The Shadow District Read online

  ‘It’s quite a house,’ said Konrád, for the sake of saying something.

  ‘Yes, far too big for the three of us to rattle around in. My husband and I only had the one child. My son takes very good care of me down here, so I really can’t complain. I lack for nothing. Never have lacked for any of the things that are supposed to matter in life.’

  Konrád sensed a certain underlying bitterness, as if her words held a deeper, quite different meaning. He wondered how happy her life had actually been since that fateful day when she chanced upon the body.

  ‘You weren’t alone?’ he said. ‘When you found the girl?’

  For the first time Ingiborg didn’t answer.

  ‘Obviously, it must be painful to talk about after all this time,’ Konrád added after a pause.

  ‘I was … no, it’s not very nice having to talk about it.’

  A silence developed, which Konrád refrained from breaking.

  ‘He was a soldier,’ Ingiborg said all of a sudden.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘You’re right, I wasn’t alone when I found her. He said his name was Frank Carroll but that was a lie, like everything else he told me. His real name was Frank Ruddy – the American soldier I was friendly with for a while – and he wasn’t a very admirable character. A real cad, in fact. He lied to me. Not just about his name. He turned out to have a wife back in America. And children. He was even two-timing me with another girl here in Reykjavík.’

  The words came in spurts, she almost spat them out, and again Konrád sensed bitterness mingled with an old anger.

  ‘An absolute snake,’ Ingiborg continued. ‘It was the police who told me what sort of person he was. Lovely men, both of them. They knew I’d been taken for a …’ She broke off, then continued apologetically: ‘I wasn’t going to tell you any of this. When you rang and wanted to dredge the whole thing up. I wasn’t going to talk about it at all.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Konrád. ‘You can say as much or as little as you like. It’s up to you.’

  ‘I was … I was dreadfully upset when I learnt the truth about Frank, what sort of person he was. Flóvent, the detective, came to see me specially to tell me everything. Please excuse me but I … I don’t feel comfortable digging all this up. Perhaps it would be best if you left now. I don’t think I can help you any further.’

  ‘All right,’ said Konrád. ‘Of course. I didn’t mean to upset you.’

  Ingiborg stood up with some difficulty to see him out.

  ‘What can you tell me about Flóvent?’ asked Konrád, rising to his feet as well. He remembered the name from one of Stefán’s newspaper cuttings. ‘Was he in charge of the investigation?’

  ‘Yes, he led the inquiry into the girl’s death. There was another policeman too, representing the army. Thorson, his name was. An unusually nice, charming young man.’

  ‘Thorson?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you say Thorson?’ Konrád couldn’t hide his astonishment.

  ‘Yes. Thorson.’

  ‘Was he investigating the girl’s death as well?’

  ‘Yes. There were two of them. Flóvent and Thorson.’

  ‘Do you have any idea what became of him?’

  ‘No. He was from Canada. I expect he went back there after the war.’

  ‘He was a policeman here?’

  ‘Yes, with the military police.’

  ‘And he investigated Rósamunda’s death?’

  ‘Yes.’

  It took Konrád a while to digest what Ingiborg had told him.

  Finally she lost patience. ‘Why are you so astonished?’

  ‘You mean you don’t know?’

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘Thorson died a couple of weeks ago. He was the pensioner found murdered in his flat. He went by the name of Stefán Thórdarson in later life. He was the man who kept the cuttings about the girl and had recently started asking questions about her, after all this time.’

  It was Ingiborg’s turn to be stunned. ‘You mean that was Thorson?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who on earth would have wanted to harm him?’

  ‘We don’t know. I thought you might be able to help us answer that.’

  The old woman sank back into her chair.

  ‘Can you tell me anything about him?’ asked Konrád, copying her example and sitting down again.

  ‘I shouldn’t … my son … I can hardly tell you – a complete stranger.’

  ‘It needn’t go any further.’

  ‘No, it’s probably best if you leave now. I … I’ve had enough. I’m tired. Would you please go?’

