The Shadow Killer

12

Rudolf stared at Flóvent, his expression of astonishment slowly giving way to silent fury. The doctor had invited a tough response, and he had got one. It had proved so difficult to extract any information from him, about his son or himself, that the only tactic Flóvent could think of was to put pressure on him, shock him, knock him off balance. He had succeeded. Rudolf’s knuckles whitened on the arms of his chair.

‘Have you lost your mind?’ he snarled, drawing himself up as best he could. ‘How dare you ask such a question? Are you implying that I want my son dead? Is that what you think?’

‘Were you aware of the cyanide pill?’ asked Flóvent, feigning indifference to the rage he had provoked.

‘No,’ Rudolf exploded, then slumped in his chair again. ‘I had no idea. Not the faintest idea.’

‘Did you provide it?’

‘No!’

‘Did you urge Felix to use it if he was arrested?’

‘I refuse to answer that.’

‘Felix apparently thought it wise to keep the pill within reach. Do you have any idea why that might have been?’

‘I refuse to answer that.’

‘Did you acquire the pill from the consulate during Gerlach’s time in office? Did you pass it on to your son?’

Rudolf clamped his lips shut.

‘The British and Americans believe that enemy agents are active here in Iceland,’ said Flóvent. ‘That there are German spies transmitting reports on the build-up of forces and other Allied operations. Is your son one of these spies?’

Rudolf glared at Flóvent in stubborn silence.

‘Are you a spy yourself?’

‘I was compelled to answer all kinds of absurd questions when I was detained by the British,’ Rudolf said at last. ‘But they had to let me go because there was no evidence against me. And they were far better at this than you are. They were not amateurs who tried to wring sympathy from me by telling me self-pitying stories about themselves. They were professionals. You have a lot to learn.’

‘Does Felix use his salesman’s job as a cover?’ Flóvent persisted. ‘How did he come to be a travelling salesman in the first place?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘Has he been doing the job for long?’

‘How should I know? He does not need a cover. He is not a spy. Try to understand that.’

‘Does he travel to far-flung parts of the country on his sales trips? Or does he stay in and around Reykjavík?’

‘I know nothing about that,’ said Rudolf. ‘You disgust me. Everything you say disgusts me.’

Flóvent halted his barrage of questions and sat there studying Rudolf. Eventually he continued: ‘According to a list in the possession of the police, you were a member of the Icelandic fascist movement, the Nationalist Party. Is that correct?’

‘I am not obliged to answer your questions.’

‘What was your role in the party?’

‘You will have to either arrest me or let me go. I refuse to answer any further questions. If you intend to arrest me, I insist on my right to a lawyer.’

‘Was Felix a party member too?’

Rudolf didn’t answer.

‘What kind of relationship do you have with your son? Were you brought closer by the fact that he grew up without a mother? Or did that put a strain on your relationship? Are you close?’

Rudolf merely shook his head.

‘Did he receive a normal upbringing? Was he a happy child? Did he have plenty of friends or did he spend a lot of time alone? What was he like as a boy?’

‘I cannot begin to imagine what you are insinuating. Of course he had a normal upbringing. A respectable upbringing.’

‘Does he stay in touch with his childhood friends?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘Did he attend his uncle’s school? Your brother-in-law’s school?’

Rudolf bestowed a withering look on Flóvent.

‘You live close by, so I assume Felix must have been a pupil at his school. Did he get on well at school? Was he a good pupil? Obedient? How were his marks? I suppose it didn’t hurt that his uncle was the headmaster? Was he in the top form? He can hardly have been in with the dunces.’

‘The dunces? I should think not. He... What a load of nonsense. What kind of questions are these? I refuse to respond to such absurd questions.’

‘No change there then,’ said Flóvent. ‘Are you and your brother-in-law on friendly terms? Do you have a good relationship with him?’

‘I fail to understand what that has to do with you,’ said Rudolf. ‘I fail to understand these questions. They are nonsensical. Utterly absurd.’

‘He came round to see you recently, didn’t he? At your home?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He visited you, didn’t he?’

‘Are you watching my house?’

