The Shadow District

27

Stefán’s neighbour Birgitta gave Konrád a friendly welcome, apparently unsurprised to see him again. He took a seat on her sofa, and she asked how the investigation was going, whether the police were any closer to finding out what had happened to Stefán. He said he couldn’t really answer for the police as he was mainly looking into the case on his own account, given that it touched him personally, though only in a very remote way. She was immediately intrigued, so Konrád gave her a brief account of the Rósamunda affair, leaving out his father’s involvement and saying only that he was acquainted with Rósamunda’s parents. It appeared that the case had never been solved as there was no record of it in the police archives, though it was possible the US military might be sitting on some papers if the matter had been handled by them. Konrád knew Marta was planning to send a request for information to the American authorities.

‘Did you ever hear Stefán talk about the Rósamunda case?’ he asked.

‘No, never. Why should... Were they acquainted?’

‘Do you know what Stefán did during the war?’

‘Not really. Only that he was stationed in Reykjavík.’

‘Apparently he was in the US Military Police,’ said Konrád. ‘Rósamunda’s death was one of the cases he investigated. He never told you?’

Birgitta had been completely unaware of Stefán’s stint in the police. He’d never referred to it; in fact he’d spoken very little about the war years. ‘I had no idea,’ she said. Do the police think... Do you think there might be a connection between the case and the way he died?’

‘Naturally, I can’t talk about the investigation, except to say that the police are exploring all avenues, considering various factors. Including, for example, the way he was found.’

‘In bed?’

‘Lying flat on his back like that, looking almost peaceful.’

‘Wasn’t he smothered?’ asked Birgitta.

‘All the evidence certainly points that way,’ said Konrád. ‘One of the possibilities we’re considering — one of the factors I mentioned — is his state of mind immediately prior to his death. Another is his great age. Then there’s the question of what he was up to shortly before he died. And his views on death. Were you familiar with them, by any chance? Did he ever talk about how he’d like to make his exit?’

‘I’m not with you.’

‘Well, for example, do you know if he wanted to be cremated or buried?’

‘He never spoke about it,’ said Birgitta. ‘At least not to me.’

‘We can’t find a will in his flat. Do you know if he made one?’

‘No, I’ve no idea.’

‘Did you two ever discuss issues like assisted suicide?’

Birgitta didn’t answer straight away. ‘Why do you ask?’ she said at last.

‘Did you?’

‘Do you have any reason to think so?’

‘No, none. But we know you’re not opposed to the idea in principle,’ said Konrád. ‘We heard that you are, or were, in favour of assisted suicide. As a nurse you must have encountered terminally ill patients who were suffering terribly. You wanted them to have the option of a dignified exit.’

‘I support the legalisation of assisted suicide, you’re right about that,’ said Birgitta. ‘Like in the Netherlands and a number of other countries. There’s nothing sinister about it.’

‘And you—’

‘I haven’t helped anyone take their own life,’ said Birgitta, ‘if that’s what you’re insinuating. There’s a big difference.’

‘I’m not suggesting you did.’

‘Then why are you asking me about assisted suicide?’

‘How close were you and Stefán?’

‘Close?’

‘When he died. What was the nature of your relationship? Or when your husband Eyjólfur was alive, for that matter?’

Birgitta got up from her chair. ‘I think you’d better leave.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I’ve nothing more to say to you.’

Konrád sat tight. He had been prepared for a reaction like this. ‘Forgive me, I really didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just one of the angles the police are exploring and I wanted you to know.’

‘You can’t just walk in here and accuse me of something like that,’ said Birgitta. ‘Assisted suicide! I didn’t do anything to Stefán. Perish the thought. He wasn’t even ill.’

‘Was he in favour of the idea?’

‘In favour?’

‘Of assisted suicide.’

‘I don’t think he was opposed to it. But it never came up.’

‘You lost your husband—’

‘Why are you dragging him into this?’

‘I—’

‘You’re not implying I killed him too?’

‘No. Honestly, I didn’t mean to upset you.’

He recalled that the first time he met Birgitta she had mentioned that her husband Eyjólfur had been on friendly terms with Stefán, and that after her husband died she and Stefán had seen quite a bit of each other. But she hadn’t gone into any details about the nature of their relationship. They had lived opposite each other for years and there had been quite a bit of coming and going between their flats. One of the police officers who found the body had quoted her as saying that Stefán must be glad to be at peace.

‘Were you and Stefán more than just neighbours?’