  ‘All right.’ But Konrád showed no signs of moving. He could see that the old lady was troubled and sensed that in spite of what she said, she hadn’t finished.

  ‘It’s … it’s one of those things that happens, and then you’re left facing it all alone, powerless,’ she said. ‘And it never leaves you, however many years go by. It stays with you for ever.’

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to know how Thorson died,’ said Konrád. ‘He was suffocated. At home in his bed. His pillow was held over his face and –’

  ‘Please, spare me the details.’

  ‘Tell me something: did you ever hear about another girl who suffered the same or a similar fate to Rósamunda?’

  ‘Another girl?’

  ‘There’s a chance Thorson was asking questions about her before he died. Another girl from those days. A girl who disappeared. I gather they never found her remains.’

  ‘And she was supposed to have suffered the same fate?’

  ‘Yes, does that ring any bells?’

  ‘No,’ said Ingiborg pensively. ‘Thorson told me the girl from the theatre had mentioned the huldufólk, but I can’t remember exactly what it was she had said.’

  ‘Really? The huldufólk?’

  ‘Yes, just like the woman I went to see. Mind you … I didn’t know whether to take it seriously or if it had any bearing …’

  ‘What?’

  Ingiborg heaved a sigh of resignation. ‘If I tell you, it’s only for Thorson’s sake, in case it helps you find out the truth about his death. He was so very kind to me.’ She fell silent. ‘Maybe I should … I’ve never told anyone else.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I told Thorson about her and what she did, and I know he and Flóvent went to see her. Thorson believed Rósamunda had gone to her for the same reason. To the woman on the hill. It’s an experience I’ll … I’ll never forget as long as I live …’

  21

  One cold February day, not long after Ingiborg had identified Frank at the military police headquarters, she put on her best coat and a fetching hat, and went down to number 11 Fríkirkjuvegur where she asked to speak to Flóvent. It was the first time she had been inside the grand building that housed Reykjavík’s Criminal Investigation Department. A secretary greeted her at reception and asked her to wait.

  Shortly afterwards Flóvent appeared and showed Ingiborg into his office.

  ‘I didn’t know where else to turn,’ said Ingiborg, once she was seated in front of his desk. She took in her surroundings with interest. The office wasn’t large. One window looked out over the dusk-filled back garden where the stables used to be. The only source of illumination in the room was a desk lamp, which cast a pool of light on Flóvent’s papers, a card with fingerprints, and some photographs of Rósamunda’s body at the scene of the crime.

  Frank was still being detained by the American military police; Ingiborg hadn’t met her former lover since his arrest. Flóvent told her that he would remain in custody until they had verified his story.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ he asked now.

  ‘What’ll happen to Frank, do you know?’

  ‘I can’t say for sure. If he turns out not to have played any part in Rósamunda’s death and they find no other reason for him to remain in custody, he’ll be released.’

  ‘And allowed to stay in the army?’

&n
bsp; ‘I expect so.’

  ‘Here in Reykjavík?’

  ‘I really couldn’t say. He may be a cheat and a liar but I’m afraid that’s not a criminal offence. There’s talk of troop movements to Britain, an imminent invasion of the Continent. He may well be sent over there with his regiment.’

  ‘I need to speak to him,’ said Ingiborg. ‘I’m afraid it’s unavoidable.’

  Flóvent’s face registered surprise. ‘I’d have thought you wouldn’t want anything more to do with him.’

  ‘I don’t, I never want to see him again, but I have to talk to him. I thought you might be able to arrange it. If they’re going to keep him in jail for a while.’

  ‘Well, I could have a word with Thorson. May I ask what it is that you need to discuss with Frank?’

  ‘It’s … it’s private.’

  ‘Nothing that has any bearing on the case under investigation, then?’

  ‘No, not at all. It’s … it’s personal.’

