Арнальдур Индридасон - The Shadow Killer

‘I know a man who’s suffered thanks to you,’ said Thorson. ‘He lives in the countryside. Alone with his dogs. He warned me about you. How you twist men around your little finger. He told me not to believe a word you say.’

Vera stared at Thorson. ‘Who are you talking about?’

‘Oh, I think you know. You’re familiar with his little smithy.’

‘You went to see him? ’ she asked, dumbfounded.

‘He says he still thinks of you sometimes,’ said Thorson. ‘In spite of everything.’

Suddenly Vera was like a cornered animal. She was visibly shaken by Thorson’s reference to the blacksmith. Grabbing a tub of clean washing, she hurried outside as if she couldn’t bear to be trapped in the laundry a minute longer. Thorson followed her and saw that she had started pegging out the wet clothes. The sun had begun to cast a golden glow on the sky in the west.

‘How is he?’ she asked.

‘Not good,’ said Thorson. ‘Not good at all.’

‘What... what did he tell you?’

‘You didn’t come out of it well.’

‘What did he say? Just tell me what he said.’

‘He told me how you used him. That you dreamt of escaping to the city and that he’d been nothing but a means to an end. You seduced him, and he was too slow to realise what was going on. You had a bad reputation out there and—’

‘Who gives a damn?’ she interrupted. ‘Who gives a damn what those peasants think?’

‘Why do you talk about them like that?’

‘Because they’re forever running me down.’

‘That’s strange,’ said Thorson. ‘If anything, it seemed to me like they felt sorry for you.’

‘Why do you think I wanted to leave?’ asked Vera. ‘I was suffocating there. I never wanted to be a farmer’s wife, frying doughnuts and milking cows. As if that’s all life has to offer. It’s crazy. As if women shouldn’t be allowed to do anything else. Just work their fingers to the bone like skivvies. Wait hand and foot on some old sod. Churn out children and never dare to dream of any other fate.’

‘Yet you were engaged to a farmer?’

‘He used to feel the same. He wanted to leave. We talked of nothing else. But it turned out he didn’t mean any of it. He kept dragging his heels about selling the farm. Kept making all kinds of excuses. We quarrelled. We were always quarrelling. When it became clear that he’d never had any intention of moving, I said I was leaving him. “Well, good luck,” he said, “because you’re not going anywhere. I won’t let you leave.” He always talked like that: I won’t let you. I won’t let you! As if he could tell me what to do!’

‘So you decided to do something about it?’

‘It was... I wanted...’

‘To show him that you made your own decisions?’

Vera dropped the shirt she was holding back into the tub and turned to face Thorson, who was standing by the laundry door.

‘I don’t know what he told you, but I never meant to hurt him,’ she said. ‘Never. I know that’s what happened, and I know what he thinks of me — what they all think of me — but I never meant it to turn out that way. I don’t deserve all the blame. He had just as big a part in it as me.’

‘He says you played with him. Played with his feelings. Used him to get back at your fiancé, then tossed him aside like a piece of rubbish.’

‘Are those his words?’

‘He says you deceived him.’

‘Isn’t that because he wanted to be deceived?’ said Vera. ‘And when things didn’t turn out the way he wanted, it was all my fault? I was to blame? He knew I was with another man. He knew I was cheating on him. That didn’t put him off. That didn’t stop him. I’m not saying my behaviour was beyond reproach. I’m not... I was angry. I wanted to get back at my fiancé, I admit it. I admit my conscience isn’t exactly clean, and I certainly could have done things differently. But who was deceived? What’s all this talk of deception? He knew what he was doing. How do you know he wasn’t just waiting to be deceived? Dreaming of it? I bet you didn’t grill him about that!’

Vera stood facing him squarely, and when Thorson looked into her eyes what he saw above all was her strength of will. He wondered if it had been this strength of will that the blacksmith had found so impossible to resist. Thorson also detected a growing anger, directed at him, but it didn’t even occur to him to try to placate her.

‘He believes you ran away from the whole mess because that was always your plan,’ he said. ‘When you’d finished. When he’d served his purpose. You took off without warning. Just like you took off and left Eyvindur. Just like you’ll leave Billy Wiggins.’

Vera had heard enough. The self-control she had shown up to now snapped and she spat right in Thorson’s face.

‘Shut your mouth,’ she snarled.

Thorson knew he had provoked her, but he hadn’t been expecting quite such a violent reaction. He wiped his face with his sleeve.

‘You think I don’t know?’ she hissed.

‘Know what?’

‘What you’re trying to do? What you’re trying to achieve? You think I can’t see?’

‘What? What am I trying to achieve?’

‘You’d better leave me alone.’

‘Or what?’

‘I’ve done nothing wrong. Nothing.’

‘What did you say to Wiggins?’ asked Thorson. ‘Did you complain that Eyvindur was standing in the way of your relationship? That he wouldn’t take no for an answer? That he wouldn’t leave you alone? What did you say? That he should take Eyvindur out fishing and come back alone? That accidents happen? Was that pretty much how it went?’

Vera shook her head. ‘My friend certainly didn’t pull his punches.’

‘No,’ said Thorson. ‘He doesn’t have a lot to say in your favour.’

‘You’re talking rubbish,’ she said. ‘A load of bloody rubbish.’

‘Was Wiggins happy to help?’ Thorson went on relentlessly. ‘Did you sit there talking about all the ways you could get rid of Eyvindur? Was it your idea or his? Did Wiggins tell you his plan? Or was it up to him? All you had to do was lay your cards on the table and he’d take care of the rest?’

Vera burst into mirthless laughter. ‘Now you’re just being ridiculous.’

‘Am I?’

‘Do you think I don’t know what you are? Do you think I can’t tell?’

Thorson didn’t immediately grasp her meaning.

‘Women like me... we can sniff it out,’ she said and smiled her crooked smile. ‘We sense it straight away. I’m right, aren’t I?’

‘What?’

‘About what you are, who you are. You’re not interested in women, are you? Never have been.’

Thorson was left momentarily floundering.

‘Is that what this is about?’ she said, coming a step closer. ‘Did he get under your skin, there in his smithy? He’s not a bad-looking fellow for a boy like you.’

Belatedly it dawned on Thorson what she was insinuating. She saw him flinch, though he tried to hide it, and she knew that she’d touched a nerve.

‘You hinted didn’t you?’ he said. ‘You hinted that you could get rid of your fiancé if the two of them went out fishing together and he came back alone?’

‘Why won’t you answer me?’ she asked. ‘Don’t you want to talk about it? Are you embarrassed?’

‘Women like you,’ Thorson said, ‘sniff out nothing but trouble. I get that you wanted to escape the countryside. And that you like soldiers — that they seem like your ticket out of poverty and a life of drudgery. I get that you want to be independent. Lots of women feel the same. But they don’t all go about it like you. They don’t need to play any little games. All they need is to be themselves. Women like you...’