Outrage

17

The search for the limping man whom Petrína had seen hurrying towards house number 18 had yielded meagre results; the witness was unreliable, to say the least, and the description of the lame man was questionable. It occurred to Elínborg to consult an orthopaedic specialist, who might be able to shed some light on the question of the apparent leg brace. It might mean no more than that he had broken his leg, yet it could be something far more significant.

The orthopaedist, whose name was Hildigunnur, invited Elínborg to call in at her surgery. Hildigunnur was fortyish, fair-haired and fit, a walking advertisement for a healthy lifestyle. She was intrigued by Elínborg’s line of enquiry, which she had briefly explained over the phone.

‘So what kind of leg support is it, precisely, that you’re looking for?’ asked Hildigunnur, once she and her visitor had sat down.

‘We don’t really know, that’s the thing,’ said Elínborg. ‘The description’s rather vague, and our witness isn’t awfully reliable, to tell the truth. More’s the pity.’

‘But your witness said she may have seen metal rods, isn’t that right?’

‘What she actually said was that she had seen an “aerial” but I think she might have meant some sort of brace, maybe metal, which was fixed to the man’s leg. He was wearing jogging trousers, with the leg open up to the knee.’

‘Was he wearing orthopaedic shoes? Was it that kind of limp?’

‘Possibly. We don’t know.’

‘If the person has a physical disability, I’m thinking it could perhaps be a club foot. Special shoe attachments are used for that. Another possibility is a degenerative disease leading the muscles to atrophy. Or he could have undergone surgery, possibly an arthrodesis.’

The last word meant nothing to Elínborg.

‘Perhaps you’re talking about a full-length leg brace?’ Hildigunnur suggested.

Elínborg looked at her. ‘Sounds about right,’ she said.

‘And of course it could just be a fracture,’ Hildigunnur pointed out, with a smile.

‘We’ve checked that angle,’ said Elínborg, ‘but we came up with nothing useful. We’ve examined reports of broken legs and other leg injuries going back several weeks, but no joy there.’

‘Well, let’s go on brainstorming. Leg deformities — caused by polio, for instance — are a known phenomenon here in Iceland. The brace was only on one leg, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes, so far as we can tell.’

‘Do you know how old he is?’

‘Not exactly, unfortunately.’

‘The last polio epidemic here was in 1955 and an immunisation programme started the following year. After that the disease was eliminated.’

‘So if it does relate to polio, then he’s over fifty?’

‘Yes, but then there’s also the Akureyri Disease, as it’s called.’

‘Akureyri Disease?’

‘It was an infectious disease that had various polio-like symptoms. It was believed to be a variant of polio. The first case was diagnosed up north near Akureyri in 1948. If I remember correctly, about seven per cent of the population of the town fell ill, including some of the boarding students at Akureyri High School. But I don’t think it caused permanent physical handicaps. I may be wrong about that, though.’

‘Are there any files about patients who got polio, for instance?’

‘I’m sure there must be. A lot of them were sent to the Isolation Clinic in Reykjavík. You could get in touch with the Ministry of Health — they may still have records.’

Elínborg did not make it home for dinner. She rang Teddi to say she did not know when she would be back. He was used to these calls, and simply told her to take care. They spoke briefly. Elínborg asked him to make sure that Theodóra took her knitting to school in the morning. She was supposed to knit fifteen rows for the class, but Theodóra detested all handiwork lessons at school, whether needlework or carpentry. Her current project, a woolly hat, had largely been knitted by her mother.

Elínborg rang off and put her mobile in her pocket, then pressed the doorbell. She heard it ringing inside. A long time passed, and nothing happened. She rang again and heard a rustling before the door was finally opened by a dishevelled woman in a white dressing gown.

‘Good evening,’ said Elínborg. ‘Is Valur in?’

‘Who are you?’

‘I’m from the police. My name’s Elínborg, I spoke to him a couple of days ago.’