  Ingiborg didn’t dare meet Flóvent’s eye. Instead she lowered her gaze to the photographs of the girl on the desk. She didn’t want to tell him why she urgently needed to speak to Frank Ruddy even though the mere thought of seeing him made her feel sick to her stomach. She’d been a bit under the weather in the mornings lately: queasy, weak and lethargic, and she had begun to suspect the reason. It wasn’t simply that she’d been let down by a GI who’d stooped to assuming the name of a film star to deceive her, although admittedly that had sapped her energy and made her feel very depressed. There were undeniable physical symptoms. They had started earlier and had been making her increasingly anxious for weeks. She wished she could have confided in her mother but that was out of the question in the circumstances. Her parents had been put through enough. She’d been intending to share her fears with Frank on the terrible evening they took refuge behind the theatre, but fate had intervened. Now, in spite of all that had happened, she felt he ought to know.

  Flóvent had arranged a meeting with Ingiborg a couple of days earlier to bring her up to date with what the police had found out about Frank. He needn’t have bothered but she got the impression that he was well disposed towards her, and she had come close to sharing her concerns with him then. He had gone out of his way to be tactful, understanding and sympathetic. She knew he wanted to soften the blow she’d suffered as a result of Frank’s behaviour. When they parted, Flóvent had told her she could come to him about anything; if it was in his power he would assist her.

  ‘All right,’ he said now. ‘I’ll have a word with Thorson and see what he says.’

  Two hours later Thorson himself received her at the camp and escorted her to the military jail. He was just as mystified as Flóvent about why she wanted to see Frank. All Flóvent had told him over the phone was that it was personal and unrelated to the investigation. Thorson didn’t query this. He asked Ingiborg if she would like him to interpret, but she hastily assured him that there was no need.

  Thorson showed her into a small room and told her to wait. The jail was housed in a prefab hut in the Laugarnes camp, one of the largest in the country, which contained not only barracks but also offices, a mess hall, a post exchange, a sick bay and the military police headquarters. A number of such camps had risen within the city limits, each like a village of Quonset huts huddling in the bleak terrain, here at the ends of the earth.

  Frank was led into the room and looked astonished when the identity of his visitor was revealed.

  ‘You?’ he said in English, sounding as if he’d never expected to set eyes on Ingiborg again.

  The door closed behind him and he took a seat.

  ‘Look, I never meant to lie to you. It was just … I just …’

  ‘No matter,’ Ingiborg said in her halting English. She didn’t want to listen to any more of his lies. She needed to go ahead and say what she’d come here to say, because she felt he had a right to know. How she acted afterwards would depend on his response. During the long, sleepless nights she had considered not telling him at all, but she didn’t feel this was fair.

  ‘I have … baby,’ she said, placing a hand on her belly so there would be no mistaking her meaning.

  Frank didn’t react.

  ‘Your … your,’ she added.

  ‘My what?’

  ‘Baby.’

  Frank stared at her. ‘No way,’ he said. ‘Hell, no.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh, no. No, you don’t …’

  ‘What do you mean?’ She looked puzzled.

  ‘You come to me with that shit … It isn’t mine. That’s a lie. A goddamn lie.’

  ‘It’s yours,’ Ingiborg said in Icelandic, patting her belly for emphasis.

  ‘That’s a lie,’ repeated Frank angrily.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’m not doing this. This is not my problem.’ Frank leapt out of his chair and banged on the door. The guard opened it and let him out. Thorson appeared behind them and came into the room as Frank was led away.

  ‘Is everything OK?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, I should be going.’ Ingiborg stood up.

  ‘What did he say to you?’

  ‘Nothing. It’s all right.’

  She had been afraid of Frank’s reaction, and her suspicions had now been confirmed; she couldn’t expect any help from him. Part of her was relieved. When they made love he had promised to be careful. She had found it painful both times.

  ‘Let me drive you home,’ said Thorson. ‘I have a car at my disposal.’

  ‘No, thank you, I can walk. Thank you for letting me see him. I won’t need to visit him again.’

  She was fighting back tears and Thorson took her hand in an attempt to comfort her.

