Why Did You Lie? (32 page)

Yet it wasn’t the discomfort that had woken her so much as the thoughts that had made it hard for her to get to sleep in the first place. When she finally dropped off they had infiltrated her dreams so thoroughly that she had jerked awake, still tired, with a stiff neck. There were too many unanswered questions, and patience had never been her forte. If the answers were out there somewhere she had to track them down, and that wasn’t going to happen in her sleep. Dreams were too unreliable for that. After twisting first to the right, then to the left, she tried putting her legs up on the arms of the chair, then resting them on the edge of Thröstur’s bed, then tucking them beneath her and even putting them down on the floor as if she were sitting on a bus. Nothing worked.

So she had splashed some water on her face and kissed Thröstur’s cool cheek. It felt clammy to the touch and there was a smell of plastic from the tube in his mouth. He lay there as motionless and remote as ever; her kiss meant nothing to him. She hurried from his room, painfully aware that it was becoming easier to leave him in the mornings. This evoked mixed feelings; sadness but also relief that she was gradually beginning to accept the inevitable – which was uncomfortably near at hand. Shamefaced, she sneaked out of the ward so the staff wouldn’t chase her about fixing the fateful day. Now that the chances of her finding an explanation for what Thröstur had done were looking more realistic, she wanted to put the brakes on and deeply regretted having made a decision about his future. When the moment came to say goodbye, she wanted at least to have an inkling of why he had acted as he had. But she couldn’t expect anyone else to understand this. The ward would probably send a member of staff to ambush her if she didn’t present herself within the next couple of days. Hospital beds were precious; Thröstur wasn’t. Not any more.

Nína had unconsciously sped up as she walked down the empty corridor of the police station, but now she slowed down a little. There was no rush, yet she felt as if she were in a race against time. As if somewhere there was an egg timer with her name on it in which the sand was running out – ever faster. She opened the door to yet another corridor, which led to the small room used by the night shift. There she hoped to find the policewoman who apparently had the file open that Nína wanted to read. She wasn’t going to ask her to close it – there was no need. She was simply curious to know why the woman had been looking at it in the first place.

It was the report on Lárus Jónmundsson’s suicide, which was ancient history by police standards. At least it wasn’t at all clear why someone would want to read a month-old incident report in the middle of the night.

Inside the room sat three police officers, two men and the woman Nína was looking for, holding steaming mugs of coffee. All three looked shattered, their eyes glassy, their cheeks a hectic red after coming in from the cold. Nína recognised the atmosphere; the Saturday night shift was never an easy one. The city centre resembled the set of a disaster movie in which the revellers were zombies and the police officers the army that had been sent to the scene in a forlorn attempt to hold back the tide.

‘Is it eight already?’ One of the men sat up, surprised but pleased. His trouser legs looked as if they had been splashed with vomit, which would explain the bad smell in the room. When she shook her head, he slumped back in his seat. They were obviously too tired to give her the cold shoulder.

‘I came to find Aldís.’ Nína smiled at the woman who looked exhausted and didn’t return her smile.

‘What?’ In different circumstances the response might have seemed brusque but no one could expect politeness at this hour. Not from people stinking of vomit, courtesy of some wasted partygoer. In fact, it was one of the friendliest greetings Nína had received since she’d lodged her complaint. Perhaps she should apply to work the night shift.

‘I need to look at the case of Lárus Jónmundsson who committed suicide in December, and I saw on the server that you’ve got the original report open.’ Nína hesitated, wondering if she should sit down as well, but decided to remain standing. Tired as she was, she didn’t belong with this exhausted trio. And you never knew, they might suddenly recollect that she was a pariah and get up and walk away. Though that was unlikely; none of them looked as if they could so much as stand unaided.

‘Oh. I must have forgotten to close it earlier. We were called out to Ingólfstorg Square to help the city-centre shift.’

‘Do you mind my asking why you had it open? Isn’t the case closed?’

‘Yes. I wasn’t working on it directly but I was involved in a call-out earlier tonight that may be connected. I didn’t have a chance to read it properly, though, so I’ve no idea how.’ Aldís drank some coffee and made a face as she swallowed. ‘I’d forgotten all about it. It feels like it happened days ago. Do you want me to go up and close the file?’

