Outrage Page 18

‘Isn’t it just as likely that your dad killed him?’

  ‘Dad?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re trying to confuse me.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ said Elínborg, relenting. ‘That’s all for now.’ She went out into the corridor and entered her office. Nína’s parents were hovering anxiously.

  ‘Is she all right?’ Konrád asked.

  ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ asked Elínborg, ignoring his question.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your part in all this.’

  ‘My part?’

  ‘Why should I believe your little story? Your account and your daughter’s are a bit too consistent. Why should I accept what the two of you say?’

  ‘Why not? My part? What do you mean?’

  ‘Why couldn’t you have slashed Runólfur’s throat?’

  ‘Are you mad?’

  ‘We can’t dismiss the possibility that you killed him. Your daughter rings you, you hurry to her, slit Runólfur’s throat, and the two of you flee the scene.’

  ‘You can’t think it was me!’

  ‘You deny it?’

  ‘Of course I do! Are you insane?’

  ‘Was there any blood on your daughter when you arrived?’

  ‘No, not that I noticed.’

  ‘Shouldn’t there have been, considering the nature of the murder?’

  ‘Perhaps. I wouldn’t know.’

  ‘There was no blood on her,’ Nína’s mother said. ‘I remember that.’

  ‘What about your husband?’ countered Elínborg. ‘Was there any blood on him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I assure you that we will find the clothes he was wearing that night. Or did you burn them?’

  ‘Burn them?’ said Konrád.

  ‘Nína has a far better case than you have,’ Elínborg went on. ‘She could get off on self-defence, but you would go down for murder. You and your daughter have had plenty of time to get your story straight, after all.’

  Konrád stared at Elínborg as if he could not credit what he was hearing. ‘I can’t believe you’re making such an allegation!’

  ‘There’s one thing I’ve learnt from play-acting like yours,’ Elínborg said. ‘It’s almost always based on a lie.’

  ‘Surely you don’t think I’d kill someone and lay the blame on my own daughter?’

  ‘I’ve seen worse.’

  23

  Elínborg was sitting in her car near Edvard’s house, nibbling at a sandwich and sipping at a cup of coffee that was now stone cold. She listened to the evening news on the radio, which included a report about the arrest of a father and daughter who were suspects in Runólfur’s murder and had been remanded in custody.

  The news team speculated freely about what had happened in Runólfur’s flat, what had led to his death at the hands of the man and his daughter, precisely how the events had unfolded. Some of the ideas put forward were accurate, while others were nonsense. A theory was proposed that the woman now in custody had been raped by Runólfur and had then taken her revenge. The police had issued no information on the arrests and had avoided answering questions, which the media were now eagerly trying to answer for themselves. Not wanting to be caught up in the circus, Elínborg had left the station.

  The sandwich was disgusting, the coffee was now undrinkable, and she was getting very uncomfortable in the car. Soon she would knock at Edvard’s door and ask him about Lilja, the young girl from Akranes who had disappeared six years ago. The car was chilly but she did not want to keep the engine running and risk drawing attention to her presence. She was also reluctant to pollute the atmosphere more than necessary. She never left the engine running when the car was stationary – it was practically the only cast-iron rule she observed as a driver.

  Though Elínborg normally shunned fast food, she was hungry and had stopped at a snack bar on her way to Edvard’s. She had searched for something healthy to eat but there had been little choice and she had to settle for a tuna sandwich. The coffee, which had been stewing for hours on a hotplate, was revolting.

  She thought about Valthór, who maintained that she had discriminated amongst her children and that Birkir had felt excluded. Before leaving for Sweden, Birkir had told her that he had been happy living with her and Teddi but that he wanted to get to know his father. She had asked him if that was the only reason, and he assured her that it was. She had taken him at his word but could not shake the suspicion that he was shielding her from the truth. Birkir was a quiet, self-effacing boy – like a shy guest at the party of his own life. He had been like that ever since he had come to live with them. Valthór demanded much more attention, as did Aron, and then along came the baby girl, Theodóra, the apple of her mother’s eye. Had Birkir really been left out? He did not seem to harbour any resentment against Teddi. Maybe it was different for men: so long as they could talk about cars and football they had no need for intimacy.

