The Shadow District Read online

  Turning back to the shelves, Flóvent took out a book and opened it.

  ‘Your foreman certainly wasn’t lying.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Your foreman from the road crew. He said you were fascinated by folklore.’

  ‘What are all those books about?’ asked Thorson.

  ‘Most of them are about Icelandic folk tales and legends,’ answered Flóvent, giving him a meaningful look. ‘Ghost stories. Elf rocks. Forbidden ground. Huldufólk,’ he added, reading from the contents page of the volume he was holding.

  ‘I use the books for my research,’ said the student. ‘My thesis is concerned with Icelandic folk beliefs, from the settlement right up to the present day.’

  ‘Did you know Hrund, the girl I mentioned?’ asked Thorson, returning to his earlier theme.

  Jónatan’s gaze swung back and forth between the two men. ‘I knew who she was,’ he admitted at last. ‘You mean the girl who’s supposed to have thrown herself into Dettifoss?’

  Flóvent nodded.

  ‘I was aware of who she was. But I didn’t know her at all.’

  ‘Can you tell us if she was interested in folk tales?’

  ‘If she was?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why … I didn’t do anything to harm her if that’s what you’re asking. Never touched her. Is that why you’re here?’

  ‘Now why would you think someone harmed her?’ asked Flóvent. ‘We haven’t said anything to give you that idea.’

  Jónatan’s gaze flickered from one of them to the other in that poky little bedsit, as if the walls were closing in on him.

  ‘I know nothing about her,’ he protested. ‘I swear.’

  31

  Moving almost imperceptibly, Thorson stationed himself by the door to the hall. Flóvent studied the young man. He was looking decidedly rattled now that he had worked out the reason for the policemen’s visit. His eyes darted back and forth between Flóvent and Thorson, and he hunched his lanky frame defensively. His sudden vehement denial had taken them both by surprise and roused their suspicions. Anyone would have thought he’d been expecting to be questioned sooner or later about his relationship to Hrund.

  Flóvent asked if he would mind accompanying them down to Fríkirkjuvegur for a more leisurely chat about his interest in folklore and his acquaintance with Hrund. He refused politely, saying he had other business to attend to and that her case had absolutely nothing to do with him. Flóvent and Thorson insisted, finally informing him that if he didn’t accompany them voluntarily, they would be obliged to use force.

  Eventually they succeeded in persuading him to come with them and, pulling on his jacket again, Jónatan accompanied them out to the car. They drove in silence to Fríkirkjuvegur where they took a seat in Flóvent’s office. He closed the door carefully behind them.

  ‘Are you going to throw me in jail?’ asked Jónatan, when Thorson enquired if there was anything he wanted, like coffee or a drink of water.

  ‘Is there any reason why we should?’ asked Thorson.

  ‘No, this is … this is all a misunderstanding.’

  ‘Do you have family here in Reykjavík?’ asked Thorson.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Any friends then? Anyone you’d like to inform that you’re sitting in here with us?’

  ‘No, I’d just like to go home again as soon as possible, if you don’t mind. I don’t need anything except to get this over with. No one else need know, surely?’

  ‘Need know what?’

  ‘That you’ve brought me in for questioning?’

  ‘No,’ said Flóvent. ‘Not necessarily. Does the thought make you nervous?’

  ‘I’d rather people at the university didn’t know I was being questioned by the police. That’s all. I still don’t understand why you wanted me to accompany you here. I haven’t done anything wrong.’

  ‘Well, that’s good, that’s excellent,’ said Flóvent. ‘Can you tell us how you knew Hrund?’

  ‘I ran into her a few times. There was a petrol station with a restaurant not far from our camp and sometimes when I walked over in the evening she’d be there – a friend of hers served in the shop – and we got chatting. She said there wasn’t much going on in the countryside and asked about life in Akureyri. About the soldiers and so on. I think she wanted to move there. Or maybe even south to Reykjavík.’

  ‘Did you tell her about your fascination with the huldufólk?’

  ‘She was very interested to hear I was going to university. I told her I wanted to read Icelandic and history; perhaps do research into folk beliefs and … that sort of thing.’

