The Shadow District

44

Konrád sat in his kitchen in Árbær, sipping red wine and contemplating his visit to Magnús in Borgarnes. Helena Eyjólfsdóttir was crooning ‘The City Is Sleeping’ on the stereo, and as the old hit played on, he could feel a sense of calm spreading through his body. He was dog-tired from the drive, from struggling to make sense of what he had unearthed, but at the same time he felt satisfied with the progress he had made. Sensed that he was tantalisingly close to a breakthrough. Tomorrow he would go and see the other brother, Hólmbert, in defiance of Magnús’s warning that it would be a waste of time. He was convinced that Thorson had tried to make contact with Hólmbert, that it was one of the last things he had done. And Konrád wanted to know if he had succeeded.

He reviewed the evidence so far: Rósamunda had been assaulted, possibly at the member of parliament’s house, and refused to run any more errands there for her boss. The member of parliament in question had been on a visit up north at the time of Hrund’s disappearance. Both girls were around the same age and both had blamed, or been ordered to blame, the huldufólk for their assaults. Was it conceivable that the MP himself had been involved? Was that the conclusion Thorson had reached? If so, why had the significance only belatedly struck him now, rather than at the time, in 1944? And what had precipitated his recent enquiries relating to the case? He had apparently been badly shaken when he learnt of Rósamunda’s refusal to set foot in the MP’s house. Some aspect of the original investigation must have triggered that reaction. He must have had a revelation.

Konrád didn’t know much about the MP beyond the date of his death, so he went online again to refresh his memory of the man’s career. Shortly after the inauguration of the republic in 1944, he had retired from politics and acquired an import company that was not only still in business but had grown to become one of the largest of its kind in Iceland. He was rumoured to have exploited his political connections during the years when currency was hard to come by and imports were tightly controlled. Despite withdrawing from mainstream politics, he had remained active behind the scenes of his party and died at a grand old age in the 1970s. The company had passed down to his son, Hólmbert, whom the MP had allegedly favoured over his other children.

They had made their fortune and enjoyed the rewards, thought Konrád as he went into the sitting room to put another Helena Eyjólfsdóttir record on the turntable. While he was up, he opened a second bottle of wine, then sat down again in the kitchen letting the dulcet tones wash over him. He sat in his usual spot, watching the sun set over the city, and thought about the disputes that tore families apart. Money — such a paltry reason to fall out with your kin. Magnús and Hólmbert, the MP’s only surviving children, hadn’t spoken for decades because of it. Even after Hólmbert became seriously ill, Magnús couldn’t bring himself to visit him, hiding behind the excuse that it was too late.

Konrád had also searched for Hólmbert’s name and learnt that he had run the firm creditably at his father’s side, expanding and diversifying the business so that its share portfolio now included fisheries, an airline and a large building supplies chain. In the last months of the war, after abandoning his law degree at the University of Iceland, Hólmbert had sailed to America, where he made deals and established business connections that were to prove invaluable for the company. His wife, who was still alive, had also sat on the board and was well known for her charity work with organisations such as the Red Cross and Icelandic Church Aid. Hólmbert had ventured into politics like his father, becoming a member of parliament, then a cabinet minister in two governments, before retiring to devote himself entirely to running the firm. He was an honorary member of various business associations and had been decorated by the president for services to his country.

The couple’s son had taken over as managing director of the company at the start of the millennium. By then Hólmbert would have been getting on a bit, and, Konrád guessed, the first signs of Alzheimer’s might have begun to impair the old man’s judgement.

He returned to puzzling over what Magnús had said about his father’s presence in the Öxarfjördur area at the time of Hrund’s alleged suicide, and he suddenly thought of another question he should have asked. He checked the clock. Perhaps it wasn’t too late.

He looked up the number and took out his mobile phone. But as he was waiting for Magnús to pick up, he checked the clock again and realised that the old man had probably gone to bed; his question could easily wait until morning. He was about to hang up when Magnús answered.

‘Hello?’ he heard him say.

‘I’m sorry to ring so late, Magnús. I do hope I didn’t wake you.’

‘Who is this?’

‘Konrád — I visited you earlier today. Were you asleep? It can wait till morning.’

‘What... why are you ringing?’

‘Because of a tiny detail that’s been bothering me ever since I left you.’

‘What’s that?’

‘You told me your father had been on a visit to the north of the country around the time the girl went missing.’

‘Yes?’

‘Did he tell you or your family anything else about the incident, any details he picked up locally about the girl, for example?’

‘No, it... probably only the bit about the huldufólk.’

‘Did you hear that from him?’

‘Yes, or my brother.’

‘Your brother?’

‘Yes, Hólmbert.’

‘How did he know about it?’

‘Oh, because he was travelling up there with our father when it happened. We heard the story from them. And of course I heard more about it later when I went there myself and...’

‘You’re saying Hólmbert was also there at the time of the girl’s disappearance?’

‘Yes, that’s right. Hólmbert was quite the favourite with our father, so he used to take him along on his trips. You were...’

The connection deteriorated and Konrád missed what Magnús said.

‘Sorry, I didn’t catch that, my battery’s running low, could you —?’

‘... and a man called me recently, enquiring about exactly the same thing,’ Magnús was saying. ‘About Hólmbert and my father’s trip up north. You were telling me earlier about a man you thought might have visited me, but I didn’t know what you were talking about. Well, I think it must have been him. The one who phoned. It had completely slipped my mind.’

‘Do you mean Thorson? Stefán, that is. Did he ring you?’

‘Yes, it must have been the Stefán you mentioned. He said he’d been reminiscing with someone about Öxarfjördur and odd, unexplained incidents that had happened in the area, and the subject of the girl had come up, and I told him... he was particularly interested in Hólmbert — I couldn’t work out why.’

‘What did you tell him?’

‘What I told you, that Hólmbert had been visiting the area with our father. Look, I wasn’t quite straight with you when you started asking about the Rósamunda affair. The truth is, we were familiar with the incident because a family friend, a relative of ours really, a young man called Jónatan, was involved in some way that was never properly explained to me. It wasn’t talked about. I suppose it was a skeleton in our family’s closet, so to speak.’

‘So you decided to keep quiet about it?’

‘I’m not in the habit of discussing private matters like that with strangers.’

‘Who was this Jónatan?’

‘He was a student at the university.’

‘Did you say student?’ Konrád remembered Petra saying that Thorson had muttered something about a student as he left. He thought of the notes describing an interview with an unnamed university student. What happened was a tragedy.

‘Yes, apparently he died after being hit by a car. I didn’t know him very well. But my brother Hólmbert and he were friends. And really, that’s all I’ve got to say on the matter. I’m ringing off now. Goodbye.’