Flóvent implied as much by his silence. Better for Rudolf to believe that than for him to suspect his maid of betraying his trust. Flóvent had been puzzling over her reference to boys. As far as he knew, Felix was an only child, so the boys in question could hardly have been Rudolf’s sons. So who were they? And why had the brothers-in-law been quarrelling about them? He had tried unsuccessfully to get hold of the headmaster. When he phoned his house, he was told that the man was away in the countryside as it was the school holidays. He was due back in a few days.

‘May I ask what you two were discussing?’

‘Certainly not,’ said Rudolf. ‘Where did you get this information from? Why is my house being watched? I thought all that was over.’

‘What happened at your meeting?’

‘Meeting...? Nothing at all,’ said Rudolf. ‘I have no idea what you are talking about. We are... my brother-in-law and I are on perfectly good terms. I do not understand why you are implying that there was something suspicious about our meeting. I... I simply cannot understand the nonsensical direction this conversation is taking.’

Flóvent hardly understood himself. He had leafed through the membership list for the Nationalist Party, a copy of which was held in the CID offices. There, the brother-in-law, whose name was Ebeneser Egilsson, was listed as an ordinary member. ‘Was it about the Nationalist Party? Is it still in existence? Was that what you were discussing?’

‘Of course not,’ said Rudolf. ‘What you are implying?’

‘Did you discuss Felix?’

‘No... Why do you keep harping on about this visit? What are you driving at? Would it not be simpler to ask me a straight question?’

‘Were you discussing family matters, then?’ Flóvent persevered.

‘His family is none of my concern.’

‘Or your brother-in-law’s position at the school?’

‘Why should we discuss that?’

‘I wonder... was it something to do with the teachers perhaps? Or the boys at the school?’

Rudolf sat there without speaking, absently rubbing his chest, until at last he seemed to lose all patience with Flóvent’s questions about himself, about Felix and, not least, about the headmaster’s visit. ‘Either arrest me or let me go,’ he said, no longer sounding as sure of himself. There was a note of defeat in his voice. ‘Do what you like. It is a matter of indifference to me. I will not answer any more of your questions.’

‘I’ve probably taken up enough of your time. I only hope your brother-in-law Ebeneser will prove a little more cooperative,’ said Flóvent, rising to his feet. ‘I’m due to meet him shortly, which should clarify things.’ He sensed that, beneath his fury and contempt, Rudolf was not in fact indifferent to the direction their conversation had taken. ‘Would you like us to drive you home?’

‘No, I would rather take a taxi.’

‘Does your son know or associate with any American servicemen?’ asked Flóvent casually.

The question seemed to take Rudolf by surprise. ‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s a simple question: is Felix friendly with American servicemen?’

‘No, not that I am aware.’

‘What about you yourself?’

‘What? Friendly with American soldiers? I should think not!’

‘Then can you imagine how Felix might have got hold of a Colt .45 pistol of the type used by the US Marines?’

‘I believe you are mistaken in suspecting him, and that this will soon become clear. So these... your foolish questions are completely irrelevant.’

‘Yes, well, that remains to be seen. Before we finish, there was one rather odd detail about the body in your son’s flat.’ Flóvent paused to help Rudolf manoeuvre his wheelchair into the corridor. Getting it into the cramped interview room in the first place had proved quite a palaver. Rudolf curtly rejected his help and ordered him to summon a prison guard instead. ‘We didn’t get a proper look at it until the post-mortem,’ Flóvent continued. ‘We could easily have missed it altogether.’

‘Missed what?’

‘The swastika.’

‘Swastika?’

‘The killer took the time to draw a swastika on the victim’s forehead, in blood. I have no idea what that means, why he should have done it, what message it’s intended to convey. But it enables us to draw a few conclusions: that the killer’s pretty ruthless, for example. Consumed with hatred perhaps. Or rage. The killing was more like an execution than an ordinary murder, which points to an unnerving singleness of purpose. No hesitation. No regrets. No mercy.’

Rudolf was staring at Flóvent in bewilderment.

‘Does that sound like your son?’ Flóvent asked. ‘Would he be capable of such an act? Is he that sort of man?’

‘My son... he would never do anything... Felix would never do anything like that.’ For the first time in this gruelling encounter, Rudolf’s manner betrayed anxiety, even alarm. ‘Never,’ he said. ‘Never, under any circumstances would my son do anything like that.’