The Shadow Killer

32

The woman stared at Thorson in confusion, having just been interrupted while bawling out her younger sister. Either she hadn’t heard his question or she hadn’t taken it in.

‘Vera,’ repeated Thorson. ‘You mentioned her name. Could you tell me which Vera you mean? Who is she?’

‘Vera?’ echoed the older sister of the girl Thorson had rescued from the minesweeper — an effort for which he had received precious little thanks. The girl herself was standing behind her sister, cradling her red cheek and glaring at him as if it was all his fault. Him and his meddling.

‘Yes.’

‘What do you want with her?’

‘She... knows a friend of mine,’ Thorson improvised. ‘I just wondered if it was the same woman. It’s not a very common name,’ he added, ‘Vera.’

‘An army friend of yours?’

‘Yes.’

‘She takes in washing for the soldiers,’ said the woman. ‘Billy helped her get set up. Is his name Billy? Your mate?’

Thorson nodded. ‘Does she run a laundry?’

‘Hardly a laundry, but Billy fixed her up with a washing machine, and she’s got a wringer and some washing lines. She’s run off her feet. My sister,’ said the woman, giving the younger girl a dirty look, ‘sometimes helps her out and Vera’s obviously earning enough to pay her a bit.’

Thorson continued to quiz the woman about Vera until his prying made her first puzzled, then suspicious. But by then she had told him about Vera’s relationship with Billy, a sergeant in the British Army, who had been instrumental, if Thorson had understood correctly, in finding her a steady stream of customers. She had left her Icelandic boyfriend, who was a bit of a deadbeat, and started a new life; she was standing on her own two feet and had broken free from a relationship that wasn’t going anywhere. Billy had opened her eyes to a world of possibilities and she had no intention of missing out on them.

The woman confirmed that the man Vera used to live with was called Eyvindur, but she had no idea what had become of him. She’d heard about a murder but didn’t know the identity of the victim or whether anyone had been caught yet. As far as she knew, Eyvindur was off on a sales trip. That’s what Vera herself had told her. Vera was planning to break the news to him, about Billy, as soon as she got the chance. Really, she should have moved out ages ago.

‘Are they planning on getting married?’ Thorson persisted, ignoring her question. ‘Billy and Vera?’

‘Yes, I think so.’

‘I hear from her neigh... I hear she used to entertain soldiers.’

‘What... Why are you so interested in Vera?’ The woman sounded indignant on her friend’s behalf. ‘Are you spying on her? Who did you say you were? How do you know Billy? You did say you knew him?’

Deciding he had all the information he needed, Thorson asked the woman to excuse him: he had to get going as he was on his way to answer a call. Then he hurried back to his jeep and drove off. Late though it was, he felt he had to speak to Vera as soon as possible; it couldn’t wait until morning. She had a right to know about Eyvindur.

After ascertaining that Flóvent wasn’t in his office on Fríkirkjuvegur, Thorson drove towards Pósthússtræti. He spotted him crossing Hafnarstræti with heavy steps, heading in the direction of the police station, a bundle of papers under his arm and a preoccupied look on his face.

Thorson greeted him with the news that he had found out where Vera was living and was hoping Flóvent would come along to meet her. Flóvent asked to him to hang on a tick while he put the papers into safe hands. A few minutes later, they were driving to the west end, towards Vera’s laundry. On the way there Flóvent shared the news of his own adventure and the latest twist: that Felix was claiming Eyvindur had been killed by mistake and that he himself had nothing to do with the murder.

‘Brynhildur believes him and swears she doesn’t know where Felix is now,’ said Flóvent, ‘but I don’t believe a word she says.’

‘Why’s he in hiding? Who’s supposed to be after him?’

‘She says she doesn’t know that either because Felix won’t tell her. She’s spending the night in a prison cell. Perhaps she’ll be more forthcoming in the morning.’

The house stood on its own, not far from a small cluster of buildings to the west of Camp Knox. It was an old concrete house with a small ground floor and an attic, and behind it was a patch of grass where a number of washing lines had been erected. White sheets, uniforms and vests were flapping in the wind. There were tubs lying here and there on the grass and the air was full of steam and the smell of soap powder. The laundry appeared to take up at least half the ground floor, and they assumed Vera must live upstairs in the attic.