  ‘Are you familiar with stories about the huldufólk attacking humans?’ asked Thorson.

  ‘There are examples of that, yes.’

  ‘Did you tell her any stories like that?’

  ‘I don’t remember if … We may well have talked about it. I forget.’

  ‘Did she believe in supernatural beings? In the hidden people?’

  ‘I think … She kept an open mind,’ said Jónatan. ‘She struck me as being a bit naive and unworldly, a child of nature.’

  ‘Meaning what exactly?’

  ‘Well, she was deeply rooted in the countryside, had grown up very close to nature and knew everything about the plants and birds, and had such – I don’t know how to put it – she … I can’t explain it better than by describing her as a child of nature. People like her probably find it easier to believe in supernatural phenomena, spend more time than the rest of us thinking about elves and demons and trolls.’

  ‘Do you believe in those kinds of phenomena yourself?’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ said Jónatan firmly. ‘Except as a mirror of human society. I believe folk tales provide us with an insight into the mindset of the common man. They can reveal a great deal about people’s attitudes over the centuries, whether it’s their fear of the unknown or their desire for a better life or dreams of a better world. They can tell us so much both directly and indirectly about life in the past. That’s how I look at them. Not as true stories or representations of reality.’

  ‘Did Hrund view them like that?’

  ‘I can’t give you a simple answer to that.’

  ‘But she was a child of nature?’

  ‘Yes, that was my impression.’

  ‘Had Hrund ever been molested by – what shall we call them – supernatural beings?’ asked Flóvent.

  ‘Molested? No, I don’t believe that for a minute. But please be clear that I didn’t know her very well. Hardly at all, in fact. We only met a few times and chatted a little. I can’t say I really got to know her, so I may be reading too much into what she said. Look, I don’t know what it is you want from me. I don’t understand these questions. What have folk tales got to do with anything?’

  ‘Did any of the other members of the road crew share your interest in folklore?’ asked Flóvent.

  ‘No. None of them.’

  ‘Were any of them involved with this girl?’

  ‘Not as far as I know.’

  Jónatan had grabbed his packet of Lucky Strikes as he was leaving his digs and now extracted a cigarette and lit it, sucking in a lungful of smoke and blowing it out again. Flóvent pushed over an ashtray.

  ‘Good cigarettes?’

  ‘Yes, great. I get them from a friend of mine at the university – his sister’s seeing a Yank.’

  ‘Are you absolutely sure you didn’t know a girl here in Reykjavík called Rósamunda?’ asked Thorson.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure.’

  ‘She worked as a seamstress.’

  ‘No, I don’t know anyone by that name … Isn’t it, wasn’t that the name of the woman found behind the theatre?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Why are you asking me about her?’

  ‘Rósamunda had no interest in the huldufólk or folk tales, yet she and Hrund both shared a bizarre experience related to them, and we wondered if you might be able to shed some light on it for us.’


  ‘What was that? What kind of experience?’

  ‘Before she disappeared, Hrund let it be understood that she had been assaulted by one of the huldufólk,’ said Flóvent, leaning closer over the desk. ‘And Rósamunda said that a man who raped her had told her to blame it on the huldufólk. Their stories are so alike that you’d think they’d both fallen victim to the same perpetrator. The alleged attacks took place three years apart. One up in Öxarfjördur where you happened to be working on a road construction team. The other here in Reykjavík where you happen to be studying at the university. We’ve established that you knew one of the girls and now I’m asking you again: did you know Rósamunda?’

  As Jónatan listened to Flóvent it gradually dawned on him what the police were really after when they came round to his digs and why he had been brought to their offices.

  ‘Am I under arrest?’ he asked, aghast.

  ‘Is there any reason why you think you should be?’ asked Thorson.

  ‘Are you … Do you actually believe I harmed them, both of them? That I … that I … killed them?’

  ‘Did you?’ asked Flóvent.

  His astonishment was unmistakable but something about his manner struck a false note.

