The Quiet Mother

57

A song from the 1960s was playing on the radio, reminding Konrád of Erna, and he sat there in the car after shutting off the engine and listened to those sweet tones. Húgó had called again from the States and told him all was well. They would be coming home in a few days and asked if Konrád felt like driving to the airport to pick them up. ‘That goes entirely without saying,’ Konrád said. They’d invited him to go with them, but he didn’t much like flying these days, and it was a long journey, besides the fact that they were staying with friends and he didn’t want to get in the way of their fun. They shouldn’t have to carry him along wherever they went.

Marta called shortly afterwards and asked how he was doing. She told him the Narcotics Unit had apprehended Hallur’s partners, two known offenders, when they received a shipment from one of the cargo ships. They’d been quick to finger Hallur as an accomplice and actually thought he’d blabbed all their plans to the police. ‘One of them said he’d heard Hallur talking about some old lady who had shitloads of money. He just had to go and get it.’

‘And did he?’

‘Hallur denies having done so, but it does seem possible,’ said Marta. ‘He was in dire straits and thought that Valborg had money and went up to her place.’

‘What does his lover in that building have to say?’

‘His sister-in-law? We can’t find her. She’s gone. Glóey claims not to know where she is.’

Marta asked if he’d uncovered any more details of Valborg’s story. Konrád was still hesitant to divulge the information he’d gathered. He thought he needed more time and said he would talk to Marta again soon.

The part from the music box was in his car, and he picked it up. He considered calling Eygló. She believed in her father, which was respectable. He himself had no such feelings for his father. He knew the man was capable of cheating people out of their money, especially innocent widows, with lies and cheap music-box tricks.

Konrád had had trouble telling Húgó about him. Growing up, the boy had no grandfather, because Erna’s father had died soon after Húgó was born. Konrád and Erna had told the boy a lot about his maternal grandfather, who’d been a deck officer with the Coast Guard and accepted Konrád with a few reservations. He was orderly and disciplined and enjoyed people’s respect far beyond the Coast Guard. His paternal grandfather, however, was always shrouded in a kind of mist whenever he came up in conversation, until Konrád decided to tell his son the truth before the boy discovered it himself. Húgó listened as his father told him about the murder at the slaughterhouse and asked a lot of questions, which Konrád tried to answer as best he could. He became a bit tongue-tied when Húgó wanted to know if it was because his grandfather was a bad man that he’d suffered that fate.

The song on the radio ended and Konrád saw Ísleifur come out of the basement, carrying four bags full of empty beer cans. He walked a bit awkwardly towards the bus stop and past it, and didn’t notice Konrád getting out of the car and following him at a distance. Holding the bags in both hands, Ísleifur looked neither left nor right, but just stared at the pavement as he walked at a fairly brisk pace for a man his age. Before long, a recycling centre appeared, towards which Ísleifur headed. Konrád saw him go straight into the cans area, where he had to wait in a short queue before emptying the bags.

Konrád stood at a reasonable distance, and when Ísleifur came back out, he decided to go for it. As soon as Ísleifur saw Konrád heading towards him, he sped up to try and avoid him. When he saw that he wouldn’t get far, he slowed back down and finally stopped, now behind the recycling centre.

‘What do you think you’re doing, spying on me like this?’ he shouted at Konrád. ‘I can’t get you off my back!’

‘I saw you heading this way. I just want to—’

‘Leave me alone!’ Ísleifur spat. ‘I’m not talking to you! I have nothing more to say to you!’

‘I have just a few questions and then I’ll be gone,’ Konrád promised, grabbing Ísleifur’s arm when he tried to dash away. ‘I want to ask you about a person you worked with once at the Base. I know it was a long time ago, but I suspect you remember him.’

‘Stop this bullshit!’ Ísleifur said, trying to break free. ‘Leave me alone!’

‘It was during the hippie years,’ Konrád said, glancing around. No one seemed to notice them as they stood facing each other behind the recycling centre, amid empty skips. He didn’t have any idea how he might handle it if Ísleifur started getting violent. He didn’t want to get into a fight with the man and attract unwanted attention or interference.

‘I have nothing to talk to you about,’ said Ísleifur. ‘Leave me alone!’

‘His name is Bernódus,’ said Konrád. ‘Your friend from the Base. Is that right?’

Ísleifur stared at Konrád, who let go of him.

‘The Base? Why do you say that?’ Ísleifur asked in surprise.

‘Didn’t you two work for contractors who did construction for the US military?’

‘Who says that?’

‘Old personnel files,’ Konrád said. ‘Ones covering the years 1968 to 1971. You worked for the same company and stayed in workers’ quarters up at the Base but went to Reykjavík on weekends. Like most of the other workers there at the time. You’d been at that company for a year when he started working with you. You were ordinary labourers, both of you.’

‘What the hell do you care?’

‘Right now, one of you is counting his coins at the recycling centre while the other is rolling in dough. Founded a pharmaceutical company with his daughter and became filthy rich.’

‘What about it? What bullshit is this?’

‘Have you kept in touch since working at the Base?’

Ísleifur didn’t answer him.

‘Didn’t you go and see him the night I ran into you at Borgartún?’

Ísleifur sniffled and avoided looking at Konrád.

‘Do you meet regularly? Reminisce about old times?’

Ísleifur didn’t answer him.

‘Weren’t you on your way to see him before I asked you about the rape at Glaumbær?’

Ísleifur shook his head.

‘Was that something that stirred up your old memories?’

‘Leave me alone.’

‘You said that what happened to Valborg had nothing to do with you.’

‘For fuck’s sake, leave me alone!’

‘What about him? Your old friend? Did he know Valborg?’

‘Shut up.’

‘I can’t quite figure this out. Did you go to Valborg’s to shut her up? Did you go to her place with those damned plastic bags of yours? Was that it? Was she going to tell what—’

‘Bullshit!’ spat Ísleifur. ‘You know fuck all, you fucking idiot!’

‘Tell me what happened.’

‘Shut up! Leave me alone!’

‘Why would you want to silence Valborg after all these years? What could she do to you? You’re just a bum. No one gives a shit about you. It’s another matter with...’

Konrád stared at the man, his filthy coat, a plastic bag sticking out of one pocket, the hand that wiped his dripping nose.

‘Valborg collected newspaper clippings about your friend at Borgartún. Was it because...?’

Ísleifur started smirking at him.

‘Was it...?’

Konrád grabbed Ísleifur’s arm.

‘It was him...?!’