The Shadow District

24

Following his visit to Ingiborg, Konrád went for a meal at a decent steakhouse on Skeifan. It was still early; there were few other diners, and he took a corner table. While he was eating, his thoughts wandered back to Vigga in the nursing home. To the other girl she had mentioned, who had gone missing and never been found, and that obscure reference to the huldufólk. This couldn’t have been Rósamunda. Her body had definitely been found behind the theatre. Thorson had been investigating her case during the war, if Ingiborg was to be believed. But something had prompted him to start asking questions again, all these years later. At least, he had spoken to Vigga, and possibly to others as well. What had sparked his interest? And why had he gone to talk to Vigga? How had she been mixed up in it all? Vigga had been under the impression that she was talking to Thorson when Konrád visited her. As if they had once known each other. Had the other girl suffered the same fate as Rósamunda? Was their story similar? Had Thorson unearthed some new piece of evidence in his old age?

Konrád was startled out of his thoughts by a crash. He looked up to see one of the customers standing in momentary bewilderment among the shards of a glass he had dropped. A waiter came to his aid, and Konrád decided to make a move.

There was a line of inquiry he wanted to pursue. He’d been putting it off, but decided that now was as good a time as any to get in touch with the person who had originally sold Thorson his flat. He might just know something. Konrád had made a note of the name when he came across the sales contract among the old man’s papers.

Konrád enquired after the man in question at an attractive townhouse in the east end and was directed to a garage where he worked as a mechanic. The man got the shock of his life when he saw Konrád, as he assumed he must be from the tax office, and that someone had shopped him for working cash in hand, an offence of which he was all too guilty. When his fears turned out to be unfounded, he relaxed and became very pally. Yes, he could remember selling the flat to Stefán Thórdarson, and had indeed heard how the old man had met his end. He hadn’t been acquainted with Stefán at all, but recalled that he had been a cash buyer. Remembered thinking that he must have managed to put quite a bit aside. It turned out that the man had a clearer memory of his old neighbour Birgitta, and the conversation soon veered towards a subject that had been strangely close to her heart.

‘Me and Birgitta used to argue about it,’ said the mechanic. He had a broad face and strong hands marked by many years of tinkering with engines. ‘She could never convince me. But she was totally in favour.’

‘Of what?’

‘You know she was a nurse?’ The man removed the battery from the car he was working on.

‘Yes,’ lied Konrád. In fact, he’d made no effort to research her background.

‘Naturally she was speaking from experience. Said she’d seen it all in her job.’

‘Speaking from experience? About what? I’m not with you.’

‘Assisted suicide,’ said the man, putting down the battery. ‘She wanted it legalised in this country.’

‘Assisted suicide?’ Konrád had difficulty hiding his surprise.

‘She wanted them to allow assisted suicide in specific, difficult cases. She used to be pretty hard line about it in the old days. Actually, I had half a mind to ring you about the old man. When I heard his death wasn’t violent — if you know what I mean — I immediately thought of her.’

‘That she might have suffocated him?’

‘I’m not saying that’s what happened. That’s not what I’m saying at all. I just happened to think of her when I heard about the old man. Remembered her views. The way he died sounded like that — like an act of kindness.’

Konrád talked to the mechanic for a while longer without learning anything else of interest. After saying goodbye, he set off home and rang Marta on the way.

‘Have you given any thought to assisted suicide?’ he asked without preamble. Judging by the sucking and smacking noises at the other end, Marta had just finished eating.

‘Assisted suicide? What are you on about?’

‘Have you given it any thought?’

‘Not particularly,’ said Marta. ‘Do you mean would I choose that way out myself?’

‘No, not you,’ said Konrád. ‘Were you eating?’

‘Some crap I picked up at a burger joint. What’s all this about assisted suicide?’

‘Has it crossed your mind in relation to Thorson? There he is, lying in his bed, no sign of a struggle. No resistance on his part. It’s like he lay down and went to sleep, only someone put a pillow over his face.’

‘So?’

‘Two points. There’s a suggestion that Birgitta and Stefán, or Thorson, were more than just neighbours — according to another occupant of the building. And I’ve just heard that Birgitta was a great believer in assisted suicide — was passionate about it, in fact. She used to be a nurse. Did she tell you that?’

‘No. Where did you hear that?’

‘From the man who originally sold Thorson his flat. He remembered Birgitta because of her views.’

‘Assisted suicide? It’s not like Thorson was ill. The post-mortem didn’t reveal anything wrong. What sort of relationship did they have? Maybe you ought to check it out.’

‘Want me to have a word with her?’

‘Please,’ said Marta. ‘We’re unusually short-staffed at the moment. See what you can winkle out of the woman and let me know how it goes.’