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  Valdimar put down the spanner. ‘How did you work out it was me?’ he asked her.

  ‘My husband’s a mechanic.’

  Valdimar looked at her, at a loss.

  ‘The father of the girl we’ve got in custody thought he smelt paraffin in Runólfur’s flat. She must have woken up just after you left, because when her father arrived there was still a trace of the smell of your clothes in the air. He assumed that Runólfur must have been using paraffin to burn something. I was reminded of it by a smell in my own home, so I asked the father about it. It seemed to be an oily smell, a garage smell. I thought of you at once – the man who’s always in his workshop. I thought about Runólfur’s past, and this village, and made a few enquiries.’

  ‘I went straight from here to Reykjavík, in my work clothes,’ said Valdimar. ‘It was Addý’s birthday that Sunday, and it felt like an appropriate time to make it right. I don’t think anyone noticed me go. I left in the early evening, and I was back by the next morning. I hadn’t made any preparations or planned anything. I didn’t really know what I intended to do. I just set off as I was, in my overalls. I took an old straight razor with me.’

  ‘The pathologist said the cut was smooth, almost feminine.’

  ‘I’ve slaughtered a few beasts in my time.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘There used to be an abattoir here. I often worked there during the autumn season, after the sheep round-up.’

  ‘When people here heard that Runólfur was dead, they must have put two and two together?’

  ‘That’s quite possible, but no one ever mentioned it to me. Maybe they felt the score had been settled.’

  ‘Do you think Runólfur’s father knew what his son had done?’

  ‘He knew. I’m sure of it.’

  ‘You told me the other day that you once visited Runólfur in Reykjavík,’ said Elínborg. ‘That must have been before you knew about the rape?’

  ‘Yes. I ran into him in the middle of town and he invited me over. We met quite by chance. I didn’t stay long. We were from the same village, but I didn’t know him particularly well and … I didn’t like him, really.’

  ‘Was he renting a place at that time?’

  ‘He was staying with a friend. Some man named Edvard.’

  ‘Edvard?’

  ‘Yes. Edvard.’

  ‘When was this?

  ‘Five or six years ago.’

  ‘Can you remember precisely? How many years ago, exactly?’

  Valdimar thought about it. ‘It was six years ago, 1999. I was in Reykjavík buying a second-hand car.’

  ‘So six years ago Runólfur was living in Edvard’s home?’ asked Elínborg. She recalled Edvard’s neighbour mentioning a lodger.

  ‘Yes, so he said.’

  ‘Was it in the west of town?’

  ‘Not far from the centre, near the dry dock. That’s where Runólfur was working.’

  ‘Runólfur worked at the dry dock?’

  ‘Yes. He said he worked there part-time when he was at college.’

  ‘Did you meet this Edvard at all?’

  ‘No, Runólfur just told me about him. Made fun of him. That’s why I can recall it so clearly – I remember being struck by how nasty Runólfur was about him. He called him a wimp, but of course Runólfur was …’

  Valdimar did not complete the sentence. Elínborg had taken out her mobile phone and at that instant a police car drew up outside. Two uniformed officers got out. Elínborg looked at Valdimar.

  He hesitated, looked around him, passed a callused hand over the tractor seat, and glanced at the half-open tool lockers.

  ‘Will I get long?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ answered Elínborg.

  ‘I don’t regret what I did,’ said Valdimar. ‘And I never will.’

  ‘Come on,’ said Elínborg. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

  34

  For seven hours Edvard sat in an interview room while his home was searched, without result. Elínborg questioned him repeatedly about the period when Runólfur had lodged with him, and before long Edvard admitted that he had rented a room to Runólfur temporarily while he was flat-hunting. That was around the time of Lilja’s disappearance. Edvard also confirmed that Runólfur had been working at the dry dock, a short walk away, but he claimed to have no idea if Lilja had come to his home and met Runólfur. He maintained that he knew nothing of whether Runólfur might have harmed the girl – and that he himself had certainly not touched her.

  ‘Did you give Lilja a lift to Reykjavík?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you drop her off at the shopping centre?’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘What did you and Lilja talk about on the way to town?’

  ‘I didn’t drive her anywhere.’

  ‘She was looking for a birthday present for her grandad – did she mention that at all?’

