The Darkness Knows

9

Konrád’s son Húgó, an orthopaedic consultant at the National Hospital, was forever jetting off to international conferences, accompanied by his wife, who had a shop in the Kringlan centre. Konrád and Erna would often babysit their two lively grandsons, who had always been devoted to them. The twins were twelve now, and although they said they were perfectly capable of looking after themselves, there was no way they could actually be trusted to do so. In their parents’ absence, Konrád had brought them to stay with him for a few days, promising them a trip to the cinema. They chose the film, an abysmally bad thriller that Konrád hadn’t even heard of, in which some glitzy Hollywood star mowed down a host of enemies.

Having the boys to stay was a pleasant change from the usual monotony of his life and he did his best to treat them, though he suspected their parents already spoilt them rotten. The last thing he wanted to do was interfere in his grandchildren’s upbringing, but he couldn’t help raising his eyebrows over the demands made on the poor kids, whose week seemed to be booked solid with extra sports coaching, music lessons, art courses and countless other extracurricular activities.

‘Ambition will be the death of that lot,’ was his sister Beta’s verdict whenever the subject came up in conversation.

Konrád had driven the boys to school that morning, then picked them up from their guitar lesson before taking them to the cinema. The guitars were in the boot of his four-wheel drive, and when they got home that evening he asked the boys to show him what they could play. But they begged to be excused, saying it was boring enough having to do the lessons. Instead, they commandeered the television in the sitting room with their game console, and after that they were lost in a world of their own until bedtime. Since it was a Friday and they had the whole weekend ahead, Konrád allowed them to stay up as late as they liked. Sometime after eleven, though, Húgó called from Gothenburg and ordered him to send the boys to bed. He obeyed.

Clearly, the body in the ice had been discussed at the boys’ house.

‘Granddad,’ one of the boys said as he laid his head on the pillow, ‘did you know the dead man they found on the glacier?’

‘No.’

‘Dad said you knew him,’ the other boy objected, his eyes still bloodshot from all the on-screen slaughter.

‘I didn’t know him personally but I knew who he was.’

‘Dad said you searched for him for years and years. When you were a cop.’

‘That’s right.’

‘But you never found him.’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because he was hidden on the glacier. That was a terrible film you tricked me into seeing.’

‘No way! It was awesome,’ the twins protested. ‘Totally kickass.’

‘You’re idiots,’ Konrád said, smiling to himself as he pushed the door to.

He could hear them giggling as he tidied up in the kitchen before going to bed himself. Just as they’d finally quietened down, there was a faint tapping on the front door. At first he thought it was the autumn wind rattling the letterbox, but then he heard another light knocking, louder this time. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Beta could be trusted to drop in at all hours, but she would march in armed with her own set of keys and would never tap politely like that. It could hardly be a salesman. Konrád made a habit of buying lobsters and dried fish from door-to-door salespeople, but they would never dare to disturb him at this time of night.

He went to the front door, opened it and saw a woman of indeterminate age standing on the step.

‘I saw a light on,’ she said. ‘Could I possibly speak to you for a moment?’

She came across as shy and diffident. ‘Timid’ was the word. Konrád assumed she was going to try to sell him something, like a newsletter or a lottery ticket, and was tempted to send her packing, but there was something so pathetic about her that he didn’t have the heart to be rude. He took in the cheap clothes hanging off her thin body: the faded jeans, brown fake-leather jacket and purple jumper. She was wearing a black headband over her ears. Under it her hair was thick and blonde, and her face was pretty, though age and experience had etched soft wrinkles in her skin, pursing her lips and deepening the pouches under her eyes.

‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘for disturbing you like this.’

‘What are you selling?’ Konrád asked. ‘It’s very late. You do realise that?’

He scanned the parking area to see if she was alone. There had been a few occasions when men Konrád had crossed paths with in the line of duty hadn’t been content with swearing at him down the phone but had turned up outside his house after work, with a confused idea of getting something straight. Usually drink had played a role. It hadn’t led to any trouble, though. Konrád had always managed to calm the visitor down, if he was agitated, or else listened patiently to his bullshit, if the guy was in the mood to rant, before sending him away without taking any further action.

‘Oh no, I’m not selling anything,’ the woman said. ‘I wanted to talk to you about my brother. If I could come in for a moment?’

‘Your brother? Do I know him?’

‘No,’ the woman said. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘Should I know you?’

‘No.’

‘Then why do you want to tell me about your brother?’

‘Because of something he saw when he was a boy. By the tanks on Öskjuhlíd.’