  Sighing heavily, Elínborg got out of the car. She had no answers.

  Edvard had stopped being surprised to see Elínborg on his doorstep.

  ‘What did you forget this time?’ he asked when he came to the door.

  ‘I’m sorry to inconvenience you again,’ she said. ‘May I come in? It’s about Runólfur – and some other matters. You may have heard that we’ve made two arrests in connection with the murder.’

  ‘I saw it on the news,’ replied Edvard. ‘So the case is solved, then, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, I expect it is. But there are a few loose ends I thought you might be able to help us with, since you knew Runólfur better than anyone. If I could sit down with you for a minute?’ she added doggedly.

  Edvard scowled but then gave way. Elínborg followed him into the living room. He lifted a stack of papers off a chair and placed them on top of a pile of old films. ‘You can sit here if you want. I don’t suppose I can refuse, but I don’t see how I can be any more help to you. I don’t know anything.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Elínborg, taking the seat. ‘You know we’ve located the woman who was with him that night?’

  ‘Yes – that was on the news, too. They said he might have raped her. Did he?’

  ‘Did you know about Runólfur’s ways?’ asked Elínborg without replying to Edvard’s question.

  ‘That’s what I’m saying – I didn’t know anything,’ answered Edvard. His annoyance at Elínborg’s presence was palpable. ‘I don’t understand why you keep coming here.’

  ‘By his ways, I mean to ask whether you knew about how he behaved towards women – drugging them and then abusing them.’

  ‘I have no idea what he did in his own home.’

  ‘You said he had trouble sleeping and that was why he wanted the Rohypnol. That he didn’t want to ask a doctor to prescribe it because it was a problematic drug. Yet you helped him get hold of it. To be quite frank, I don’t think you’ve given us a true picture of your relationship with Runólfur. Do you understand what I’m getting at?’

  ‘I didn’t know he was a rapist,’ said Edvard.

  ‘So you just decided to take everything he said at face value?’

  ‘I didn’t know he was lying.’

  ‘Do you know of any other victims he raped?’

  ‘Me? I’m telling you, I don’t know anything else.’

  ‘Did he ever talk about other victims, other women he’d got to know, women who came to his home?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How many times did you buy Rohypnol for him?’

  ‘Just that one time.’

  ‘Have you ever used it yourself, for your own purposes?’

  Edvard stared at her. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked.

  ‘Did both of you get up to nasty tricks with women?’

  ‘What are you talking about? I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘You claim you were at home alone the night Runólfur was killed,’ said Elínborg, discreetly gripping her mobile phone. ‘No one can confirm your story. You said you were watc
hing TV. Were you in fact at Runólfur’s place?’

  ‘Me? No.’

  ‘Did you slash his throat?’

  Edvard jumped to his feet, agitated. ‘Are you out of your mind?’

  ‘Why shouldn’t it be you?’ asked Elínborg.

  ‘I had nothing to do with it! I was here, at home, and I just saw it on the news. You’ve got the killers. Why are you questioning me? I haven’t done anything. Why would I kill Runólfur?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Elínborg. ‘You tell me. Maybe you and he had some secrets. Maybe he knew something about you, something discreditable, that you didn’t want known.’

  ‘What? Like what? What are you suggesting?’

  ‘Calm down. I want to ask you about another matter.’

  Edvard hesitated, then sank back slowly into his seat.