Light spilled out into the darkness. They could see the silhouette of a figure inside, unloading a machine and dumping a pile of washing on the wringer, then picking up a tub and carrying it out into the garden. There she began to peg up the wet clothes by the light from the laundry door. They could now see that the woman was wearing a large apron and military boots. Although she was having to lug a heavy tub on her own and could hardly see what she was doing in the darkness, she was happily humming a popular new tune as she worked.

They walked over and said good evening. She glanced at them both before carrying on with what she was doing. ‘Have you brought washing?’ she asked.

‘You look pretty busy,’ remarked Flóvent.

‘It never lets up,’ she said. ‘How can I help you?’

‘Are you Vera?’ asked Thorson. ‘We’re looking for a woman called Vera who takes in laundry.’

‘Yes, that’s right,’ said the woman, spreading out a large white sheet on one of the lines. ‘What can I do for you? I can’t really take on any more washing. As you can see, I’m already working half the night as it is, even though I’ve got two girls helping me out.’

‘It’s about Eyvindur,’ said Flóvent. ‘Eyvindur Ragnarsson. You two used to live together, didn’t you?’

The woman paused in the act of lifting another sheet from the tub and turned to face them. She had an attractive figure but didn’t flaunt it. In the light from the house they could see that she was tanned from the summer sun, with thick blonde hair down to her shoulders and a slight cleft lip, very faint, just enough to make her mouth look a little uneven, almost lascivious. The blue eyes regarded them with a questioning look.

‘What about him?’

‘Haven’t you heard?’

‘Heard? Heard what?’

‘He’s dead,’ said Flóvent.

‘What?’

‘I’m sorry to have to tell you like this but we’ve only just found out where you live. We had hoped to inform you without delay, but it hasn’t been easy to track you down.’

‘Dead? Eyvindur?’

‘I’m afraid that’s not all,’ said Thorson. ‘He was shot dead here in Reykjavík. Have you really not heard?’

‘What do you mean “shot”? What are you saying?’ Vera looked stunned.

‘It’s true. I’m sorry,’ said Flóvent. ‘We’re from the police and we’re in charge of the investigation. Thorson here represents the defence force. The gun used to kill Eyvindur was almost certainly a military weapon. We haven’t managed to trace it yet. Or the killer.’

As Vera listened, she reached under her apron and fumbled in the pocket of her dress for a packet of cigarettes. She lit one, silent and preoccupied, as the news gradually sank in.

‘You didn’t know?’ asked Flóvent.

‘I... no, I walked out on him,’ said Vera. ‘I always meant to talk to him but... he was away in the West Fjords when I moved out. I kept meaning to go and see him but... there’s been so much to do.’ She gestured at the washing. ‘All I knew was that a body had been found in a basement flat. It didn’t occur to me that... that it could be Eyvindur. Never entered my head. I thought he was away. Is this some sort of joke?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ said Flóvent. ‘His body was discovered in the flat of a man by the name of Felix Lunden. We don’t know what he was doing there. Perhaps you might have some idea?’

‘No,’ said Vera. ‘I recognise the name, though. Eyvindur used to talk about Felix. He was a salesman too, and they’d known each other a bit in the old days. I don’t understand — was it Felix who did it?’

‘We don’t know for certain, I’m afraid,’ said Flóvent. ‘He’s lying low and we haven’t managed to find him yet.’

‘But why? Why should he have done it? Killed Eyvindur? It’s... it’s absurd. He was... he was completely harmless. He’d never have hurt anyone. He was so inoffensive, was always going on about how useless he was. He found everything so daunting. And now he’s been shot? Oh my God, I didn’t know. I can’t believe it. Just can’t believe it.’

Vera stared at them, her astonishment at Eyvindur’s fate plain on her face.

‘No, I don’t believe it,’ she repeated. ‘It’s ridiculous. You can’t just come round here, making up stuff like that.’

