Арнальдур Индридасон - The Shadow Killer

‘Answer me! What did you say to the man?’

Felix faltered, as if unsure how to go on. As if he had lost track of what he had already said and how it would fit with what he intended to say next. He hesitated, confused, as his father demanded answers. Demanded that he reply to his accusation. Demanded that he drop the charade, the lies, the half-truths. Stopped trying to pull the wool over his eyes.

‘What did you say to him?’ Rudolf shouted at his son. ‘Why did you make contact? Why were you set on finding out who he was?’

‘Why are you so outraged?’ Felix countered. ‘Tell me. Why do you hate me so much?’

‘What did you say to him, Felix?’

‘It was you yourself... Have you forgotten that it was you who taught me to snoop... you who made me spy on the other boys and report back to you, pose as their friend, tell you all I knew... It was you—’

‘I bear no responsibility for what you have done.’

‘Oh no, you’ve always had right on your side, haven’t you?’ Felix said, raising his voice in turn. ‘I’ve never been able to do anything... never been able to please you. Whatever I do, however hard I try. I tried to win your... to win your... I told you about the boys and Rikki and you... you’ve never... I disgust you... but it was you who... you who used me... you used me...’

‘Why did you make contact, Felix?’ Rudolf went on relentlessly. ‘Were you planning to blackmail him? Did you threaten to expose him? Was it money you wanted or were you merely trying to seem important?’

Flóvent caught the flash of headlights as the police turned into the drive.

‘You didn’t need to say anything,’ said Rudolf.

Felix shook his head. ‘Don’t think—’

‘You did not say anything, did you?’ whispered Rudolf.

Felix was silent.

‘You alarmed him simply by making contact with him, didn’t you? He must have felt threatened. Afraid that you would blow his cover. He sent a man to your flat who lay in wait for you and killed Eyvindur instead.’

‘I don’t know...’ said Felix. ‘I... the whole thing went disastrously wrong...’

‘Who is it?’ asked Flóvent, interrupting. ‘Who is this contact?’

‘Of course it was childish of me,’ said Felix. ‘The thing is... the thing is I’d started to suspect that he wasn’t... that maybe he’d given himself away and they were using him — the intelligence people — using him to send selected information, some of it deliberately false, like the business with the submarine barrier at Hvítanes. It wasn’t exactly where they said it was. I checked it out. And there were other examples — little inaccuracies that could be important. So I started wondering what was really going on. I thought I was just a pawn and he was running me — that we were on the same side, at least. I wanted to warn him about the little inaccuracies, so I started watching him to see if I could make contact. It didn’t take him long to work it out. I thought he’d kill me. He was furious and said the game was up and that I was putting both our lives at risk. We’d have to stop what we were doing.’

Felix paused. He stared at his father.

‘His reaction... It was only then that I realised how badly I’d miscalculated. What a... Of course it wasn’t him they were using to send misinformation. It was me. I... all of a sudden I realised, and he saw. Saw that I’d worked out the truth. I was such a bloody fool. That’s why they didn’t touch you, why they let me move around as I pleased. The last report I sent was about Churchill. That he wasn’t stopping over here. Which means he must be coming in fact, because they’ve been feeding me lies all along.’

‘Felix...’

‘They must have decided to dispose of me before I could send my next report and warn the Germans that all the information I’d sent before had been worthless. Their response was so swift. So... rushed. It’s the only explanation I can think of. I didn’t dare go near the radio transmitter — I was sure they were watching it...’

Someone banged on the front door. Flóvent was about to go out and open it, but hung back. A second car had pulled up outside.

‘Someone must have betrayed me to the British, and they decided to use me to disseminate false information. Someone within the German secret service who’s working for the British must have given me away, told them I was spying for the Germans in Iceland. The British are afraid I’ll blow his cover. But I have no idea of his identity. All I know is that he must exist.’

‘Felix,’ said Rudolf, ‘don’t—’

‘I won’t let them catch me.’

‘Don’t do anything foolish, Felix. You cannot get away. Try to be sensible.’

‘They’ll send me to Britain,’ said Felix. ‘They’ll hang me. I’m done for.’

He gazed imploringly at his father and Flóvent saw that he was close to collapse.

‘I want you to know that it wasn’t me who killed Eyvindur,’ he repeated, bending down to whisper something to his father or perhaps to say goodbye. Flóvent didn’t know which. Rudolf raised his arms in rejection, his face full of angry contempt. Felix immediately straightened up again, saying something in a low voice. Flóvent couldn’t catch the words. He turned his back on the father and son and headed towards the hall to let his colleagues in. Two had already found their way in by the back door, and he was just gesturing to them to go and open the front door for the rest when he heard an anguished cry from Rudolf.

‘Felix! Felix! What are you doing?’

Thinking Felix had attacked his father, Flóvent spun round to come to Rudolf’s aid, only to see Felix clasping his own neck and sinking to the floor.

‘Water!’ shouted Rudolf. ‘Fetch water! For God’s sake, get some water down his throat! Felix! Felix! Spit it out. Give him water. Felix! Don’t do this. Felix!’

He tried to rise from his wheelchair but fell back into it, watching helplessly as his son writhed on the floor.

A rattle came from Felix’s throat and foam appeared at the corners of his mouth and began to run down his cheeks. He was groaning in agony. His eyes rolled, his head jerked back and forth and his ribcage reared up in violent convulsions that gradually subsided until he slumped down lifeless, and his groans gave way to silence. He lay still, staring up at his father with glazed eyes.

The jeep skidded on the gravel outside Vera’s laundry and came to a halt in a cloud of dust, a hair’s breadth from the wall. Thorson grabbed his gun and leapt out. He had never used it except for target practice and had always wondered when he would first have to fire it in earnest.

Holding the gun down by his side, he ran for the door behind the house. When he rounded the corner, he saw white washing hanging from the lines, billowing gently in the breeze. The door to the laundry was open as before and in the dim light that spilled out Thorson noticed that the washing wasn’t all clean, although it had been hung out to dry.

‘Vera!’ he called, pausing by the lines. ‘Vera, are you there?’

There was no answer.

‘Billy!’ he shouted. ‘Billy Wiggins!’

He gripped his gun more tightly and was about to start inching his way towards the house, unsure what might await him there, when his gaze fell on the rows of white sheets hanging on the lines. There was no question about it: they were soiled. Either the washing machine had failed to remove the stains or something had brushed up against the sheets after they were pegged out to dry.

Thorson edged closer and, taking hold of one of the sheets, saw that it was covered in dark smears. He ventured further into the rows of sheets and saw that something had definitely brushed up against them. He had already begun to fear the worst by the time he stumbled on Vera lying on the ground.