The Shadow District

40

They heard the door of the prison opening behind them.

‘Ah, I thought you were still here,’ said the guard who had escorted Jónatan to his cell. ‘He wants to talk to you. Shall I bring him back to the interview room?’

Flóvent and Thorson exchanged glances.

‘What does he want?’ asked Flóvent.

‘I don’t know,’ said the guard. ‘He’s got something he wants to say to you. He asked if you’d left already.’

‘All right, go and get him then,’ said Flóvent.

They waited in the interview room without sitting down or removing their coats. Soon Jónatan was brought in and took a seat at the table.

‘I can’t cope with being locked up,’ he began in a strained voice, and they sensed his mounting desperation. He looked imploringly from one to the other.

‘I’m afraid there’s not a lot we can do about that,’ said Flóvent. ‘You can speak to a chaplain — I expect they’ve already offered you the opportunity.’

‘I’ve nothing to say to a chaplain. You’re in charge. You’re the ones deciding my fate.’

‘You haven’t exactly been cooperative,’ Flóvent pointed out.

‘What am I supposed to do when you don’t believe a word I say?’

‘Was that it?’ asked Flóvent.

‘I...’ Jónatan broke off.

‘Why did you call us back?’ asked Thorson.

The student didn’t answer.

‘We’ll continue our conversation tomorrow, Jónatan,’ said Flóvent. ‘I haven’t got time for this now.’

He opened the door and called the guard.

‘Don’t go!’ cried Jónatan.

They didn’t answer. The guard took him by the arm, raised him from the chair and led him out into the corridor and back towards the cells. His keys jingled as he opened the cell door. But when he tried to steer Jónatan inside, the prisoner dug in his heels.

‘I can’t spend another night here,’ he whispered, so quietly it was almost inaudible.

‘What was that?’

‘I’ll show them,’ Jónatan whispered.

The guard hesitated. ‘What did you say? I didn’t catch that.’

‘I’ll take them there.’

The guard turned and shouted after Flóvent and Thorson, who were just passing through the door at the end of the corridor. They paused when they saw him waving.

‘What now?’ called Thorson.

‘He’s got something to tell you,’ the guard called back.

Jónatan took a deep breath. ‘I’ll show you where I met her in... in the Shadow District.’

‘What did you say?’ asked Flóvent, retracing his steps with Thorson on his heels.

‘I’ll show you the place,’ said Jónatan more loudly.

‘In the Shadow District?’ said Flóvent. ‘Is that where you met Rósamunda?’

Jónatan nodded. ‘I’ll show you where.’

‘Now?’ said Thorson.

‘Yes, right now. I’ll take you there and show you where we met.’

‘All right,’ said Flóvent. ‘If that’s the way you want it, we can go now. Does that mean you’re prepared to tell us what happened?’

‘First I’ll go with you to the Shadow District, then I’ll talk to you. I’ll need my jacket, though. Isn’t it cold out?’

‘What made you change your mind?’ asked Thorson.

‘Do you want me to do this or not?’ retorted Jónatan angrily. There was no sign of hesitation now.

‘Of course we do,’ said Flóvent.

‘You can ask me all the questions you like afterwards.’

‘All right. Are you going to confess to having killed Rósamunda?’

‘Do you want me to take you there or not?’ Jónatan asked, glaring stubbornly at Flóvent.

‘Fetch his coat,’ Flóvent said to the guard. ‘We’ll wait here.’

The guard hurried away down the corridor. The door to the cell was still wide open and Jónatan looked inside with a shudder.

‘I can’t bear being shut in,’ he murmured in a voice barely above a whisper.

They stood in silence while they waited for the guard to return with the jacket. Flóvent felt sorry for the young man. He wondered if he ought to cuff him, but the handcuffs were in the car, so he decided it could wait until they were seated in the vehicle. He didn’t anticipate any trouble now that Jónatan seemed ready to give in and work with them. Flóvent was keen to meet him halfway. If Jónatan wanted to take them to the scene this late in the day as a means of postponing the evil hour when he was locked up again, that was his affair. He seemed to have undergone a change of heart and decided to cooperate, and that was all that mattered.

Once the guard had finally returned with Jónatan’s coat, they left with the prisoner between them, Thorson holding his arm. The car was parked only a few yards from the jail. Thorson opened the rear door for Jónatan and was about to usher him inside when, quick as a flash, the young man tore himself loose and broke into a run.

‘Damn!’ exclaimed Thorson, taking off after him. Flóvent, who was halfway behind the wheel, sprang out of the car after them.

Jónatan fled round the corner of the prison and followed the wall down Vegamótastígur towards Laugavegur, with Thorson pounding along a few yards behind him. Flóvent was further back still, slowed down by his shoes. The streets were treacherous and, with no grips on his soles, he was in serious danger of falling flat on his face. Thorson gained on Jónatan as the student sprinted down the narrow side street and, without looking, shot out into Laugavegur, where an army jeep, hurtling down the street at breakneck speed, hit him head on.

Thorson watched as Jónatan was thrown in the air then slammed down onto the bonnet of the jeep. He bounced off, landing head first on the icy paving stones. The driver lost control of the vehicle, swerved up onto the pavement and crashed into a wall, narrowly missing a pedestrian, who just managed to dodge out of the way. Both the soldiers in the jeep were flung against the windscreen, which shattered, cutting their faces. One crawled groggily out of the wreckage and collapsed in the street. The other, trapped inside, screamed in agony. He had cracked his ribs when he hit the steering wheel and his shin had snapped clean in two; the bone was protruding through his trouser leg.

Thorson raced over to Jónatan and crouched down beside him. Blood was welling out of his head, forming a large pool beneath him. His eyes were staring emptily at the sky. Thorson imagined he must have died the instant he hit the ground.

Flóvent knelt down beside them. A light mist of snow was still falling and the tiny flakes settled on Jónatan’s eyes, melting into them like tears.