  His stare was fixed on Elínborg. She had succeeded in confusing him and sapping his confidence. She was not afraid of him. She had met people who scared her, but Edvard was not one of them. It had been her decision to confront him alone, reckoning that he would find a one-on-one less intimidating. Unafraid though she was, she had nevertheless taken steps to ensure her own safety. She had little idea who this man really was, or how he might react if he felt threatened. A patrol car was nearby and all she had to do to summon support was press a single button on the mobile she was holding. She wanted to provoke Edvard, to shake him up and see how he responded.

  ‘You used to teach in Akranes,’ Elínborg said, ‘at the comprehensive college. I gather you taught science. Is that correct?’

  Edvard looked at her, puzzled. ‘Yes.’

  ‘That was several years ago. Then you left, and started teaching here in Reykjavík. There was an unexplained event when you were teaching in Akranes: a young girl, a student at the college, vanished – and has never been heard of again. Do you remember that?’

  ‘I remember when she disappeared,’ answered Edvard. ‘Why are you asking me about that now?’

  ‘Her name was Lilja. I gather you taught her during the previous school year. Is that correct?’

  ‘I taught her for one school year,’ said Edvard. ‘What’s going on here? What’s she got to do with me?’

  ‘What can you tell me about the girl – about Lilja? What do you remember about her?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Edvard, a tone of uncertainty in his voice now. ‘I didn’t know her at all. I taught her, but, after all, I taught dozens of students. I was there for several years. Have you questioned other members of staff? Or are you only questioning me?’

  ‘I’m going to question others, and actually I’ve already made a start,’ answered Elínborg. ‘I want to re-examine the case, and it occurred to me to ask you because your name came up.’

  ‘My name?’

  ‘The police interviewed you at the time. I’ve read the report. You used to drive from Reykjavík to Akranes and back every day, morning and evening. That was in the report. You finished early on Fridays, if I remember correctly?’

  ‘Yes, that must be right if it’s in the report. I don’t remember.’

  ‘What kind of girl was Lilja?’

  ‘I told you, I didn’t know her.’

  ‘Did you have a good car back then?’

  ‘The same one I drive now. It’s parked outside.’

  ‘Did you ever give your students a lift to Reykjavík? If they had something to do in town, or if they were going out for the evening?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You never offered anyone a lift?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Never?’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘What if I tell you I know a girl you once drove to Reykjavík and dropped her off at the shopping mall?’

  Edvard thought about this. ‘Are you saying I’m lying?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ answered Elínborg.

  ‘If I ever gave anyone a lift, then that would have been quite exceptional. Maybe if someone had asked me. Another member of staff, perhaps. I don’t remember any students asking me.’

  ‘The person I’m talking about didn’t have to ask you. You picked her up in Akranes. You stopped and offered. Do you remember now?’

  Edvard’s face flushed red and his hands, which had been fiddling restlessly with papers and video cases on the desk, now lay motionless before him. His forehead was beaded with perspiration. He kept the house very warm. Elínborg passed her phone from hand to hand.

  ‘No. Someone’s been telling you lies.’

  ‘She was waiting for the bus.’

  ‘I don’t recall anything like that.’

  ‘She speaks well of you,’ said Elínborg. ‘You dropped her off at the shops. She was going into Reykjavík. I can’t see why she would invent it.’

  ‘I don’t remember that at all.’

  ‘She was a student at the college.’

  Edvard offered no response.

  ‘Lilja disappeared on a Friday, a day when you got off early and drove back to Reykjavík. You finished at midday, apparently. You weren’t asked at the time – but did you go straight back to Reykjavík? That lunchtime?’

  ‘Are you alleging that I killed both that girl and Runólfur? What’s the matter with you?’

  ‘I’m not alleging anything,’ Elínborg replied. ‘Answer the question, please.’

  ‘I don’t see why I should answer such ridiculous questions,’ Edvard retorted. He was pulling himself together, trying to show that he would not be bullied.

  ‘That’s up to you. I have to ask these questions. You can answer now, or you can answer later. Did you see Lilja in Akranes that Friday, when you left for Reykjavík?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you offer her a lift to town?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you know anything about Lilja’s movements that Friday?’

