Арнальдур Индридасон - The Shadow District

‘Those cases are always tough,’ said Flóvent when Thorson had explained about the young man.

‘They certainly are,’ said Thorson. ‘A lot of the boys are scared.’

‘What about you? Do you give it much thought?’

‘Not really. I’ve got enough to think about.’

‘Did you know the soldier from the Nauthólsvík camp?’

‘Not, not at all. I only learnt yesterday that he’d been having a terrible time since he got here.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes, he was badly bullied.’

‘Why?’

‘A man in his squadron told me it was because he wasn’t one for the ladies. Quite the opposite —’

‘Is that him?’ Flóvent interrupted, nudging him.

Glancing up, Thorson saw a young man approaching along Öldugata. He was tall and fair-haired; he wore a thick down jacket and sturdy boots and was carrying a pair of binoculars in one hand. He strode along the road, head down, deep in thought, then turned down the narrow path that led to the basement door.

Flóvent and Thorson stepped out of the car and followed a little way behind. The young man had gone inside but hadn’t yet closed the door when they appeared at the entrance. He nearly jumped out of his skin when they loomed out of the darkness; he clearly hadn’t been expecting visitors.

‘Wha...?’ he said, gaping at the two men.

‘Good evening, sir. Are you Jónatan, by any chance?’ asked Flóvent.

‘Me? Yes.’

‘We’re from the police. We’d like to talk to you about a case we’re investigating. Mind if we come in, sir?’

‘The police?’ he echoed, startled. ‘What case?’

‘Might we come in for a minute?’

The young man looked searchingly from Flóvent to Thorson, clearly perplexed.

‘What case?’ he asked again.

‘It concerns a young woman by the name of Rósamunda,’ said Thorson.

‘And a second young woman from Öxarfjördur, whose name was Hrund.’

The student was halfway through taking off his jacket, still with the binoculars in his hand. He put them down, then hung his jacket on a peg. Flóvent and Thorson waited.

‘Yes, I’m sorry, do come in,’ said the young man. ‘I don’t see what... how I can help you. Did you say you were policemen?’

‘Were you birdwatching, sir?’ asked Flóvent, nodding at the binoculars.

‘I was watching the cormorants on Seltjarnarnes. Look, there’s no need to call me “sir”.’

‘Are you interested in birds?’

‘Yes, I am rather.’

‘Tell me, were you part of a road crew working in or around Öxarfjördur about three years ago?’ asked Flóvent, closing the door behind them. The young man showed his unexpected visitors into a small bedsit. There was a camp bed in one corner, made up with a quilt and blankets, a desk below a window set high in the wall, bookshelves on two walls. The cramped basement also contained a tiny kitchen and an even smaller washroom.

‘I was working on the roads there, yes.’

‘We gather you come from the north,’ said Thorson. ‘You were at school there?’

‘Yes, that’s right. At Akureyri College.’

Flóvent looked round the small room, taking in the books on the shelves and desk, the files, the materials related to Jónatan’s studies, an old typewriter containing a sheet of paper with a few lines he had written before giving into the lure of the cormorants on Seltjarnarnes. Next to the typewriter was an ashtray containing several cigarette butts, and, on the other side of it, a packet of Lucky Strikes and a box of matches.

Flóvent eyed the packet, then shot a look at Thorson, who had spotted it too.

‘What are you working on?’ Flóvent asked, gesturing at the typewriter.

‘I’m writing a thesis. For my degree in Icelandic and history at the university. What exactly is it you want with me? What... why are you here?’

‘Were you acquainted with a girl called Rósamunda?’ asked Thorson.

‘No.’

‘Are you sure about that?’

‘Yes, I ought to know. I’m not acquainted with anyone of that name.’

‘What about Hrund?’

The young man watched as Flóvent rooted around among the files on his desk, then stepped over to the bookcase and squinted at the spines.

‘Did you meet a girl called Hrund when you were working on the roads in Öxarfjördur?’ Thorson tried again.

The student’s gaze remained fixed on Flóvent. ‘What are you looking for?’ he asked, as if he hadn’t heard Thorson’s question.

‘These books...?’

‘What of them?’

‘What are you writing about?’ Flóvent asked, turning to him.

‘I’m writing a thesis,’ repeated Jónatan. ‘It’s about... well, all sorts of things.’

‘Are you collecting them?’

‘No, I’m not a collector. Lots of them come from libraries. I need them for my research.’

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.’

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.