  Edvard said nothing.

  ‘What else did you discuss? Did she talk about visiting you?’

  Edvard shook his head.

  ‘Did you offer her a lift back to Akranes?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why did you offer girls from the college lifts into Reykjavík? What did you want from them?’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘We know you did – at least once.’

  ‘That’s not true. She’s lying.’

  ‘Did Runólfur get you to offer Lilja a lift?’

  ‘No. I never gave her a lift.’

  ‘Did you ever hear Runólfur talking about Lilja?’

  ‘No. Never.’

  ‘Did you talk to him about Lilja?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you kill Lilja in your home?’

  ‘No. She was never there.’

  ‘Was there anything odd about Runólfur’s behaviour around that time?’

  ‘No. He was always exactly the same.’

  ‘Did you suggest to Lilja that she might like to call round after she’d finished her shopping?’

  Edvard did not answer.

  ‘Did she have some reason to visit you?’

  Edvard still did not speak.

  ‘Did she know where you lived?’

  ‘She could easily have looked me up in the phone book. I don’t know.’

  ‘Did Runólfur kill Lilja in your home?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did he dispose of her body at the dry dock?’

  ‘The dry dock?’

  ‘Well, that was where he was working.’

  ‘I’ve no idea what you’re on about.’

  ‘Did you help him get rid of the body?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you suspect that Runólfur was involved in her disappearance? Has it been preying on your mind ever since?’

  Edvard hesitated.

  ‘Did you suspect …?’

  ‘I don’t know anything about what happened to Lilja. Nothing whatsoever.’

  Elínborg went on questioning Edvard for hours but got no more out of him.

  She had no hard evidence, nothing to support her theory that Lilja had been killed by Runólfur at Edvard’s house six years before. And, even if she was right, Edvard might have remained ignorant of it. He could be lying, but it would be difficult to prove.

  The previous day Elínborg had brought Valdimar to Reykjavík, where he had been remanded in custody. Konrád and Nína were released, and were reunited with the rest of the family in Elínborg’s office at police headquarters. The eldest son had flown home from San Francisco. The reunion was not a joyful one: Nína was still traumatised by having believed that she had killed a man and although she and her father had now been exonerated, she would nonetheless have to confront her demons.

  ‘There’s someone I think you should meet,’ said Elínborg. ‘Her name’s Unnur.’

  ‘Who is she?’

  ‘She knows what you’ve been through. I’m sure she’ll want to meet you, too.’

  They shook hands on parting. ‘Just let
me know, and I’ll put you in touch with her,’ said Elínborg.

  She escorted Edvard off the premises, then went to her car. Instead of driving home she headed for Thingholt, to Runólfur’s flat. She had the keys with her. Before long the place would be handed back to the landlord and new tenants would move in. As she drove, Elínborg’s mind went to Erlendur: that morning she had received a disquieting phone call.

  ‘Is that Elínborg?’ said a jaded male voice. ‘I was told I should speak to you. It’s about a rental car that’s standing outside the churchyard here.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Here in Eskifjördur. It’s parked by the churchyard. There’s no one in it.’

  ‘And what’s that got to do with me?’ asked Elínborg.

  ‘I ran the number and found out it was a rental vehicle.’

  ‘Yes, so you said. Are you with the police there?’

  ‘Yes, sorry – didn’t I say? It was hired to someone who I’m told works with you.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘It’s rented to someone called Erlendur Sveinsson.’

  ‘Erlendur?’

  ‘The rental company says he’s with Reykjavík CID.’

  ‘Yes, he is.’

  ‘Do you know what he’s doing over here?’

  ‘No,’ answered Elínborg. ‘He went on leave a fortnight ago. He said he was going to the East Fjords, but that’s all I know.’

  ‘I see. The car’s been here for a while. It was parked in front of the church gate so we had to move it, but we haven’t been able to trace the driver. I mean, it’s all right, but I felt I should check, since it was left there – by the churchyard.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I can’t help you at all.’

  ‘No, well, never mind. Thank you.’

  ‘Goodbye.’

  Elínborg switched on the lights in the kitchen, living room and bedroom of Runólfur’s flat. She thought about the phone call from Eskifjördur but did not know what to make of it.