  ‘No,’ Jónatan burst out, the spittle frothing from his mouth. ‘Are you mad?’

  ‘Did you persuade Hrund to lie about being attacked by one of the hidden people, to cover up what you did to her?’

  ‘Lie about the hidden people?’

  ‘Did you repeat the game with Rósamunda when you moved down here to Reykjavík?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Did you force yourself on both girls?’

  ‘Force myself? No! You’ve got it all wrong. It’s … I can’t believe you’re serious. I don’t believe it. This is … This is crazy,’ said Jónatan, rising from his chair. ‘I have to go home. I need to get on with my thesis and I … I’ve got a lot to do. I’m far too busy for this.’

  He rushed towards the door but Thorson blocked his way, seized his arm and led him back to the chair where he pushed him down again. Jónatan offered no resistance.

  ‘I’m afraid you can’t go home yet,’ said Thorson calmly. ‘Not until we’ve had a chance to talk some more.’

  32

  Frank Ruddy listened to the approaching footsteps. Two men, he thought, in a hurry by the sound of it. They halted outside his cell and he heard the jingling of keys. He was lying on a mattress, smoking and reading a pornographic comic. Propping himself up on his elbow, he listened to the jingling. He was expecting to be released any minute; he’d wasted enough time in the slammer. Last time he checked, there was no law against assuming a false name and lying to Icelandic girls. He shouldn’t have to spend days locked up for that kind of crap. The police said they were checking his criminal record in the States. Well, good luck to them. They wouldn’t find a thing. They said he was still a suspect in the killing of the girl he and Ingiborg had found. A lame excuse. They had nothing on him.

  He was on his feet by the time the door opened and the prison guard appeared – with Thorson.

  ‘You?’ Frank exclaimed.

  ‘We’d like to ask you to do us a favour.’

  ‘Favour? How about you do me a favour and let me out of here? How long am I going to be stuck in this hole?’

  ‘Come take a ride with me,’ said Thorson. ‘And we’ll see.’

  Frank stared at him for a beat without answering. The last thing he wanted was to do that son of a bitch Thorson any favours, but on the other hand the monotony was driving him nuts. He wouldn’t mind going for a ride in a car, even though he had no idea what it was about.

  ‘I’ve run out of smokes,’ he said, eyeing the guard.

  ‘We can pick some up on the way,’ said Thorson.

  ‘What kind of a drive?’

  ‘There’s something I want you to do for me.’

  Frank’s curiosity was roused. ‘I didn’t touch that girl. I only found her. That’s no crime.’

  ‘No, you’re right,’ said Thorson. ‘That’s no crime.’

  ‘So, what do you want me to do?’

  ‘Come on, it really won’t take any time at all.’

  Frank followed him out along the passage. The guard closed the cell door and turned to watch them leave.

  ‘Is it about that girl I was with?’ asked Frank as Thorson opened the passenger door for him. ‘About Ingiborg?’

  ‘No.’

  They drove off towards the centre of town.

  ‘She’s claiming I got her pregnant,’ Frank added after a lengthy pause.

  Thorson swung the jeep into Hverfisgata and headed for the National Theatre. ‘And did you?’ he asked.

  ‘No, there’s no way she’s pinning it on me,’ said Frank. ‘How do I know how many other guys she’s been screwing?’

  ‘I don’t believe she’s been seeing any other men,’ said Thorson. ‘She strikes me as a very honest young woman who thought she’d found an equally honourable man. Looks to me like she got that wrong.’

  ‘Have you talked to her?’

  ‘Briefly. The worst part for her is the lies. The shabby way you treated her. I don’t suppose she was expecting much when she told you about the baby. She just felt you ought to know, and I think she wanted your advice – in spite of everything.’

  ‘I gave her advice all right.’

  Thorson parked a short way from the barricade of sandbags in front of the theatre. He didn’t anticipate any trouble from Frank but needed to keep him in a cooperative mood, so, curbing his anger, he left off the handcuffs and did his best to keep him sweet. There were no other police in sight.

  ‘What are we doing here?’ asked Frank.

