Outrage

13

It was evening when Elínborg and Sigurdur Óli pulled up outside Edvard’s home, a dilapidated house on the west side of town. Edvard was unmarried, and childless. His car was parked beside the house — a Japanese hatchback, several years old. Elínborg knocked, and they heard movement from within. But nobody came to the door. Lights were visible in two windows and they had noticed the glow of a television, which was suddenly extinguished. They knocked again, then a third time. Sigurdur Óli hammered at the door, and finally Edvard appeared. He recognised Elínborg at once.

‘Is this a bad time?’ she asked.

‘No, well, it’s … is something the matter?’

‘We’ve got some more questions about Runólfur,’ explained Elínborg. ‘Can we come in?’

‘It’s really not convenient now,’ answered Edvard. ‘I was on my way out.’

‘It’ll only take a minute,’ said Sigurdur Óli.

They stood at the threshold while Edvard stubbornly blocked their way.

‘I really can’t invite you in at the moment,’ he protested. ‘I’d appreciate it if you could come back later — maybe tomorrow.’

‘Yes, well, no, I’m afraid that won’t be possible,’ Elínborg replied. ‘It’s to do with Runólfur, as I said, and we have to speak to you now.’

‘What about him?’ asked Edvard.

‘We’d really prefer not to have this conversation here, on the doorstep.’

Edvard glanced out into the street. The house was cloaked in darkness, with no street lamp nearby and no porch light. It faced straight on to the street without a front garden, but by the wall stood a single tree, a dead alder, whose naked, contorted branches loomed over the roof like the paw of a great beast.

‘Yeah, well, come in, then. I don’t see what you want from me,’ the detectives heard Edvard mumble. ‘We were just friends.’

‘This will only take a minute,’ said Elínborg.

They entered a small living room, sparsely furnished with old, worn furniture. A large, new-looking flatscreen hung on one wall, and on the desk stood a brand-new computer with a huge monitor. Computer games of many kinds were scattered around and arranged on shelves, along with a vast array of films on DVD and video cassettes. Tables and chairs were also piled high with documents, papers and textbooks.

‘Marking essays?’ asked Elínborg.

‘Is that a serious question?’ asked Edvard, eyeing the stacks of paper on the table. ‘Yes, it’s time I handed them back. They do tend to pile up.’

‘Do you collect films?’ asked Elínborg.

‘No, I’m not a collector as such, but I have quite a lot, as you can see. I sometimes buy them from rental shops when they close down. They’re sold off dirt cheap.’

‘Have you watched them all?’ asked Sigurdur Óli.

‘No … yeah … pretty much. Most of them.’

‘You said you knew Runólfur very well,’ said Elínborg. ‘Last time we spoke.’

‘Yes, quite well. I liked him.’

‘And you shared an interest in films, if I remember correctly.’

‘We used to go to the cinema sometimes.’

Elínborg noticed that Edvard was more uncomfortable than at their previous encounter. He seemed uneasy having visitors in his home. He did not look them in the eye, and his hands wandered restlessly over the desk. Finally, he thrust them into his pockets, but before long he was scratching his head or his arm, or fiddling with the DVD cases. Elínborg decided it was time to put him out of his misery. She picked up a film from a chair, one of Hitchcock’s early silents, The Lodger. Elínborg had prepared carefully, and was about to ask her first question, but Sigurdur Óli was impatient — not for the first time. He was especially edgy with individuals who were vulnerable, or had low self-esteem, and was quick to pinpoint their weaknesses.

‘Why didn’t you tell us you’d bought a date-rape drug?’ he asked abruptly.

‘What?’

‘Using Runólfur’s name. Were you buying it for him?’

Elínborg glared at Sigurdur Óli. She had made it clear to him that she intended to conduct this interview. He was supposed to be there purely for support.

‘Why?’ Sigurdur Óli went on. He was unsure what to make of Elínborg’s enraged expression. He thought he was doing pretty well. ‘Why did you pretend to be Runólfur?’

‘I don’t know … what?’ babbled Edvard, shoving his hands into his pockets again.

‘We’ve got a witness who sold you Rohypnol about six months ago,’ said Sigurdur Óli.

‘The description fits you,’ said Elínborg. ‘He said you used the name Runólfur.’

‘What description?’ asked Edvard.