Nína wasn’t about to ask this woman to stagger upstairs to her office; she would barely make it to the first landing. ‘No, thanks. I just wanted to know why someone other than me was interested in it.’

Aldís wrinkled up her nose again at the bitter coffee. ‘Why did you want to look at it? Are you involved with that strange case in Skerjafjördur?’

‘Skerjafjördur? No, I’ve not heard any mention of that. I’ve been working with old files down in the basement recently. I’ve been taken off the beat temporarily, as you may know.’ The men exchanged glances and at the sight of their expressions Nína lost the thread.

Aldís noticed her consternation. She stared down into her cup. ‘I’ve never understood why that’s supposed to be a punishment. If someone took me off the beat I’d welcome it as much as a pay rise. If people caught on, we’d all get ourselves punished and crowd out the basement.’ She pushed away her mug and stood up. ‘If you don’t mind tagging along, I’m going to get some fresh coffee.’

On the way out they walked past the coffee machine but Aldís’s companions were too tired to comment, and, anyway, why point out the obvious? Aldís wanted to give Nína a chance to talk to her in private. ‘Sorry. I thought you might find it easier to talk one to one. Gunni and Thór are OK, but they’re fed up right now and they might start butting in.’

‘Thank you.’

Aldís closed the door and they stood outside in the corridor. There was no coffee machine in sight. Aldís leant against the wall, knocking a framed fire-safety certificate askew. She came straight to the point: ‘What’s your interest in this Lárus?’

Nína decided she would cut to the chase, too. The woman was obviously too exhausted to take in all the details. ‘I found his name noted down among my husband’s papers. There was no explanation but since my husband and Lárus suffered more or less the same fate, I wondered if they had anything else in common. Anything that could explain what happened to my husband. And maybe what happened to Lárus too. I’m trying to find a link between them, in other words.’

Aldís nodded and Nína silently thanked her for not pasting on the dreaded expression of sympathy that people generally adopted when they heard any mention of Thröstur in her presence. Not that she had encountered much sympathy in her colleagues’ faces lately. Perhaps they thought it served her right for causing trouble.

‘You know Lárus took an overdose? But your husband tried to hang himself – have I got that right?’ Straight to the point again; no beating about the bush.

‘Yes.’ Nína restrained an impulse to reach out and straighten the framed certificate. The world was enough of a mess without things being allowed to hang askew. ‘I wasn’t suggesting they were murdered, so the different circumstances come as no surprise. It’s just that I don’t like coincidences.’

‘When did he note down Lárus’s name?’

‘I don’t know exactly. Probably in November or maybe even earlier. Thröstur’s been in a coma since the beginning of December, so of course it would have to have been before then.’

‘So he was interested in Lárus for some reason before he tried to kill himself?’

Nína nodded.

‘And they both resorted to suicide in the same month?’

Again Nína nodded.

‘Extraordinary. Did they know each other?’

‘No. Not to my knowledge. At least I don’t remember Thröstur ever mentioning him. Perhaps their paths crossed in connection with work but Thröstur very rarely discussed the stories he was working on and I didn’t talk to him about my job either. In spite of the rumours doing the rounds here.’

Aldís shrugged and the certificate on the wall was knocked even more crooked. ‘I don’t know if you’ve looked at Lárus’s file but some people thought his death was suspicious.’

‘I remember.’ Nína gave a wry smile. ‘I was aware of the case though I wasn’t allowed anywhere near it because of my situation. It was considered inappropriate.’

‘Understandably.’ Aldís did not return her smile.

‘But I didn’t hear how it ended, for example what happened about the visitor who was supposed to have been with Lárus that evening. If I’d known Thröstur had some connection with Lárus I’d probably have taken more interest. Was the visitor ever found?’

‘No. All we know is that there was somebody with him that evening. His wife was away but the neighbours said they’d heard talking and there were signs in his flat that more than one person had been drinking there. They concluded that the unknown individual had probably left by the time Lárus took the overdose. At least there was no evidence that he’d been coerced into taking the pills.’

‘What’s the link to the Skerjafjördur business you mentioned?’

‘Had you stopped following the case by the time Lárus’s widow brought in the letters she found in his office?’

‘Yes. I expect so. I don’t remember hearing about them, anyway. What were they?’