  ‘You’re not the first girl to be taken in by a soldier. You were unlucky. Frank’s a no-good liar. Fortunately they’re not all like him.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why are you so upset?’

  ‘I don’t know what to do. He …’

  ‘Why did you want to see that jackass? I’d have thought he was the last person you’d want to see.’

  ‘I needed to talk to him …’

  ‘Why? About the investigation?’

  Ingiborg shook her head. ‘About something else.’

  ‘What? Why are you so unhappy?’

  ‘I can’t say. I have to go home.’

  ‘Can’t you … are you …?’

  Ingiborg burst into tears.

  ‘You’re not expecting his child?’

  She nodded. ‘I … I think so … I know I …’

  She hadn’t meant to say anything, had meant to go home with her secret intact and lock herself in her room. She had no idea what to do, no one to advise her. In the end she would have to tell her mother, but she was dreading it. Though that would be nothing to the storm that would break when her father discovered that she was expecting and that the father was an American soldier. She raised her eyes to Thorson. She had blurted out her secret inadvertently, but afterwards it was a relief to have got it off her chest.

  ‘Have you been examined by a doctor?’

  ‘No, I don’t need to be. I just know.’

  ‘Are your parents aware?’

  ‘God, no.’

  ‘You should confide in them.’

  ‘I daren’t. I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘You should at least see a doctor,’ said Thorson. ‘Get confirmation. Then you must talk to someone you trust. I’m guessing Frank didn’t take the news too well?’

  ‘He thought I was lying about it being his. But I’m not. He’s the only man who … the only man in the picture.’

  ‘I expect you’ve already considered your options.’

  ‘I’m not going to get rid of it,’ Ingiborg said. ‘I’m not doing that.’

  22

  As Konrád listened to Ingiborg describe her encounter with Thorson, he wondered if he dare ask whether she had stuck to her guns. But he didn’t know her at all and realised that he himself would take offenc
e at this kind of prying.

  ‘Thorson was good to you,’ he said instead.

  ‘He was a lovely man,’ said Ingiborg. ‘A genuinely kind man.’

  ‘He settled in this country, as I said. Did you have any contact with him after the war?’

  ‘No, none. I left town. And never ran into him again after I came back. I assumed he’d returned to Canada.’

  ‘Actually, I understand he lived in Hveragerdi for many years before moving to Reykjavík about twenty-five years ago.’

  ‘Did he have a family? Children?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘What about Flóvent?’

  ‘I have almost no information about him,’ said Konrád. ‘All I know is that he was one of the pioneers of the Reykjavík CID. His name crops up in accounts of the history of the department. Never met him myself – he was rather before my time.’

  ‘I was pregnant and had no idea where to turn. I’d heard of people who could help out – some girls I knew were talking about it. Then I got a message from Frank that just goes to show what kind of man he was. A friend of his came to see me and told me about a woman I could visit. Frank knew what he wanted. He swore the child had nothing to do with him, but in spite of that he directed me to a woman I could talk to if I wanted to go down that road. I don’t know how he knew about her. I just hoped it wasn’t from experience.’

  ‘And did you go and see her?’ asked Konrád hesitantly.

  ‘I did,’ Ingiborg replied, after a little pause.

  ‘So you changed your mind?’

  ‘I couldn’t see any other way out. And I didn’t have much time if I was going to …’

  ‘But you wanted to keep the child?’

  Ingiborg looked at him, offended.

  ‘Forgive me, I didn’t mean …’

  ‘What do you think?’ she snapped.

  The woman Frank sent her to see lived in a low, concrete farmhouse set among the small hills east of the Ellidaár rivers, just outside the city limits. It was quite a trek from Ingiborg’s home and it took her a long time to get there. She hadn’t spoken to her parents about her dilemma, her fear, dread and confusion, or to any of her friends or relatives. She felt so ashamed of what had happened to her that she couldn’t bear the thought of people knowing, especially after the way Frank had behaved – lying and making a fool of her like that.