Arnaldur Indridason - Strange Shores

‘Ezra!’

He heard a creaking noise from one corner.

Peering over to where he knew the wicker chair to be, he perceived a figure rising from it, but only as a black shadow.

‘Ezra?’ Erlendur whispered.

A dark shape showed against the grey square of the window, advanced a step, then another, and he felt a cold object pushed gently under his chin. He didn’t dare move. There was a whiff of metal and cordite. With infinite slowness, he gave way before the pressure of what he guessed was the muzzle of a shotgun.

‘Have you come to arrest me?’ he heard a low voice ask in the darkness.

‘No.’

‘Then get out.’

‘Ezra?’ whispered Erlendur.

‘I don’t want to see you here again. Get out before I do something stupid.’

‘I came to. . Ezra, I’ve found her.’

‘What do you want?’

‘I’m trying to tell you.’

‘What are you talking about? What have you found?’

‘I’ve found her. I’ve found Matthildur. I know where she is.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I know what Jakob did with her, Ezra. I’ve discovered where he hid her body.’

His head was still tilted back by the pressure of the gun and he could only see Ezra indistinctly, as a black silhouette against the window.

‘Are you making fun of me?’ asked Ezra.

‘I think I can prove it,’ said Erlendur. ‘Could you turn on the lights?’

‘Prove it? How?’

‘I found something with her that I believe belongs to you.’

‘What? What have you found?’

‘You’ll have to turn on the light,’ repeated Erlendur.

‘That’s not possible,’ said Ezra.

‘Have you got a torch then?’

Ezra did not answer.

‘I can’t show you in the dark.’

‘There’s a torch on the table.’

‘Bring it over to the sink,’ said Erlendur. ‘I need to rinse the dirt off.’

Ezra didn’t relinquish his grip on the gun as they made their way over to the sink. Finding the torch with one hand, he switched it on and for a moment Erlendur was blinded as the glare struck him full in the face.

‘Don’t do anything you’ll regret, Ezra,’ he warned.

‘I told you to leave me alone,’ he heard Ezra mutter.

Erlendur had wrapped the knife in a small plastic bag that he had found in the car. He removed it warily from his pocket, took it out of the bag and, turning on the cold tap, washed off the soil. Ezra shone the torch on the knife as the clods of earth fell away.

‘Recognise it?’ asked Erlendur.

Ezra did not answer immediately.

‘Do you recognise the knife?’

Still no reaction.

‘It was buried on top of the body,’ said Erlendur. ‘Jakob wasn’t lying. He put the knife in her grave to implicate you in her killing. He may even have stabbed her once or twice with it after she died. Was it yours?’

‘It’s my knife,’ said Ezra’s disembodied voice from behind the torch.

‘I expect he stole it when he came round to tell you Matthildur was out in the storm.’

‘Where is she?’

‘In the cemetery,’ said Erlendur. ‘She’s buried in the cemetery. Jakob worked as a gravedigger and had just dug one for an old woman whose funeral took place at around the time Matthildur went missing. He must have hidden her body at home, and after half filling the old woman’s grave, sneaked back, fetched Matthildur’s body and laid it on top.’

‘In the cemetery?’

‘Yes.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I noticed the woman’s death date by chance and put two and two together. All I needed was to dig a small hole in her grave. I found Matthildur’s remains, Ezra. I found her. The uncertainty’s over.’

Ezra’s hold on the gun did not waver.

‘She’s not coming back, Ezra. She’s gone forever,’ Erlendur continued. ‘She’s dead. I’ve seen her bones.’

‘How can you be so sure it’s her?’

‘It’s her all right.’

‘But how can you be so sure?’

‘Believe me,’ said Erlendur. ‘I’ve found Matthildur. Your knife was buried with her, Ezra. It’s her.’

Ezra’s reaction took him by surprise at first, but on reflection he understood. He had been overwhelmed with the same feeling when confronted by the small bones in Daníel’s cardboard box. He realised that he had broken some unwritten law of immutability. He had cut its fetters and set the mechanism of life in motion again. Naturally it would take Ezra a little while to make sense of this new, altered reality. One couldn’t expect it to happen in an instant.

‘Can’t we turn on the lights?’ asked Erlendur.

‘No,’ Ezra said.

‘What are you going to do with the gun, Ezra?’

‘You’ve really found her?’

‘Jakob hid her in an open grave in the cemetery.’ Erlendur attempted again to explain. ‘It was easy for him. The grave would still have been recent when you met him there two months later and he started dropping hints. Perhaps he thought he was being clever — to use that of all places. He was confident she’d never be found. He may already have dug the grave when he killed her. Then he used the storm to invent a lie about her journey and seized the opportunity to dispose of her body in the hole. It can’t be anyone else. He didn’t need to dig far. She’s hardly more than a spade length down.’

The pressure of the muzzle eased a little against Erlendur’s chin.

‘The bloody bastard!’ Ezra whispered.

‘Jakob knew what he was doing.’

Acting quickly, Erlendur grabbed the barrel of the gun and twisted it easily out of Ezra’s hands, sending the old man reeling backwards. The torch fell on the floor and went out. Erlendur laid down the gun at his feet.

‘What’s wrong with your lights?’ he asked.

‘The electricity went.’

‘What were you doing sitting here in the dark with a gun?’

‘Are you lying to me?’

‘It’s as true as I’m standing here.’

‘What did you see?’

‘Enough. It’s up to you to decide what to do about her grave.’

‘He put her in an open grave?’ Ezra repeated. ‘The gravedigger — I should’ve guessed. It’s obvious once you think about it. Of course he used the cemetery. I was sure he’d sunk her body in the sea, or thrown her into a fissure. It never occurred to me that he’d used the graveyard.’

A long silence followed his words.

‘Would there be any point in reburying her?’ Ezra asked at last.

‘Are you still afraid of being found out?’ Erlendur asked. ‘That the whole sad story will come to light?’

‘I’m not thinking of myself,’ Ezra said. ‘I should probably thank you for all you’ve done. I’ve. . I’ve never encountered such pig-headed obstinacy.’

‘I won’t tell anyone what I know. You can count on that,’ Erlendur assured him. ‘What you do now is entirely up to you. Now you know where she is, you know the full story of her fate and can finally say goodbye to her after all these years, in whatever manner you choose.’

‘I should. . I should probably thank you.’

‘It’s really not necessary.’

‘I’m sorry for the way I’ve treated you. I’ve — ’

‘I quite understand,’ Erlendur interrupted. ‘It’s no fun receiving a visit from someone like me. I’m well aware of the fact.’

He could sense in the lightless kitchen that Ezra was now leaning on the table.

‘Would you like me to drive you over there?’ asked Erlendur. ‘It’s pretty late.’

‘Thank you, I would. Of course, I always knew she was dead. I never let myself dream of the alternative. But it’s good to know where she is. It’s good to know she’s in a place like that.’

Erlendur drove the old man through the night to the cemetery. Neither was in the mood to talk. Ezra slumped, shoulders hunched, in the passenger seat and Erlendur wondered what he had been doing, sitting there alone with a shotgun in the darkened house. He had asked if there was any friend he should call to keep him company, but Ezra had said no with such vehemence and resentment at his interference that Erlendur abandoned the subject. He couldn’t tell how it had affected Ezra to resolve the doubt that had been consuming him for decades, for most of his life. Any relief he felt must be tempered by a profound grief over Matthildur’s fate. At long last he knew the entire story, from beginning to end, but time had done little to mitigate its horror.