Арнальдур Индридасон - The Darkness Knows

The original investigation into Sigurvin’s background had failed to unearth any bad habits or underworld connections to drug smugglers, debt collectors or thieves, let alone to hardened criminals. He had run his company successfully and employed a sizeable staff, all of whom had spoken well of him as a boss and owner. The reason for Sigurvin’s presence by the hot-water tanks on Öskjuhlíd was unknown. At the time, the tanks, which had formerly supplied geothermal hot water to the city’s homes by the power of gravity, had been taken out of use. Empty and crumbling, they had served as a playground for the local children, who scrawled graffiti over their walls and clambered inside them or were even, in some cases, foolhardy enough to climb up to the top.

‘So,’ Konrád said, ‘Sigurvin must have met a person, or persons, unknown by the old tanks and got a lift with him or them to the glacier — if that’s where he was killed?’

‘Yes, except he wasn’t wearing protective gear. In fact he wasn’t dressed for the outdoors at all,’ Marta pointed out. ‘Which means the person with him would have had to lend him some clothes, then take them off his body afterwards, which seems a bit far-fetched.’

‘OK, so it’s February when Sigurvin vanishes but he isn’t warmly dressed. He’s wearing a shirt and a lightweight jacket. In other words, he’s not expecting to be outdoors for long.’

‘No,’ said Marta. ‘And he’s wearing trainers, which means he can hardly have been intending to get out of the car. Though, having said that, the weather on the evening he was last seen wasn’t that bad here in Reykjavík. It had snowed heavily after New Year, but that was followed by a spell of milder temperatures before it started freezing again. At the time of Sigurvin’s disappearance, the streets were bare of snow, as I’m sure you’ll remember.’

‘Could he have been taken to the glacier by force? He gets into a jeep and next thing he knows he’s being carted off to Langjökull? A struggle ensues, during which he’s hit over the head. Or did he go voluntarily?’

‘The post-mortem indicates that he was taken there after he died. Rigor mortis was setting in and his tissues had begun to show signs of deterioration.’

‘But why the glacier? What’s on Langjökull? Why does he take Sigurvin there?’

‘Hjaltalín? I haven’t a clue.’

Konrád shrugged, defeated. He recalled the moment they found Sigurvin’s car. Shortly after it had been advertised as missing, a report had been received of a red Jeep Cherokee parked on Öskjuhlíd. Konrád often thought about that jeep because he’d had a hankering for one himself; it was the perfect size and he admired the design, the interior and the fact it had gears on the steering wheel. He’d never have gone for a red one, though, had he been able to afford it; definitely a white.

In those days the tanks had been approached by a gravel track, and the jeep had been found abandoned at the end of this. The police had conducted an exhaustive search for Sigurvin on the wooded slopes of the hill and in the surrounding area, with the help of dogs, but to no avail. There had been countless wheel marks on the gravel track and in the vicinity of the tanks, and casts had been made of some of the marks closest to the jeep. But there had been no signs of a struggle near the vehicle, and the gravel had been too hard for any footprints. The police’s job hadn’t been helped by the fact the area was popular with kids, as well as a much-visited viewpoint offering a 360-degree panorama over the city, from the distant Snæfellsjökull glacier, rising out of the sea to the west, to the mountain ranges of Hellisheidi and Bláfjöll to the east, the looming bulk of Esja to the north and the Reykjanes Peninsula far away to the south.

‘Did you send anyone to see Hjaltalín in hospital?’ Konrád asked. He finished his coffee, reflecting that it hadn’t improved much since his day.

‘No,’ Marta said. ‘His health underwent a rapid deterioration in custody and he was admitted to hospital almost immediately after his release. His doctor hadn’t expected things to progress that fast.’

‘He must have got a nasty surprise when Sigurvin turned up after all these years,’ Konrád remarked.

‘Yes, you’d think so.’

‘Still, you wouldn’t have known it when I met him. He just lay there in bed, looking calm and stoical. Mind you, I suppose he had other, more serious things on his mind, given the state of his health.’

‘He didn’t have anything new to say, then?’

‘No, he just kept banging on about being innocent.’

‘Are you going to do anything about it?’

‘I can’t “do anything about it”,’ Konrád protested. ‘I don’t have the authority.’

‘He asked you to help him.’

‘True.’

‘And?’

‘There’s no “and”. You tried to talk to him yourself, didn’t you? Did you ask him about Sigurvin’s car keys?’

‘He said he didn’t know anything about them,’ Marta said. ‘Did you ask him?’

‘I didn’t know they were missing. Svanhildur was still examining the body when I went to see him. Sigurvin had his house keys and wallet in his pocket but not the keys to his jeep. Don’t you find that strange? Who had his car keys?’

Marta shrugged as if it was pointless asking her.

‘The whole thing’s so sloppy,’ Konrád said. ‘Like the job was only half finished.’

‘I’ve never in my life come across a more obstinate bastard than Hjaltalín,’ Marta said, after a moment. ‘He knew what was going to happen when we let him go; he knew he was dying.’

‘He still denied having laid a finger on Sigurvin,’ Konrád said, ‘though he had nothing to lose any more.’

‘Flatly denied it to the very last,’ Marta said, crumpling up her coffee cup and chucking it in the bin.

Konrád’s son Húgó, an orthopaedic consultant at the National Hospital, was forever jetting off to international conferences, accompanied by his wife, who had a shop in the Kringlan centre. Konrád and Erna would often babysit their two lively grandsons, who had always been devoted to them. The twins were twelve now, and although they said they were perfectly capable of looking after themselves, there was no way they could actually be trusted to do so. In their parents’ absence, Konrád had brought them to stay with him for a few days, promising them a trip to the cinema. They chose the film, an abysmally bad thriller that Konrád hadn’t even heard of, in which some glitzy Hollywood star mowed down a host of enemies.

Having the boys to stay was a pleasant change from the usual monotony of his life and he did his best to treat them, though he suspected their parents already spoilt them rotten. The last thing he wanted to do was interfere in his grandchildren’s upbringing, but he couldn’t help raising his eyebrows over the demands made on the poor kids, whose week seemed to be booked solid with extra sports coaching, music lessons, art courses and countless other extracurricular activities.

‘Ambition will be the death of that lot,’ was his sister Beta’s verdict whenever the subject came up in conversation.

Konrád had driven the boys to school that morning, then picked them up from their guitar lesson before taking them to the cinema. The guitars were in the boot of his four-wheel drive, and when they got home that evening he asked the boys to show him what they could play. But they begged to be excused, saying it was boring enough having to do the lessons. Instead, they commandeered the television in the sitting room with their game console, and after that they were lost in a world of their own until bedtime. Since it was a Friday and they had the whole weekend ahead, Konrád allowed them to stay up as late as they liked. Sometime after eleven, though, Húgó called from Gothenburg and ordered him to send the boys to bed. He obeyed.