‘He described you to a T,’ said Elínborg.

‘So?’ said Sigurdur Óli.

‘So, what?’ asked Edvard.

‘Is it true?’ asked Sigurdur Óli.

‘Who says so?’

‘Your drug dealer!’ barked Sigurdur Óli. ‘Aren’t you listening?’

‘Would you mind just letting me talk to him?’ Elínborg said calmly.

‘Tell him that if he doesn’t cooperate we’ll take him to the dealer and get the truth out of him that way,’ said Sigurdur Óli menacingly.

‘I did it as a favour for Runólfur,’ Edvard admitted, intimidated by Sigurdur Óli’s threat. ‘He asked me to do it.’

‘What did he want the drug for?’ asked Elínborg.

‘He told me he had difficulty sleeping.’

‘So why didn’t he go to a doctor and ask for a prescription?’

‘I didn’t really know what this Rohypnol stuff was, not until after Runólfur was killed. I had no idea.’

‘Do you expect us to buy that?’ asked Elínborg.

‘We weren’t born yesterday,’ growled Sigurdur Óli.

‘Honestly, I don’t know anything about drugs.’

‘How did Runólfur find this drug dealer?’ asked Elínborg.

‘He didn’t say.’

‘Apparently you mentioned some relative of yours?’

Edvard thought for a moment. ‘The supplier wanted to know. He was very nervous. Demanded to know who I was, how I’d heard about him. He was quite a scary bloke. Runólfur sent me to him and that’s why I used his name. I made up the thing about my relative.’

‘Why didn’t Runólfur just buy the stuff himself? Why did he get you to go?’ asked Elínborg.

‘We were friends. He said …’

‘Yes?’

‘He said he didn’t trust doctors, or patient records. And he confided that he drank a bit and the Rohypnol was helpful for hangovers. He said he didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that he was using it, because it was a problematical drug. He was uncomfortable asking a doctor for it. That’s what he said. I wasn’t really sure what he was on about.’

‘But why did he get you to go?’

Edvard hesitated. ‘He asked me to go as a favour to him,’ he said finally.

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know. He was embarrassed to do it himself, and …’

‘And?’

‘I don’t have a lot of friends. Runólfur and I were mates, and I wanted to help him out. He came to me with his problem and I said I’d take care of it. That’s all there was to it. I wanted to do him a favour.’

‘How much did you buy?’

‘One bottle.’

‘Who else have you bought from?’

‘Who else? No one else. It was just that one time.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me about this when we spoke the other day?’

Edvard shrugged abjectly. ‘I thought I’d get dragged into something that was nothing to do with me.’

‘Don’t you think it might have something to do with you, if you’ve bought Rohypnol for someone who might have been a rapist?’

‘I didn’t know what he was going to do with it.’

‘Where were you when Runólfur was killed?’

‘Here. At home.’

‘Can anyone corroborate that?’

‘No. I’m alone at home most evenings. You’re not seriously alleging that I did it?’

‘We’re not alleging anything,’ replied Elínborg. ‘Thank you for your help,’ she added curtly.

Elínborg and Sigurdur Óli returned to the car. Elínborg was apoplectic. ‘What the hell was that?’ she snapped, and started the car.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You ruined it, you bloody idiot. I’ve never seen anything like it. You played right into his hands. Now we have no idea whether he really was buying for Runólfur! You’ve got no evidence! How could you say that? You handed it to him on a silver platter!’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘It’s the perfect get-out for Edvard.’

‘Get-out? You don’t really think he was buying it for himself?’

‘Why not?’ asked Elínborg. ‘Maybe the pills Runólfur used were Edvard’s. He could be an accessory. Maybe he attacked Runólfur.’

‘That wimp?’

‘There you go again. Can’t you treat people with a bit of respect?’

‘He wouldn’t have needed any help from me to make up a story like that. I bet he came up with it ages ago — that is, if he is lying to us.’

‘Why won’t you ever admit you’ve made a mistake?’ asked Elínborg. ‘You screwed up. Royally.’

‘Hey, steady on.’

‘He picked up on what you said. I think everything he said after that was a lie.’ Elínborg sighed heavily. ‘I’ve never had a case like this before.’

‘Like what?’

‘Every single person I speak to seems to be a viable suspect.’