Arnaldur Indridason - Black Skies

The thoughts chased each other in quick succession through his mind as he was waiting for the ambulance and police to arrive. At first glance he could see no sign of a break-in. The assailant appeared to have entered and left by the front door, not bothering to close it properly behind him. It was possible that the occupants of the neighbouring houses might have noticed something; a car, for instance, or a man who looked capable of attacking Lína and smashing up her home.

He was just bending down to her again when he heard a noise and sensed movement out of the corner of his eye in the dark sitting room. In a flash he glimpsed what looked like a baseball bat swinging towards his head and instinctively dodged, with the result that the blow landed on his shoulder instead, knocking him to the floor. By the time he had clambered to his feet again his assailant had disappeared out of the open front door.

Sigurdur Óli shot out of the house and into the street where he saw a man sprinting away in an easterly direction. Taking out his phone, he called for assistance as he ran. The distance between them widened. The suspect, showing an amazing turn of speed, flung himself into a garden and vanished from sight. Sigurdur Óli dashed after him, leapt over the fence, rounded the corner of the house, bounded over another fence and across the next street and into another garden where he tripped over a wheelbarrow that suddenly blocked his way, hurtled into a currant bush and rolled along the ground in his new summer coat. It took him precious seconds to get his bearings when he stood up again, but then he resumed the chase. He saw that the man had gained a considerable lead as he ran hell for leather across Kleppsvegur and the coast road, before descending into the Vatnagardar district near the container docks, heading in the direction of the mental hospital at Kleppur.

Summoning up his last reserves, Sigurdur Óli plunged into the traffic on the coast road and the drivers slammed on their brakes and honked their horns violently. The phone started ringing in his hand but he did not slow down to answer. He saw the man turn towards the hospital and disappear behind a hill. The hospital itself was floodlit but the area around it was hidden in darkness. He could see no sign of the police cars that he had called out before the chase began and slowed his pace as he approached the hospital, taking the time to answer his phone. It was an officer from one of the patrol cars who had been given the wrong directions and was searching for him around the Hrafnista retirement home. Sigurdur Óli directed him down to the mental hospital and requested further backup, including a dog team. He jogged down to the sea at Kleppsvík where the darkness was total, then halted, peering south towards Holtagardar and the Ellidavogur inlet. He stood quite still, listening, but could not hear or see anything. The man had vanished into the night.

Sigurdur Óli ran back to the hospital where two police cars were just pulling up and directed the officers to the area around the retail centre at Holtagardar, and the Ellidavogur inlet. He gave them a brief description of the man: medium height, leather jacket, jeans, baseball bat. Sigurdur Óli had been keeping a close eye on the weapon and as far as he could tell the attacker had still been holding it when the darkness swallowed him.

Under his orders the police fanned out over the area. He summoned more officers and before long the firearms unit had also joined the hunt, the extra manpower enabling them to expand the search area until it extended all the way from the coast road to the nature reserve at the head of Ellidavogur.

Having commandeered one of the patrol cars by the hospital, Sigurdur Óli drove back up to Lína’s house. It was some time now since the ambulance had taken the woman to hospital and he was told that she was still clinging on to life. The street outside the house was filled with marked and unmarked police cars, and the CID forensic team was already busy inside.

‘How do you know these people?’ asked his colleague Finnur, who was standing outside the house. He had heard all about Sigurdur Óli’s emergency call.

‘Do you know anything about her husband?’ asked Sigurdur Óli, no longer sure if he should tell the whole truth.

‘His name’s Ebeneser,’ Finnur answered.

‘Yeah, right. What kind of weird name is that?’

‘We don’t know where he is. Who were you chasing?’

‘Almost certainly the woman’s assailant,’ Sigurdur Óli replied. ‘I imagine he bludgeoned her over the head with a baseball bat. He got me as well, the bastard. Knocked me off balance.’

‘Were you in the house?’

‘I’d come to have a word with her and found her lying on the floor. Next thing I know this bastard jumps on me.’

‘You think he was a burglar then? We can’t find any sign of a break-in. He must have entered by the front door. She must have opened it to him.’

‘Yes, the door was open when I arrived. The bastard must have rung the bell, then jumped her. This is more than a burglary — I don’t think he was here to steal. He trashed the house, hit the woman over the head — no doubt we’ll find out soon if he hit her anywhere else.’

‘So …’

‘I think he was a debt collector. We should round some of them up. I didn’t recognise this guy, but then I didn’t get a good look at him. I’ve never seen anyone run so fast.’

‘It sounds plausible, given his description — the baseball bat and so on,’ Finnur said. ‘He was probably here to call in a debt.’

Sigurdur Óli accompanied him into the house.

‘Do you think he was working alone?’ Finnur asked.

‘As far as I can tell.’

‘What were you doing here? How do you know these people?’

Sigurdur Óli lost his nerve. Of course, in the long run he would not, even if he wanted to, be able to conceal that the attack on Lína was probably connected to her and Ebbi’s ludicrous attempts to extort money. For all he knew, Hermann could have sent the thug round, but he could hardly believe that his friend Patrekur was capable of such a thing. Deciding to leave names out of it for the time being, he explained that he had been following up a lead that implicated Lína and Ebbi in a trade in dubious photographs.

‘Pornography?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Child porn?’

‘Conceivably.’

‘I wasn’t aware of any lead,’ Finnur said.

‘No,’ Sigurdur Óli replied, ‘it only came in today. It may be a case of blackmail, which would explain the presence of a debt collector, if that’s what he was.’

Finnur eyed him, as if not fully convinced.

‘So you just went round to hear what they had to say for themselves? I’m not sure I quite follow this, Siggi.’

‘No, it’s very early days.’

‘Yes, but — ’

‘Anyway, we’d better track him down,’ Sigurdur Óli said firmly, dismissing the subject. ‘Scrooge, I mean.’

‘Scrooge?’

‘Or whatever his name is. Her husband. And don’t call me Siggi.’

Sigurdur Óli dropped into the police station on his way home to Framnesvegur and discovered that Elínborg had gone home some time earlier. There was a young man sitting on a bench out in the corridor. Forever in and out of trouble for violent behaviour and a variety of minor offences, he was the product of an abysmal home life; his father in prison, his mother a serious alcoholic. Reykjavík was full of such stories. The boy had been eighteen when he first came to Sigurdur Óli’s notice for a break-in at an electrical goods store. By then he already had a string of convictions to his name, and that had been several years ago now.

Still angry with himself for letting the debt collector slip through his fingers, Sigurdur Óli paused on the way into his office, his eyes on the youth, then went over and sat down beside him on the bench.