  ‘No. Please leave now. I’ve no more to say to you. I don’t know why you won’t leave me in peace. I knew Runólfur, that’s all. He was a good friend of mine. Does that make me a guilty party in all these cases of yours?’

  ‘You made contact with a known drug dealer and bought drugs for Runólfur.’

  ‘So what? Does that make me a killer?’

  ‘That’s your word, not mine.’

  ‘Why do you keep coming here? It’s not my word at all!’

  ‘I haven’t said anything about you harming either of them,’ said Elínborg. ‘You’re the one who keeps going on about it. I’m simply asking you whether you gave Lilja a lift into Reykjavík on the day she disappeared. Nothing else. You had a car. You commuted by car. You knew who Lilja was, having taught her. Are my questions at all unreasonable?’

  Edvard did not answer.

  Elínborg stood up and put her phone away in her pocket. Edvard was not going to be a problem. He seemed more taken aback than anything else, and came across as edgy and neurotic by nature. Elínborg could not decide whether he was lying.

  ‘Lilja may well have gone to Reykjavik that day, and disappeared there,’ she said. ‘That’s one possibility. I thought you might know something about her movements. I haven’t been implying anything about your role in her disappearance. You’ve drawn your own inferences.’

  ‘You’re just trying to confuse me.’

  ‘You taught Lilja science – you said she wasn’t an outstanding student.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Her mother says that she was especially good at science, and that maths was her favourite subject.’

  ‘Is this relevant?’

  ‘If she was a good student, then you might have noticed.’

  Edvard was silent.

  ‘But you kept quiet after she disappeared – you probably didn’t want to attract attention from the police.’

  ‘Leave me alone,’ said Edvard.

  ‘Thank you for your help,’ said Elínborg.

  ‘Leave me alone,’ repeated Edvard. ‘Just leave me alone.’

  24

  Formal questioning of Konr
ád and Nína began early the following morning.

  Elínborg was in charge. Nína was brought first into the interview room where the detective was waiting. Her father would be questioned afterwards. The young woman appeared composed when she greeted Elínborg. She had been to the rape-trauma centre for tests and had been offered counselling.

  ‘Did you manage to sleep?’ asked Elínborg.

  ‘Yes, a bit. The first time for days,’ answered Nína, who was accompanied by her lawyer, a middle-aged man. ‘How about you? How did you sleep?’ she asked sarcastically. ‘My father didn’t do anything wrong, you know. He just came to help me. He’s innocent.’

  ‘I hope so,’ replied Elínborg. She did not add that she had indeed slept well, having taken a sleeping pill. She did so very rarely, and only as a last resort since she disliked using any kind of medication. But she had slept badly for several nights in a row and had been struggling to work on minimal rest. She knew that she could not go on like that, so when she lay down in bed she had placed a little tablet under her tongue – and slept blissfully until morning.

  As before, Elínborg started by taking Nína through the events leading up to her encounter with Runólfur. Nína’s account was entirely consistent with what she had said previously. She spoke clearly and confidently, as if she was finally prepared to deal with everything that had happened, her present situation, and the court case that lay ahead. She seemed less depressed than the day before, as if the half-remembered nightmare, the denial and the fear had given way at last to a reality that had to be confronted.

  ‘When your father – Konrád – came to help you, as you said, how did he get into the flat?’ asked Elínborg.

  ‘I don’t know. I think the door was open, or unlocked. He just appeared.’

  ‘You didn’t let him in?’

  ‘No, I didn’t. I don’t think so. I don’t remember. I was caught up in this horrific experience. I’m sure he can tell you how he got in.’

  Elínborg nodded. According to Konrád, the door had been ajar when he arrived. ‘Perhaps you’d got out of bed before he arrived, and opened it?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Maybe you intended to run away, and changed your mind when you got to the door?’