  The crime scene had not been disturbed. Now Elínborg knew exactly what had taken place that night: how Nína had been brought there; how Valdimar, on his quest for revenge, had disturbed Runólfur during the rape; how Konrád had arrived on the scene to find his daughter in a state of confusion and despair. Elínborg could not make up her mind: had Runólfur got what he deserved? She did not really believe in poetic justice.

  Elínborg had only a vague idea of what she was looking for; although she did not expect to find anything, she felt it was worth a try. Forensics had already combed through Runólfur’s home but Elínborg was looking for evidence of a different nature.

  Starting in the kitchen, she opened every drawer and cupboard, examining pots and pans, bowls and cutlery. She searched the fridge and the freezer, stirred through an old tub of vanilla ice cream, went through the contents of a small wardrobe by the entrance, checked under the fuse-box cover and tapped at the parquet floor, looking for a secret hiding place. She ransacked the living room, turned an armchair upside down, removed all the cushions, took every item from the shelves. She examined the collectible superhero figures and gave them an experimental shake.

  In the bedroom she lifted up the mattress, searched the two bedside tables, then opened the wardrobe and took out the clothes, examining each garment before laying it on the bed. She placed the shoes on the floor, stepped inside the wardrobe, and tapped at the sides and floor. She envisaged the dead man and the evil which flowed through him like a river of darkness – deep and cold and merciless.

  Elínborg took her time, searching every inch of the flat. By the time she had finished it was the middle of the night.

  She had not found what she was looking for.

  No clue to the fate of the missing Akranes girl.

  35

  Elínborg lay down in bed next to Teddi and tried to sleep. Her mind craved peace but all she found was suffering and sadness.

  ‘Can’t sleep?’ whispered Teddi beside her in the dark.

  ‘Are you awake?’ she asked in surprise.

  ‘Good to have you home,’ said Teddi.

  Elínborg kissed him and curled up against him. She knew she had a short, restless night ahead of her.

  She thought of Theodóra.

  ‘What is your job, Mum?’

  That innocent question entailed another, more important one: her little girl was gradually becoming aware of a world that was overwhelming and frightening. She might as well have asked her mother: ‘What kind of a world am I living in?’

  Elínborg closed her eyes.

  She saw Addý stumbling up out of the hollow by the river, looking around in terror in case the rapist returned to attack her again. In the community centre the dance went on. All she could think of was getting home without meeting anyone. She didn’t want to be seen, didn’t want anyone to know. She couldn’t tell anyone what he had done. When she reached home she locked all the doors and closed the windows, and in the kitchen she rocked back and forth, back and forth, trying to erase the horror from her mind. She wept and shook, and wept, and wept.

  Elínborg buried her head in the pillow.

  Far away, she heard a quiet knock at a door, saw a small fist raised to knock again, harder. She saw Lilja standing on Edvard’s doorstep. Runólfur appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Oh,’ said Lilja. ‘Isn’t this Edvard’s house?’

  Runólfur smiled at her. He glanced around to check whether she was alone, whether there was anyone on the street to see them.

  ‘Yes, he’ll be home any time. Won’t you come in and wait?’

  She hesitated. ‘I was going to …’

  ‘I’m expecting him back any minute.’

  Lilja looked out to sea. She could see Akranes across the bay. Lilja was in the habit of trusting people. She was a well-brought-up, polite girl.

  ‘Do come in,’ said Runólfur.

  ‘All right. Thank you,’ she said.

  Elínborg watched the door close behind them, and fell asleep, certain in the knowledge that it would never open again.

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Version 1.0

  Epub ISBN 9781409041429

  www.randomhouse.co.uk

  Published by Harvill Secker 2011

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  Copyright © Arnaldur Indridason 2008

  English translation copyright © Anna Yates 2011

  Arnaldur Indridason has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

  First published with the title Myrká in 2008 by Forlagið, Reykjavík

  First published in Great Britain in 2011 by

  HARVILL SECKER

  Random House

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  www.randomhouse.co.uk

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  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN 9781846555503 (hardback)

  ISBN 9781846554230 (trade paperback)

  Table of Contents

  Cover

&
nbsp; About the Book

  About the Author

  Also by Arnaldur Indridason

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Copyright