The Shadow Killer

25

For the second day in a row Flóvent found Rudolf Lunden’s house empty. He knocked on all the doors and peered in the windows but could see no sign of life. It occurred to him that the neighbours might know where Rudolf was. He was in luck: a middle-aged housewife came to the door of her house and was able to enlighten him. In the early hours of the previous morning she had heard an ambulance in the street and watched as Rudolf Lunden was carried out on a stretcher and driven away. She didn’t know what was wrong but said this wasn’t the first time it had happened; he was in poor health and had to be admitted to hospital from time to time. She’d heard somewhere that he had a weak heart but couldn’t guarantee that this was true. The woman turned out to be quite chatty. She stood on her doorstep, wearing a pair of horn-rimmed glasses and an apron over her day dress, and told Flóvent she was fairly sure it was because of his heart problems that Rudolf hadn’t been deported like so many other members of the German community. Her husband worked for one of the ministries and he’d heard it said that the British thought it unlikely Rudolf would survive the journey. ‘Humanitarian considerations,’ said the woman, her tone indicating that she didn’t think these should be wasted on the likes of Rudolf Lunden.

Flóvent thought of how he’d hauled the man down to the prison to grill him about Felix, and felt overwhelmed with guilt. He had resorted to that course of action because he had been riled by the doctor’s manner, by his arrogance, his hypocrisy. Flóvent’s conscience had been bothering him ever since, not only because the man was handicapped but because he hadn’t applied for a warrant and privately doubted the legality of his action. The news that Rudolf might have a weak heart, on top of everything else, left him feeling doubly perturbed. He wondered if the doctor was in hospital because of him.

The housewife could tell him less about Brynhildur Hólm, though she was aware that Rudolf employed a housekeeper as well as benefitting from the services of a maid twice a week — unlike her and her husband: they’d lost their household help to the British. The woman had been forced to do all the chores herself ever since. She knew nothing about Rudolf’s housekeeper, not even her name. This was the first time she’d heard it. But then, she remarked, Rudolf and that Brynhildur Hólm weren’t ones for mixing with their neighbours — they didn’t so much as give you the time of day in the street. And they didn’t have many visitors, though she’d noticed a few comings and goings, usually in the evening, and the visitors in question stayed late, at least until long after she herself had retired for the night. It seemed to Flóvent that the housewife kept a remarkably close eye on everything that happened in her street, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

He thanked the woman for her help and had just got back into his car when he spotted the maid walking up to Rudolf’s house. He had been meaning to talk to her again but hadn’t had a chance. She was closing the door behind her when he called out to her. The girl recognised him immediately. There were a couple of questions he needed to ask her, he said. Would that be all right? She was a little taken aback but opened the door halfway and informed him that Rudolf wasn’t in.

‘Yes, I know. It was you I came to see, miss,’ said Flóvent. ‘Last time I was here you said something about a row between Rudolf and his brother-in-law Ebeneser. Do you remember?’

The girl shook her head.

‘You said you’d heard them arguing about some boys. Do you know who the boys were?’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Could they have been schoolboys?’

The girl shook her head again.

‘Friends of Felix, perhaps?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t help you, sir. I really shouldn’t have mentioned it. I don’t know why I did.’

‘It was out of a sense of loyalty, wasn’t it, miss?’ said Flóvent. ‘You wanted to explain Rudolf’s behaviour. Is he always that difficult?’

‘His health has gone downhill recently,’ said the girl. ‘He’s not well and he’s not happy about... I’m sorry, I can’t help you any more. Please excuse me.’

She pushed the door to and was about to close it when Flóvent put out a hand to stop her.

‘Does he employ a housekeeper?’

‘Yes, Brynhildur,’ said the maid. ‘Maybe you could talk to her, sir, but she’s not here at the moment. I’ve really got to go now. Good day.’

‘Do you know where she is, miss?’

‘No, I’m afraid not.’

It turned out that Rudolf Lunden had been admitted to the Department of General Medicine at the National Hospital, but Flóvent was told that it should be safe to speak to him as long as he kept his visit short. When he arrived, he found Rudolf asleep in a double room in the large hospital building on Hringbraut. He was alone; the other bed was empty. Flóvent wasn’t sure how to occupy himself while he waited for Rudolf to wake up. The last thing he wanted was to disturb his sleep. The wheelchair was nowhere to be seen and there were no personal items on his bedside table, only two periodicals that belonged to the hospital: Andvari and the literary journal Skírnir. After Flóvent had paced up and down the corridor and in and out of the room for a while, his curiosity got the better of him and he picked up the copy of Skírnir, which was lying open on top of the other journal. The issue was from 1939 and featured articles on a variety of literary and ethnographic subjects. Rudolf seemed to have put it down in the middle of a piece on the origin of the Icelanders, in which the author advanced the theory that they were descended from the Heruli tribe, who had originated in an area near the Black Sea and moved north during the Migration Age.

