Арнальдур Индридасон - The Shadow District

‘Jónatan?’ he repeated. ‘What... how is that possible?’

‘According to him he was hit by a car.’

The husband turned to Flóvent. ‘Is this true?’

‘I’m afraid so, sir. I’m a detective from the Criminal Investigation Department. He was hit by a car on Laugavegur late yesterday evening. And there’s another matter...’

He had the couple’s undivided attention now.

‘Another matter?’ said the member of parliament.

‘I’m sorry to have to break it to you but Jónatan was in police custody at the time of the accident,’ said Flóvent. ‘He didn’t want anyone to know, so he refused to supply us with the names of any relatives or friends, and turned down the services of a lawyer. He was being detained in connection with the murder of a girl called Rósamunda, who was recently found strangled behind the National Theatre. I’m afraid to say he broke free of us outside the prison and fled down to Laugavegur, straight into the path of an oncoming jeep.’

The couple seemed stunned by this. He gave them a moment to assimilate the news. They exchanged glances, then turned their attention back to him, their faces registering utter disbelief.

Flóvent had already been called to a meeting with his superiors, and he had provided a blow-by-blow account of all that had occurred between the discovery of Rósamunda’s body and the moment Jónatan ran in front of the jeep. He had received a stern dressing-down for allowing Jónatan to slip out of his grasp, but in spite of this they had proved broadly sympathetic and agreed that he could remain in charge of the inquiry for the time being.

‘I don’t believe it,’ groaned the woman, groping for a chair. Flóvent quickly helped her to sit down.

‘Murder?’ exclaimed the MP.

Flóvent nodded. ‘I’m afraid so.’

‘Surely there must be some mistake? How could you have arrived at such a conclusion?’

‘The evidence is fairly overwhelming, sir,’ said Flóvent. ‘He was about to show us the place in the Shadow District where he met her... or rather, where he subjected her to an assault. We were on our way there when he eluded our grasp and ran in front of the jeep. We were powerless to stop him. He tore himself free and fled.’

‘Shouldn’t you have been guarding him more closely?’ asked the MP.

‘Yes, of course, sir,’ Flóvent admitted. ‘But he was being cooperative, so we were keen to demonstrate a degree of trust in him. That’s why we didn’t use handcuffs. We simply couldn’t have foreseen that he would resort to such a desperate act. It was an accident. Deeply regrettable, it goes without saying, but an accident nonetheless.’

‘What then? Was he taken to hospital or...?’

‘No, sir. He was killed instantly, and his body is now in the National Hospital mortuary. You can—’

At that moment the door opened and a young man entered the room.

‘There you are,’ he said, then immediately sensed from the tension in the air that something serious was afoot. ‘What’s—?’

‘Hólmbert, dear,’ said the woman, rising and going over to him. ‘This policeman says Jónatan’s dead.’

‘Jónatan — dead?’ echoed the young man.

‘The poor boy was run over by a car,’ said the woman. ‘It’s simply ghastly. And there’s more — he was in police custody at the time and this officer is claiming that Jónatan killed that girl — the one who was found behind the theatre. Isn’t that madness? Isn’t it absolutely preposterous?’

‘He was a suspect,’ corrected Flóvent.

‘Jónatan?’ gasped the young man incredulously.

‘Isn’t it utter madness?’ said the woman again. ‘I’ve never heard such outrageous nonsense. That he met her in the Shadow District and... and mistreated her...’

The young man looked at Flóvent. ‘Is that true?’

Flóvent nodded.

‘I... don’t believe it.’

‘Did you know him well, sir?’ asked Flóvent.

The young man seemed distracted, and Flóvent had to repeat the question.

‘I... we were pals,’ he said. ‘Is he really dead? Jónatan, dead! And you actually believe that he...?’

‘Assaulted the girl? Yes, I’m afraid so,’ said Flóvent. ‘Unfortunately the evidence is compelling. He was about to take us to the scene of the crime when he escaped and met with this tragic accident.’

They stood silently in the drawing room as the unbelievable news Flóvent had brought them started to sink in: Jónatan, a young man they knew well, was not only dead but actually suspected of Rósamunda’s murder, and several months earlier he had allegedly assaulted her somewhere in the Shadow District. The MP and his wife seemed shattered by the news, while their son Hólmbert seemed unable to take it in. After giving them a little time to recover their composure, Flóvent began tentatively asking questions. They answered readily, volunteering information, until the woman suddenly announced that she could bear it no longer and asked her husband to take her outside.

‘I haven’t seen Jónatan for quite a while,’ she said. ‘But he used to come round occasionally, and he was a good boy, I can assure you of that, whatever else you may think of him.’

‘Talk to Hólmbert,’ said the MP as he escorted his wife out of the room. ‘He knew Jónatan best. Hólmbert, old man,’ he added to his son, ‘you’ll tell him all you know in case it can help the police get to the bottom of this dreadful affair.’

Hólmbert nodded distractedly, apparently still digesting the news. He took out a packet of cigarettes and lit one with a preoccupied air, then offered the packet to Flóvent, who declined.

‘I’m absolutely flabbergasted,’ he said. ‘Jónatan? Who would have believed it?’

‘It’s particularly hard when it involves someone you thought you knew well,’ said Flóvent.

Hólmbert looked at him. ‘Perhaps it’s...’

‘Sir?’

‘Perhaps it’s inappropriate of me to bring this up in the circumstances but...’

‘Bring up what, sir?’

‘At least, I didn’t like to say anything while my mother was present.’ Hólmbert went over to the door to check that it was definitely shut. ‘But to be honest I was on the verge of contacting the police about Jónatan.’

‘Oh?’ said Flóvent. ‘Why was that?’

‘He... it must have been about three days ago. He asked if we could meet up because he had something on his mind. I ran into him at the university — I’m reading law there, though actually it bores me silly. Anyway, he seemed rather weighed down by something, so I said all right. I went round to his digs that evening and immediately got the feeling he was very anxious, and when I asked what was wrong he started talking about the girl you mentioned. Rósamunda, wasn’t it? I’d read about her in the papers, of course. I found him strangely evasive, as if he had a bad conscience.’

‘What exactly did he say, sir?’

‘Not much. Just that he’d met her at a university dance a few months ago and they’d gone for a walk out to Seltjarnarnes, then intended to go to her place afterwards. He was reluctant to say much more. He’d recognised her from a shop where he’d taken some clothes to be mended.’

‘The Stitch?’

‘I’m afraid I don’t remember the name.’

‘What happened?’

‘Well, it wasn’t very coherent but my understanding was that he’d tried to... to take advantage of her. She’d seemed willing at first, then... then begged him to stop. But he didn’t.’

‘And he told you the girl in question was Rósamunda?’

Hólmbert nodded. ‘There was a struggle which left her in a bit of a mess, so he told her to say she’d had a run-in with the huldufólk . That was Jónatan’s area — he was obsessed with the elves and that kind of thing. He said he’d make her rue the day if she went to the police.’