‘It’s always difficult to be the bearer of bad news, especially in situations like this,’ said Flóvent. ‘But I’m afraid it... it’s a fact.’

‘You moved in with him in spite of all that,’ remarked Thorson.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘He seems to have been a bit of a wet blanket. So what did you see in him?’

‘He was... I just got fed up with him,’ she said. ‘I didn’t get to know him properly until after we’d moved in together. I’d recently arrived from the countryside. Didn’t know my way around. He knew the ropes, and I liked him. He invited me to come and live with him and I was desperate for somewhere to stay, so...’

Vera broke off, distracted.

‘We understand that you vanished from his life with about as much ceremony,’ remarked Flóvent.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You ran off in the middle of the night with a soldier,’ said Flóvent. ‘Threw your things in his car, took off and never looked back.’

‘Have you been talking to that old bag upstairs?’ asked Vera. ‘She hates my guts. Everything she says about me is a lie. You shouldn’t take any notice of her.’

‘She told us about the men you entertained,’ said Thorson, ‘while Eyvindur was away on his sales trips. She says it was more than just a couple of soldiers.’

‘Yes, I bet she did.’

‘She’s not the only one who mentioned it.’

‘What, am I on trial here?’ asked Vera, grinding her cigarette under her heel. ‘Do you think I’m the only woman in Reykjavík who’s friendly with soldiers?’

‘Was Eyvindur aware of that fact?’ asked Flóvent.

‘Why are you asking me that? You don’t think I did anything to him, do you?’

‘We’re just making routine enquiries,’ said Flóvent.

‘He’d heard a rumour in town — gossip,’ said Vera. ‘Flung it in my face, but did it in his usual way — hesitating, stammering, insinuating things. I don’t know why I didn’t just tell him the truth. I suppose I felt sorry for him. Perhaps I wanted to protect him. I should have told him it was over between us — what little there was. I pretended to be terribly hurt and offended that he’d listen to gossip like that. Somehow I didn’t feel ready to tell him the truth — that I was planning to leave him. Maybe I should have told him straight away. It would have been the honest thing to do, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it out loud. Anyway, I’m not sure he’d have wanted to hear the truth. He said we should talk about it properly when he got back. I didn’t say anything but I knew it was over. When he left, I took my chance. I moved out here, started working for the army, started supporting myself. I suppose it wasn’t very nice of me to disappear like that. But it wouldn’t have changed anything if I’d done it differently. I’d still have left him. I know that sounds callous, especially now that he’s... that he’s dead, but that’s the way it is.’

‘Did you ever see Eyvindur again after that?’ asked Thorson.

‘Yes, once. He came round here — he’d found out where I was — and showed me some money he’d got hold of. Begged me to come back to him.’

‘Where did he get the money?’

‘I don’t know. It was nothing to boast about. I suppose he must have had a good trip. I didn’t ask. After that he left.’

‘It doesn’t seem like you had much time for him,’ said Flóvent.

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I did, actually. Look, I just wanted you to know how things were. Eyvindur isn’t... wasn’t a bad man, far from it, but I knew our relationship was never going to work out. He wasn’t willing to admit it. I had tried to talk to him about it but he didn’t want to hear.’

‘Was Billy the one who helped you move?’ asked Thorson.

‘Yes.’

‘In the middle of the night?’

‘I couldn’t face the neighbours and their prying eyes, so I bolted. There wasn’t much to take. My clothes. That was about it. We didn’t own a lot. I left the rest behind.’

‘What about the other soldiers?’

‘Other soldiers? What do you mean?’

‘According to the neighbours, you used to have visitors at night. There were quite a lot of soldiers hanging around your place.’

‘They can say what they like. It was only Billy and... well, his mates. They sometimes came with him.’

‘And partied all night?’

‘Is that against the law? And it wasn’t all night. The stupid old cow. You shouldn’t take any notice of her. Was she saying I was some kind of tart? She can talk. I sometimes see her daughter hanging around the camp here and she’s not washing their clothes, I can tell you that. The old bitch. The bloody old busybody.’