The woman looked Elínborg up and down, then called out to Valur that someone wanted to see him.

‘Does he sell from here?’ asked Elínborg bluntly.

The woman looked at her as if she did not understand the question.

Valur appeared. ‘You again?’ he remarked.

‘Would you mind coming for a short ride in the car with me?’ asked Elínborg.

‘Who is this?’ the woman asked.

‘It’s nothing,’ replied Valur. ‘Go inside — I’ll deal with it.’

‘Oh, yeah, you deal with everything!’ she sneered and went back into the flat, where a baby could be heard crying.

‘Why don’t you leave me alone?’ said Valur. ‘Are you on your own? Where’s that wanker who was with you before?’

‘This won’t take long,’ said Elínborg. She hoped she hadn’t woken the baby by ringing the doorbell. ‘Just a quick drive, that’s all.’

‘What drive? What’s this fucking bullshit?’

‘You’ll see. You could earn some brownie points. I expect someone like you needs them.’

‘I don’t work for you,’ said Valur.

‘Really? I’ve heard that you do, actually. I’m told you can be quite cooperative, despite giving me such a rude reception. My friend on the Drug Squad says you tell them all sorts about other dealers. He said if I mentioned it you might be less bloody-minded. Or I can go and get him, and all three of us can go together. But I’d rather not disturb him unless it’s absolutely necessary. He’s a family man, like you.’

Valur gave the matter some thought. ‘What do you want me to do?’ he said.

Elínborg waited for Valur in the car, and when at last he came out she drove him to Edvard’s small house. On the way she explained what was expected of him. It was an easy task — all that was required was that he should tell the truth. She did not want to summon Edvard down to the station and have him identified by Valur as the man who had bought Rohypnol, using Runólfur’s name. She did not want to tip Edvard off and make him anxious and agitated, but she did need confirmation that it was he who had bought the drug from Valur. She had had another talk with her friend on the Drug Squad, who admitted after a little persuasion that the Squad occasionally found that its interests coincided with Valur’s. Both he and Elínborg were eager to reduce the number of dealers on the streets of Reykjavík, although for different reasons. Elínborg’s colleague resolutely denied that the Squad was turning a blind eye to Valur’s little ways. That was out of the question.

‘But you know he’s selling date-rape drugs,’ Elínborg said.

‘That was news to us.’

‘Come on. You know all there is to know about this guy.’

‘He’s not selling any more, we know that. But he’s still well connected in the business. We have to weigh up the benefits. It’s not cut and dried — you should know that as well as I do.’

Elínborg pulled up near Edvard’s home and switched off the engine. Valur was in the passenger seat.

‘Have you been here before?’ she asked.

‘No,’ replied Valur. ‘Can we get this over with?’

‘The man who called himself Runólfur lives here. I need you to confirm that we’re talking about the same person. I’m going to get him to come to the door. It should be easy for you to see whether you recognise him.’

‘Then can we get the fuck out of here?’

Elínborg walked over to the house and knocked at the door. The glow of a television was visible through the threadbare curtains. She had noticed them when she had called on Edvard with Sigurdur Óli. They had once been white, no doubt, but now they were brown with years of accumulated filth. She knocked again, harder, and waited patiently for a response. Edvard’s wreck of a car was parked outside, as before.

Finally the door opened, revealing Edvard.

‘Hello again,’ said Elínborg. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you. I’m afraid I might have left my bag here when I was here yesterday. It’s a leather satchel, a sort of handbag, brown?’

‘Your bag?’ asked Edvard in astonishment.

‘I’ve either lost it or it’s been stolen. I just don’t understand. I’ve checked everywhere else I’ve been. I don’t suppose you’ve noticed it here?’

‘No, sorry,’ Edvard replied. ‘It’s not here.’

‘Are you absolutely sure?

‘Yes, quite sure. Your bag is not here.’

‘Would you … would you mind taking a look? I’ll wait here.’