  ‘Come on,’ said Thorson. ‘We’re going round the back.’

  Frank baulked. ‘Why?’

  ‘Relax, I’m not planning any surprises. I’m not trying to pin anything on you. I just want you to do me a small favour.’

  ‘What favour?’

  ‘Come with me.’

  Mystified, Frank followed him round the back of the building to the doorway where he and Ingiborg had found the dead girl. Thorson asked him to position himself where he had been standing that evening. Frank did as he was told. Thorson had brought along a torch which he now flashed several times in the direction of Skuggasund. After a short delay, a figure appeared on the corner of Lindargata and Skuggasund, tall, round-shouldered, smoking a cigarette. His outline was clearly discernible in the darkness, silhouetted against the faint glow of a street light further down Skuggasund. There was another lamp post on Lindargata, a few yards from the corner, but it was still broken, as it had been on the evening the girl’s body turned up.

  ‘Is that the man you saw across the street?’ asked Thorson.

  Frank looked over at the figure for a while. ‘If I say it’s him, will you let me out of jail?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘If I play along?’

  ‘Don’t say what you think I want to hear,’ said Thorson angrily. ‘This isn’t about playing along with me. Tell me what you think you remember.’

  Frank shook his head.

  ‘I’m not bargaining with you,’ said Thorson. ‘Tell me if you think it’s the same man you saw standing on the corner that night. I’m not cutting you a deal here. Was that where he was standing when you saw him?’

  Frank looked across the road. ‘Yeah, he was standing there.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘The light’s poor,’ said Frank, ‘and I was in a hurry of course, but I reckon it’s the same guy.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yeah, I guess so.’

  ‘Take a good look and try to remember what you saw.’

  Frank did as Thorson ordered and studied the figure on the corner for a minute or two. ‘I can’t be a hundred per cent sure it’s the guy I saw,’ he said eventually. ‘I can’t swear to it. But it’s possible.’

  ‘OK,’ said Thorson. ‘I’m going to ask you to
look away, just for a second.’

  Frank did as he was told. Thorson flashed the torch again three times and the figure disappeared from the corner, to be replaced by another. Thorson ordered Frank to turn round again.

  ‘Or was that the guy you saw?’

  This time the man standing on the corner was shorter, with more of a stoop, and definitely looked older.

  Frank studied him for several seconds. ‘What do you want me to say?’

  ‘I want you to tell the truth.’

  ‘No,’ said Frank at last. ‘The other guy. He was much more like the man I saw.’

  Flóvent saw Thorson’s torch flash for the third time. It was over. Frank had given his statement and, judging by the signal, he had identified Jónatan. Seeing Thorson lead Frank away, he gave his father, who was still standing on the corner holding a cigarette, a sign that they were done.

  ‘We’re finished,’ he called. ‘You can come back now.’

  Jónatan was standing at Flóvent’s side. He had come with them of his own free will, protesting his innocence all the way, and had obligingly taken up position on the corner opposite the theatre where Frank claimed to have seen a man standing the evening he and Ingiborg made their grim discovery. He had lit a cigarette as requested and smoked it unhurriedly. Flóvent had picked up his father on the way and asked if he could help out. Naturally he was willing, and once Jónatan had stood on the corner for a while, the old man had taken his place, holding a cigarette in one hand, though he had never smoked in his life. Flóvent had felt it would be better for Frank to have a point of comparison.

  ‘What happened?’ asked Jónatan. ‘What did you find out?’

  ‘Come along, son,’ said Flóvent, leading Jónatan back to the car. He dreaded having to break the news to him: all Jónatan had to look forward to now was a prison cell on Skólavördustígur.

  33

  It was the second time in a matter of weeks that a total stranger had come round to Petra’s house to ask questions about her mother. Both men had listened to what she had to say and looked utterly stunned. The first time it was the polite old man who had knocked on her door and chatted to her about everything under the sun before finally getting to the point and asking about her mother and Rósamunda. He was badly shaken when she told him about the girl. Now the other man – Konrád he said his name was – was sitting in the same chair, and she had managed to knock him sideways as well.