Hearing Rudolf groan and seeing that he was stirring, Flóvent quickly replaced the journal and got to his feet. The doctor recognised him the instant he opened his eyes.

‘What... what are you doing here?’ he asked hoarsely. ‘I do not want you here.’ Plainly Rudolf had not forgiven Flóvent for the way he had been treated. His gaze was contemptuous, his tone uncivil.

‘I was sorry to hear you’d been admitted to hospital, sir,’ said Flóvent politely, choosing his words with care. He had rehearsed them out in the corridor while Rudolf was sleeping. ‘I’d just like to ask you a few more questions, but I’ll try to be brief. I don’t wish to disturb you. We’ve uncovered one or two things in the course of our inquiry that I feel it’s only right to put to you. I’m afraid the matter’s rather urgent. I know your situation’s difficult, but I do hope you’ll have patience with me.’

‘I insist that you leave this instant,’ whispered Rudolf, sending Flóvent a ferocious look. ‘Have you come to arrest me? To carry me out of the hospital by force?’

Flóvent shook his head. Making an effort to be respectful, he explained that he had tried to visit him at home, but had only just learnt that he was in hospital.

If he thought Rudolf would be at all mollified by his meek tone, he was mistaken. The doctor’s eyes flashed with animosity and when Flóvent asked again if he might put a few questions to him, Rudolf’s response was a flat refusal. He added that he had hired a lawyer who was preparing a formal complaint about the way the police had treated him, and that Flóvent would be hearing from him shortly. He’d had no grounds for forcibly conveying the doctor to the prison and no legal right either.

‘I felt I had no alternative, sir,’ said Flóvent. ‘You refused to speak to me. In my experience, a trip to the prison tends to make people more cooperative. I’m afraid I wasn’t aware of your... condition. I wish you had said something.’

‘You are a fool,’ snapped Rudolf. ‘An uneducated fool, with no manners.’

It was on the tip of Flóvent’s tongue to retort ‘Which reminds me, I wanted to ask about your son’, but he thought better of it. The temptation to ask whether Felix was a disappointment to him was almost irresistible. He was burning to ask this and more questions in the same vein, but couldn’t risk giving the man a heart attack. He doubted the doctors would have sanctioned his visit if they had realised that he was from the police, so he thought he’d better make it quick.

‘You are being extraordinarily difficult, sir,’ Flóvent remarked instead.

‘You are simply not up to your job.’

‘Aren’t you the least bit worried about Felix? About where he’s hiding? Or about his state of mind?’

‘Whatever worries I may or may not have are none of your business. I am asking you to leave!’

‘Unless, of course, you know where he is. Do you, sir?’

Rudolf didn’t answer.

‘Are you aware that Felix sometimes goes by the name of Felix Rúdólfsson rather than Lunden?’

‘That’s the first I’ve heard of it. Why should he do that? What a load of nonsense. Is that all you’ve come here to tell me?’

‘Are you familiar with the name Eyvindur Ragnarsson?’

Again Rudolf didn’t answer.

‘He’s the man we found in your son’s flat. Do you recognise the name?’

Rudolf shook his head. ‘Will you please leave me in peace,’ he said.

‘So you don’t know why he was found murdered in your son’s flat?’

‘No.’

‘And you don’t know where your son is hiding?’

‘How often do I have to tell you that I have no idea of his whereabouts?’

‘Do you have any reason to believe that something might have happened to your son?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘That he might have suffered the same fate as Eyvindur, for example?’

‘That he is dead — is that what you are implying?’

‘You must have considered the possibility. Now that you know about the cyanide capsule we found in his suitcase. Aren’t you afraid he might have killed himself?’

‘I cannot tell you anything about Felix. As I have repeatedly told you, though you are apparently too dim-witted to understand.’

‘Aren’t you the least bit worried about him?’

‘I will not dignify that with an answer,’ said Rudolf. ‘I will not dignify anything you say with an answer. I insist that you leave me alone.’

‘Felix must have been remarkably free of prejudice as a child,’ Flóvent remarked. ‘Did you know that he and Eyvindur were friends, or at least played together, as boys?’

Rudolf ignored this.

‘I mention that he must have been free of prejudice because there was a huge gulf between them socially. Eyvindur came from an appallingly rough home. His mother was a drunk and his father a violent criminal, forever in and out of prison. Yet Felix was from a bourgeois family; his father was a doctor. Did he ever talk about Eyvindur? Were you aware of their friendship?’

Again he was met by silence.

