide easier access to the body.

‘They’re detectives from the Reykjavík Criminal Investigation Department.’

‘Criminal Investigation...?’

‘They want to talk to you, but they’ve agreed to give me a few minutes with you first.’

Gústaf peered down the road as if principally afraid that his neighbours would witness this visit. Police cars were a rare sight in this area.

‘What do you want with me? I’m about to leave for work. I haven’t got time for this.’

‘It won’t take long,’ Erlendur assured him. ‘There’s just one small matter I want to ask you about.’

‘Do they have to park in the drive?’ asked Gústaf.

‘It won’t take a moment.’

‘Well, let’s get it over with, then,’ sighed Gústaf, realising that, whatever he said, Erlendur was not going to back down. ‘I’m already late for work.’

They went no further than the hall. Gústaf closed the front door behind them. Erlendur could smell toast and coffee.

‘How dare you show up unannounced like this?’ Gústaf snarled. ‘Turning up with all these cars at the crack of dawn, as if it were some major incident. As if I were a dangerous criminal!’

‘Oh, I don’t think you’ll be making any complaints,’ said Erlendur. ‘Any more than you did the last time I visited you and came pretty close to blaming you for your wife’s disappearance.’

‘I saw no reason to,’ protested Gústaf. ‘I can’t go around reporting every nutter who makes crazy accusations against me.’

‘Fair enough. But of course you were keen not to attract any attention either.’

‘I don’t know what you’re referring to. What do you want? Why won’t you stop harassing me?’

‘Last time we spoke — it’s in the case notes too — you stated that you attended a Lions Club meeting the evening Oddný went to Thórskaffi. Is that correct?’

‘What are you getting at now?’

‘Is that correct? That you were at a Lions Club meeting?’

‘Quite correct. It’s common knowledge.’

‘And you came straight home from the meeting. Shortly after midnight, I imagine?’

‘You know, I don’t have to talk to you,’ said Gústaf. ‘You’re not even involved in this case. It’s none of your business. Why don’t you get out of my house and take your colleagues with you?’

‘An acquaintance of mine died in the peat diggings that night,’ said Erlendur. ‘His sister’s terrified that he’ll be blamed for your wife’s disappearance. She’s desperate for that not to happen. Did you change your clothes after coming home from the meeting?’

‘Change my clothes? No... I can’t remember. What kind of question is that? Did I change my clothes?!’

‘You were wearing a nice suit, weren’t you?’

Gústaf said nothing.

‘And a white shirt? Perhaps a new white shirt?’

Gústaf returned his gaze in obstinate silence, refusing to answer.

‘Did the sleeves have buttons?’

No reply.

‘Or were you wearing cufflinks?’

‘You’d better get out of here, all of you.’ Gústaf made to open the door.

‘Were they Lions Club cufflinks, by any chance?’

Gústaf gaped at him.

‘I don’t own any cufflinks myself and don’t know how they’re worn,’ continued Erlendur. ‘But I do know that you lost one. Just like your wife lost an earring. Ring any bells?’

The other man remained silent.

‘When did you notice it was missing?’ asked Erlendur. ‘Or didn’t you notice?’

He could see that Gústaf was rattled. Erlendur had entered the pipeline fully convinced that Bergmundur had killed Oddný. He had been equally confident that the tramp had finished off Hannibal. That he had hunted Hannibal down in revenge for the fact that he had stolen his Thurí. Their encounter had ended with Bergmundur forcibly drowning Hannibal in the diggings. Oddný, witnessing the crime, had fled and hidden in the pipeline, where Bergmundur had found and murdered her.

Now, however, he knew that Bergmundur was innocent of her death.

‘Did you think you’d lost the cufflink somewhere else?’ he asked.

‘You can’t come here and...’

Gústaf was casting around in vain for something to say.

‘You must have been frantic when you couldn’t find it.’

‘But I haven’t—’

‘Is this your cufflink, by any chance?’ Erlendur fished in his pocket and pulled out the object he had found in Oddný’s hand. It was sealed in a small plastic bag, which Erlendur held out for Gústaf to examine. He had cleaned off enough of the dirt to reveal that the cufflink was silver-plated, with diagonal stripes and the Lions Club crest in the middle.

Gústaf took a step backwards.

‘Why don’t you take a closer look?’ suggested Erlendur. ‘Check it’s definitely yours?’

Gústaf shook his head in disbelief.

‘Did Hannibal stumble on you and your wife?’ said Erlendur. ‘Did he see what you’d done? Catch sight of your face?’

The other man avoided his eye.

‘Did you think she’d never be found? That they’d seal up the hole in the casing and she’d stay hidden in her grave for all eternity?’

Erlendur advanced towards Gústaf, who was standing there as if turned to stone.

‘Answer me!’ he shouted.

Gústaf flinched.

‘I didn’t mean...’ he mumbled almost inaudibly. After all this time his defences were finally crumbling. ‘I didn’t trust her. I thought she’d started seeing that creep again... that bastard. And she told me — told me when I caught her — that she’d slept with him and was planning to do it again. Planning to leave me. And that she hated me. I was a monster and I disgusted her.’

‘When you caught her?’

Gústaf searched Erlendur’s face for any sign of understanding.

‘I chased her. She came home and we had a row and she ran out and... I went after her. I didn’t mean... I hit her in the face... I didn’t mean to kill her — it was an accident. And when the man saw, when he saw me I... I completely lost my head. Lost control. I had no idea what to do.’

‘Where did Hannibal appear from? Inside the pipeline?’

‘I don’t know. Probably. I had no clue he was there. Didn’t think anyone was around. Then suddenly he popped up. By then it was too late. He saw what I’d done.’

‘So you went after him?’

‘He saw me,’ repeated Gústaf. ‘He saw what I’d done to Oddný. I couldn’t let him report me to the police. I couldn’t. He ran towards the diggings. What was I supposed to do? What could I have done?’

Gústaf’s gaze was riveted to the cufflink.

‘I’ve been looking for it ever since,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know where I’d lost it. Didn’t know where it was. I was going crazy. Turned the house upside down, searched up by the pipeline, inside it... I had a horrible feeling it was there. Was terrified I’d dropped it there.’

‘I found it with Oddný.’

‘Where... where exactly?’

‘In her hand.’

‘Oh my God,’ whispered Gústaf.

‘I found her last night, where you buried her.’

‘I... I never dared look at her. I regret it so much... what I did. I—’

‘You must have been keeping an eye on the pipeline,’ said Erlendur. ‘Especially as it was still open.’

Gústaf nodded.

‘I went there often, mostly at night of course — I didn’t want anyone to see me. It’s like an open grave. They’ll never get round to mending it. Never mend that horrible hole in the casing.’