Edvard eyed her sceptically. ‘There’s no need. It’s not here. Was there anything else?’

‘No,’ answered Elínborg glumly. ‘I’m sorry to inconvenience you. There wasn’t much money in it, but I’ll have to cancel all my cards and replace my driving licence and …’

‘Yes, well. As I said …’ replied Edvard.

‘Thank you.’

‘Bye.’

Valur was waiting in the car.

‘Do you think he spotted you?’ asked Elínborg as she drove off.

‘No, he didn’t see me.’

‘Well, was that him?’

‘Yeah, it’s the same guy.’

‘The one who came to you using the name Runólfur, and bought Rohypnol from you?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You said you only saw him once, about six months ago. You said you didn’t know him, that you’d never seen him before. You said a relative of his had put him in touch with you. That’s a lie, isn’t it?’

‘No.’

‘It’s most important that you tell me the truth about it.’

‘Leave me alone. I’ve got nothing more to say about it. Whatever you’re investigating has got nothing to do with me. I don’t give a fuck what’s important for you and what isn’t. Now take me home.’

They drove the rest of the way in silence. When they reached Valur’s block of flats, he got out without a word and slammed the car door behind him.

Elínborg drove home, deep in thought. A pop song was on the radio, sung by a female singer who had long been a favourite of hers: I whisper your name, but there’s no answer … She thought about Edvard and the girl from Akranes, Lilja. Might he know something about her disappearance, six years before? She had checked it out earlier. Edvard had no criminal record. His relationship with Runólfur might prove to be the key to what had happened in Runólfur’s flat, but she was wary of reading too much into Edvard’s use of his friend’s name when he’d bought the Rohypnol. Had Edvard been supplying Runólfur with prescription drugs? When had that started? And what for? Or was Edvard using the stuff himself? Who was the man Petrína had seen hurrying through Thingholt, towards number 18? Elínborg felt that Petrína’s information about the man was reliable, even though some of her statements were hard to fathom. Why was the man in such a hurry? Did he see something? Did he have a connection with the tandoori woman who had apparently been in Runólfur’s flat? Was he more than just a potential witness? Perhaps he was Runólfur’s assailant?

Elínborg parked outside her home and sat in the car for a while, considering various questions but finding no answers. She was feeling guilty for neglecting her family recently. As if it weren’t enough that she was hardly ever home her mind was invariably on her job, even during the very limited time she did spend with them.

Unhappy though she was about the situation, she could not help herself. That was the way with the difficult cases — they were relentless.

As the years went by, Elínborg increasingly craved the safe haven of her family life with Teddi. She wanted to sit with Theodóra and help her with her knitting. She wanted to know Valthór better, and understand how he was growing into a young man who would soon be leaving home. Then he would probably be largely lost to her, except for the odd awkward phone call, neither of them knowing what to say. A visit now and then. Perhaps she had neglected him when he’d been younger because, in spite of everything, her work had always come first — morning, noon and night. Perhaps she had given it more thought than she had to her own flesh and blood. She understood that she could not turn the clock back but she could still try to make up for it. Or maybe it was too late. Maybe in the future she would only have news of her son from his blog? She no longer knew how to approach him.

She had checked Valthór’s blog earlier in the day when she’d been at work. He was describing a football match he had seen on TV, and a political debate on a popular chat show about conservation — apparently aligning himself with big-business interests. He also sounded off about a teacher at college against whom he apparently had a grudge; and, finally, he mentioned his mother: she wouldn’t leave him alone, he wrote, just like she had never left his brother alone, which had led to him leaving the country to live with his real dad in Sweden. ‘I’m consumed with envy of him,’ blogged Valthór. ‘I’m thinking of renting a place,’ he went on. ‘I’ve had enough of this.’

This? This what? wondered Elínborg. We haven’t spoken for weeks. She clicked on Comments (1), where she saw two words:

Mums suck.