‘Why would a boy from such a prominent home befriend a lad who lived in conditions like that, with a dangerous convict as a father? Wouldn’t Felix have had to seek your permission to associate with him? Did you give it? Or did Felix do it to defy you? Was that when he stopped living up to his father’s expectations?’

‘Get out,’ snapped Rudolf. ‘I have nothing to say to you.’

Flóvent took out the four-page pamphlet that he and Thorson had found at Eyvindur’s flat, held the photograph up to the doctor and asked if he recognised the people in it. Rudolf seemed to have made up his mind to behave as if Flóvent wasn’t in the room. Flóvent asked again if he recognised the people. When he received no response, he began to describe what the picture showed, naming Ebeneser and Brynhildur and the boys Felix and Eyvindur, and asking if Rudolf knew the others. The doctor didn’t even deign to look at it.

‘I understand that Brynhildur Hólm works as your housekeeper nowadays,’ said Flóvent. ‘Am I right?’

Rudolf said nothing.

‘Can you confirm that?’

‘What do you want with her?’ Rudolf asked at last.

‘I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to tell you that,’ said Flóvent as politely as he could. He had a degree of sympathy for Rudolf, under the circumstances, but the doctor’s withering scorn undeniably grated on his nerves. ‘At present, anyway,’ he added, noting that the man’s face had turned even darker red. ‘Could you tell me where I can get hold of her? We’ve established that she used to rent rooms on Njálsgata until a few years ago. My colleague is going to speak to her landlord—’

‘That is no concern of mine. You can invent whatever nonsense you like,’ said Rudolf. ‘Leave me alone. I have nothing whatsoever to say to you.’

‘All right,’ said Flóvent. ‘There’s just one more question I’m obliged to put to you.’

‘I have no desire to speak to you. You seem incapable of grasping the fact.’

‘Who’s Hans Lunden?’ asked Flóvent. ‘Who is Dr Hans Lunden?’

Rudolf shot him a glance, visibly startled by the name. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘He was in the country shortly before the war, and it’s possible he’s visited on other occasions too. Perhaps you could enlighten me. Who is he and what was he doing here?’

Rudolf said nothing.

‘He’s your brother, is he not? How did he come to know the consul, Dr Werner Gerlach?’

He wasn’t really expecting Rudolf to answer any of his questions, given how uncooperative he had been up to now. And his instinct was correct. The doctor lay there in stubborn silence, waiting for Flóvent to take himself off. But the visit hadn’t been a complete waste of time. Flóvent had no idea what it all meant, but he had made it clear to Rudolf that he knew about Hans Lunden and his links to the German consul. If this information was significant, Rudolf was bound to wonder how he had found out and, more importantly, whether Flóvent knew more about what Hans and Gerlach had been up to. Before he left, there was one more thing he wanted the doctor to think over.

‘What is the nature of the relationship between Brynhildur Hólm and Hans Lunden?’

There was a long pause.

‘What do you think you know?’ Rudolf finally retorted with a sneer. ‘You know nothing. You are an ignorant fool.’

‘What is it that I don’t know?’ asked Flóvent. ‘Do enlighten me. Why can’t you be straight with me? Don’t you feel the slightest concern for your son?’

Rudolf turned his head away.

‘I want to ask you again about your quarrel with Ebeneser,’ said Flóvent. ‘You had a row about something to do with some boys. To do with Felix, I would guess. Can you confirm that?’

Rudolf didn’t react.

‘Would you care to tell me about that?’

The silence dragged on and Flóvent gave up. Clearly it was futile to keep pressing the doctor on these points. His eye happened to fall on the copy of Skírnir lying on the bedside table, and, changing the subject, he asked the doctor about his interest in the origin of the Icelanders and this new theory about the Heruli. Rudolf continued to snub him, staring silently out of the window.

Only as Flóvent was leaving the room did Rudolf finally turn to him.

‘To think they believed that Iceland was home to such a remarkable race,’ he said. ‘That this was the ancestral heritage...’

‘Who? What heritage?’

‘These peasants.’

‘What heritage?’

‘These... damned peasants.’

Rudolf could not be persuaded to explain, so Flóvent took his leave, wishing him a quick recovery. He walked out of the hospital feeling intensely frustrated. He lingered for a while outside, letting the hot August sun warm his face and trying to make sense of Rudolf’s parting comment. Eventually, he set off and was heading west, alongside the hospital, when a woman suddenly emerged from the building. To his astonishment, it appeared to be Brynhildur Hólm. He was about to call out to her but checked himself and instead began to follow her at a discreet distance as she walked briskly up towards Skólavörduholt. She strode purposefully past the military barracks on top of the hill, looking neither right nor left, wearing a long black coat and black lace-up shoes, and clutching a small black doctor’s bag.