Арнальдур Индридасон - The Shadow District

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.

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.

Petra couldn’t understand what was so significant about the story she had told them, but then she didn’t know much about the case. She explained to both men that her mother had hardly ever spoken about Rósamunda, either to her or to anyone else, as far as she knew, so she couldn’t really answer their questions. She’d never bothered to familiarise herself with the details of the case. In fact, all she knew was that her mother had been one of the people questioned by the police about a murder that had been committed during the war. She didn’t even know if it had ever been solved.