Birgitta nodded. ‘He was very private. It wasn’t until after my Eyjólfur died that... I mean, he very rarely talked to us about himself. After I was widowed, I got to know him a bit better. He began coming round more often and somehow we ended up...’ She glanced at Konrád. ‘You’re not under the impression...?’

‘I’m simply trying to get my head round your relationship.’

‘It wasn’t like you think.’

‘What sort of relationship did you have after your husband died?’

‘We were friends.’

‘No more than that?’

‘No.’

‘Sure?’

‘What do you mean? Of course I’m sure. Stefán wasn’t that way inclined.’

‘That way inclined?’

Birgitta glared at him. ‘You asked me about his friends,’ she said after a moment. ‘I expect you saw the photo he kept in the drawer by his bed.’

‘Yes.’

‘That was his friend.’

Konrád pictured the elegant man in the photo. ‘And?’

‘His very dear friend.’

‘You mean Stefán was...?’

‘Yes.’

‘Let me get this straight. You’re telling me that’s his lover in the photo?’

‘Yes. So I hope you understand that there could never have been anything other than friendship between me and Stefán.’

‘What happened to the man? To his friend?’

‘He died of heart failure after they’d known each other a few years. Of course they kept their relationship completely secret, as people did in those days. Shortly after his friend died, Stefán upped sticks and moved to Hveragerdi. From then on he lived alone and kept a low profile, isolating himself from people, making few friends.’

‘That figures. He kept the photo in a drawer rather than on display.’

‘Yes. I expect that was an old habit from when you had to keep that kind of thing secret.’

‘Your relationship must have been very close for him to have confided in you.’

‘We... we became very fond of each other in the last few years and I miss him a lot, but I never had an affair while Eyjólfur was alive, let alone with Stefán, if that’s what you’re implying. And the idea that I played some part in Stefán’s death is utterly absurd. Preposterous.’

‘Did he have any relatives — the man in the photo, I mean? Anyone I could meet? Anyone Stefán stayed in touch with?’

‘Apparently he had a brother. But he’s dead. I don’t know of anyone else.’

‘So Stefán never told you he’d been a policeman here in Reykjavík during the war?.’

‘He never mentioned it, no. He didn’t like talking about those days.’

‘Any idea why?’

‘No, I just sensed that he didn’t like dwelling on the war years. And I never heard him mention any Rósamunda.’

‘What was he up to in the weeks and months before he died? Did he mention how he passed his time?’ asked Konrád.

‘Haven’t we been over that already?’ asked Birgitta wearily. Konrád’s visit was proving to be a strain, and he could tell she was keen to get shot of him and all his questions, his prying into her private life.

Deciding to call it a day, Konrád stood up. But it seemed Birgitta hadn’t finished.

‘You were asking about visits or people he met,’ she said. ‘When I thought about it afterwards I remembered him saying to me shortly before he died that he’d met a woman who had told him something, and he didn’t know what to do about it. He said it was all so long ago now... I don’t know if it could have any bearing on the case you mentioned.’

‘Who was the woman?’

‘She gave him some information about an old dressmaking shop.’

‘A dressmaking shop?’

‘That’s right. He said it didn’t exist any longer. The shop, I mean. Its heyday was during the war.’

‘Any idea what the information was?’

‘He didn’t explain, just said it was probably too late.’

‘Do you know who the woman was?’

‘No, I don’t. Though, come to think of it, I believe there were two of them, and one was called Geirlaug or some unusual name like that.’

‘How long ago was this?’

‘Oh, about three weeks, I should think.’

‘And you have no idea what it was about?’

‘No, I’m afraid not.’

Konrád spent the evening searching for information about old dressmaking companies. There had been several shops offering mending services and tailoring in Reykjavík during the war and for a number of years afterwards, from what he could discover. At the time seamstresses had been part of everyday life since there weren’t that many off-the-peg clothes available in the shops. People used to buy material and have it made up into dresses and coats or bedclothes and curtains The larger stores ran their own tailoring and dressmaking services, using material offered on their shop floor, an arrangement which had long since gone out of fashion.

As Konrád knocked back the Dead Arm, he felt his mood mellowing and let his thoughts stray back to his father and the spirit world, to human remains that were reinterred at the behest of psychics and to bones that were never found.

Finishing the bottle, he reflected on Birgitta’s revelation about Thorson and his lover, remembered the small stains on the photograph of the young man in the drawer. He had assumed something had spilled on it, but now he felt sure the marks were from Thorson’s tears.