The Shadow Killer

7

There was a commotion outside in the corridor, caused, Flóvent guessed, by the arrival of Ólafía. He had sent for her to identify the body of her tenant. He went out to greet her and was told in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t pleased about being dragged out to this horrible place. She was exhausted, she said. The day had been dreadfully difficult for her. A brutal murder had been committed in her house. Its reputation had been ruined. Her reputation had been ruined. She, who was always so scrupulous in everything, so very particular about selecting her tenants. Only respectable people. With no more than two children.

‘I found the poor man lying on the floor, what more do you want?’ she asked as Flóvent showed her into the mortuary.

‘I’m afraid we need to take care of this formality as quickly as possible,’ he explained. ‘I don’t know how clearly you were able to see him, ma’am, but I have to state in my report that you formally identified your tenant. We need to contact the man’s family and—’

‘Yes, yes, let’s get it over with, then.’

‘Did you get a good first impression of Felix when he started renting from you?’

‘A very good impression,’ said Ólafía. ‘I have a nose for these things. Polite. Obviously well brought up. Nice manners.’

‘You mentioned that he always paid his rent on time?’

‘Always. He was very careful about that.’

‘Did he pay in Icelandic krónur? Or did he use foreign currency? Dollars? Pounds?’

‘Foreign money? No, he didn’t have any foreign money. At least not that I was aware of. He paid in krónur like everybody else.’

‘Did he ever mention his parents’ names to you?’ asked Flóvent. ‘His father? Or mother?’

‘No. Are his parents still alive?’

‘We don’t know. Nor do we know if he had any brothers or sisters. In fact, we hardly know anything about him yet. That’s why it’s so important for you to do us this favour.’

‘Yes, well, I don’t like it at all,’ said Ólafía sourly. ‘It’s a terrible business altogether. Put yourself in my place. I don’t know if I’ll be able to rent out that flat again. Don’t know if I’ll have the heart to. Or if anyone will want to live there after something so... shocking. I haven’t a clue what I’m supposed to do with the place. I’ll have to pay some girls to clean it, and that won’t come cheap.’

She entered the mortuary, where she greeted Baldur and Thorson. The doctor showed her to the table.

‘I’ve tried to tidy him up a bit,’ said Baldur, ‘in case his relatives want to see him. But he’s a bit of a mess, so I hope it won’t give you a turn, dear. Let me know when you’ve seen enough.’

‘I was the one who found him, you know,’ said Ólafía. ‘And I’m not your “dear”.’

‘Of course, I do beg your pardon,’ said Baldur, shooting a glance at Flóvent as if amused by her testiness. He lifted the sheet back from Felix’s head. Ólafía was visibly shocked by the disfigured face, the empty eye socket, the shattered cheekbone and jaw. But the man’s features were still clearly visible on the other side, where the bullet hadn’t done as much damage, and she focused her attention on this, appearing suddenly unsure. Her gaze swung from Baldur to Flóvent and back again, as though she was thoroughly confused.

‘What? Has there been another murder?’ she asked, her face taking on a forbidding expression, as though her patience had been tried enough. ‘Just like the other one?’

‘The other one?’

‘Yes.’

‘What do you mean, ma’am?’ asked Flóvent.

‘I thought I was here to identify my tenant, Felix Lunden. Wasn’t that why you dragged me to this horrible place?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then where is he?’ asked Ólafía, peering around.

‘What do you mean?’ Flóvent repeated. ‘Isn’t that him lying on the table in front of you?’

‘Who?’

‘Felix Lunden, of course.’

‘This man?’

‘Yes.’

‘No. I’ve never seen this man before in my life.’

‘But...?’

‘This isn’t Felix Lunden, I can tell you that for sure,’ said Ólafía firmly. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea who this man is.’