‘Cryptic messages that we never got to the bottom of. Short sentences, one per sheet of paper, which had been folded to fit inside an envelope. No one knows if the letters came in the post or if Lárus wrote them himself intending to send them to other people. His wife had no knowledge of them. She vaguely remembered Lárus receiving letters but had the feeling he’d told her they were junk mail from the bank. Advertisements for investments, that sort of thing. But she was adamant that she had seen no logos on the envelopes. She was convinced the notes were proof that Lárus had been murdered. She started laying into us when it sank in that we didn’t consider them sufficient evidence to justify reopening the case.’

‘Just what did these letters contain?’

‘That’s the weird part, and that’s where the Skerjafjördur business comes in. Notes were found there containing exactly the same kind of messages. At the family’s summer chalet. Then another note was posted through their letterbox late yesterday evening.’

‘What is the Skerjafjördur case precisely?’

‘What isn’t it?’ Aldís made a face. ‘The husband called us yesterday afternoon because he’d found a dead cat on the barbecue at their summer chalet.’ She looked wearily at Nína. ‘Don’t ask. They wanted to report some Americans they’d done a house swap with, who they believed had disappeared off the face of the earth. Or something like that. The whole thing’s far from clear and although I’ve read the first report several times I’m still none the wiser. But among the evidence they handed over to the police were these notes. Something about liars getting their come-uppance. Then just before midnight last night the wife was knocked down by a car and I was sent round to break the news to her husband. He was initially regarded as a suspect. Then it emerged that another note had arrived. The husband said he didn’t know Lárus Jónmundsson and his wife is so mashed up that we won’t be able to get a word out of her till later today. Maybe even tomorrow.’

‘Who was the driver?’

‘We don’t know. It was a hit and run.’ Aldís kicked her foot against the wall, leaving a dirty mark on the discoloured paint. ‘Did you two receive any notes like that?’

‘No. Definitely not. I’ve just been through all our stuff because I’m selling the flat, and there were no messages like the ones you’ve just described.’

‘It seems Lárus didn’t tell his wife about the notes, and the husband in Skerjafjördur was equally in the dark. He didn’t know how the letters had reached the chalet. One of the officers who went to see them originally said the wife started acting very strangely when the subject came up and he thought she might know more than she was letting on. Is it possible your husband could have kept the notes secret from you? Read them, then thrown them away?’

‘Not if they came in the post. He was at work until evening, so it was usually me who picked up the post. I don’t remember any strange letters.’

Aldís shrugged. ‘Perhaps it’s all completely unrelated. Stranger things have happened. Do you know a man called Nói or might your husband have known him?’

Nína shook her head and the bones of her neck clicked. ‘I’d recognise the name. It’s not that common.’ She sensed the conversation was coming to an end. Aldís obviously wanted to get back to the others, take the weight off her feet and let her fatigue slowly dissipate over a bad coffee. ‘Will you be involved any further in the Skerjafjördur case?’

‘Yes, I expect so.’ Aldís frowned slightly. ‘Why?’

‘I was wondering if I could have another word. Not today but maybe next time you’re on duty.’ Nína was quite prepared for her to say no. Word at the station was that Aldís would go far. Though she was still forced to take the occasional night shift everyone knew this would soon be a thing of the past. Nína, on the other hand, was on her way down. Or even out. So it would be only natural if Aldís didn’t want anything to do with her during daylight hours. ‘I won’t get in your way – I’m down in the basement most of the time. I’d just like to keep in touch about what happens.’

‘If you like. I’m not sure there’ll be much more to hear. With some cases you know from the moment they’re reported that they’ll hang around for a while, then sink without trace. The Skerjafjördur business is one of those.’

‘What about the Americans they did a house swap with? Have they been found or is the suggestion that they’re missing actually a possibility?’

‘We haven’t established that yet. Hopefully things’ll be clearer on Monday or Tuesday when they’ve checked the passenger lists at Keflavík. It complicates matters that they were apparently travelling onwards to Europe and we don’t know where they were heading or which airline they were flying with. Though we do have the date of their flight.’ Aldís yawned without opening her mouth, her lips barely parting. ‘But I don’t suppose much’ll come of it. If they haven’t left the country they’ve probably got lost in the highlands on one of those crazy hiking trips that can only end in disaster at this time of year. An appeal will be put out for them and someone’ll phone in to say they were spotted at a petrol station in the countryside, buying supplies from the shop. They’ll turn up when the snow melts.’