Arnaldur Indridason - Outrage

‘Yes, I’m Elínborg,’ she snapped.

‘I’m sorry to call so late.’

‘That’s all right. Who is this?’

‘We haven’t met,’ said the woman. ‘I’m a bit worried, although I probably shouldn’t be. He can look after himself, and he likes to be alone.’

‘Excuse me, who is speaking?’

‘My name is Valgerdur,’ the woman replied. ‘I don’t think we’ve spoken before.’

‘Valgerdur?’

‘I’m a friend of your colleague Erlendur. I’ve tried to contact Sigurdur Óli but he’s not answering.’

‘No,’ said Elínborg. ‘He won’t pick up if he doesn’t recognise the number. Are you all right?’

‘Yes, thank you. I just wanted to find out if Erlendur has been in touch with either of you. He’s gone to the East Fjords and I haven’t heard from him.’

‘No, I haven’t either,’ said Elínborg. ‘How long is it since he went to the east?’

‘Nearly two weeks now. He’d been working on a difficult case, which I think he found very distressing. I’m a bit worried about him.’

Erlendur had not said goodbye to Elínborg or Sigurdur Óli when he left — they had simply found out at the station that he had taken a leave of absence. Just before that he had discovered the bodies of a man and woman who had been missing for twenty-five years. He had also been pursuing another case on his own time but had been unable to uncover enough evidence for a prosecution.

‘I should think Erlendur just wants to be left alone,’ said Elínborg. ‘Two weeks isn’t all that long, if he was planning to stay in the east for a while. I know he’s been working very hard lately.’

‘Perhaps. Either he’s turned his mobile off, or he’s in some dead spot.’

‘He’ll turn up,’ said Elínborg. ‘He’s gone off before without telling anyone.’

‘Well, that’s good to know. If he does get in touch, perhaps you’d let him know I was asking after him?’

Theodóra was still awake. She moved over in bed and Elínborg lay down next to her. They lay quietly together for a while without speaking. Elínborg’s mind was on Lilja, who had vanished from Akranes. She thought of the young woman dumped by the road in Kópavogur who had locked herself away in her misery. She recalled Nína in tears in the interview room: imagined her, knife in hand, slashing Runólfur’s throat.

The house was silent. The boys were out and Teddi was at the garage, working late over his accounts.

‘Don’t worry, Mum,’ said Theodóra. She sensed a restlessness in her mother, who was tired and distracted. ‘Not about us, anyway. We know you sometimes have to work a lot. Don’t worry about us.’

Elínborg smiled. ‘I think I have the best daughter in the world,’ she said.

They did not speak for a while. The wind was rising, howling at the windows. Autumn was gradually giving way to winter, and to the cold and darkness it would bring.

‘What is it you must never do?’ Elínborg asked Theodóra after a few minutes. ‘Never?’

‘Never accept a lift from a stranger,’ replied Theodóra.

‘That’s right,’ said Elínborg.

‘No exceptions,’ recited Theodóra, using the words she had long since been taught by her mother. ‘No matter what they say, whether it’s a man or a woman. Never get into a car with a stranger.’

‘It’s a pity to have to say it …’ Elínborg said.

Theodóra, who had heard these words many times before, finished the sentence for her: ‘… because the majority of strangers are perfectly good people, but there are always a handful who can’t be trusted. And that’s why you must never get into a car with strangers. Even if they say they’re police officers.’

‘That’s my girl, Theodóra,’ Elínborg said.

‘Are you investigating a case like that?’

‘I don’t know,’ answered Elínborg. ‘Perhaps.’

‘Did someone accept a lift?’

‘I don’t want to tell you about what I’m doing at present,’ said Elínborg. ‘Sometimes it’s no fun to talk about work when you get home.’

‘I read in the paper that two people are being held — a man and his daughter.’

‘Yes.’

‘How did you find them?’

‘I followed my nose,’ said Elínborg smiling and pointing at her nose. ‘I think it was my sense of smell that broke the case. The daughter likes tandoori cookery, like me.’

‘So is there a spicy smell in her house, like here?’

‘Yes, much the same.’

‘Were you in danger?’

‘No, sweetheart, I wasn’t in any danger. They’re not that kind of people. I’ve told you, police officers are rarely at any risk.’

‘But the police are often attacked. On the streets.’

‘Those assailants are just hoodlums, the dregs of society,’ said Elínborg. ‘Don’t you worry about low life like that.’

Theodóra gave that some thought. Her mum had been in the police all of Theodóra’s life, but she had very little sense of her job because Elínborg did not want her to know too much about it while she was so young. Theodóra’s friends generally had some sense of what their parents did at work, but not Theodóra. She had occasionally been to police headquarters, when Elínborg had no option but to take her along. She would sit in a small office, waiting for her mother as she hurriedly finished some task. Men and women, some in uniform, others in plain clothes, would look around the door and say hello, smiling and expressing amazement at how big she was getting. All except one man, wearing an overcoat, who frowned at her and asked Elínborg brusquely what she thought she was doing with a child in a place like this. Theodóra never forgot the words the man had used: a place like this . She asked her mum who he was, but Elínborg shook her head and told her daughter to forget it — the man had his problems.

‘What is your job, Mum?’ asked Theodóra.

‘It’s just like an ordinary office job, darling,’ her mum replied. ‘Nearly finished!’

But Theodóra knew perfectly well that it was no ordinary office. She knew about some of the things police officers did in their work, and she was well aware that her mum was a police officer. Just as Elínborg finished speaking, a great commotion broke out in the corridor, where a man, handcuffed between two policemen, had gone berserk. Punching and kicking in all directions, he headbutted one of the policemen, who collapsed with blood pouring down his face. Elínborg shepherded Theodóra back into the little office and shut the door.

‘Maniacs,’ she hissed under her breath, with an apologetic smile at her daughter.

Theodóra remembered what Valthór had said, late one evening when their mum was still at work. He said she was dealing with some of the worst criminals in the country. It was one of very few occasions when Theodóra sensed that her older brother was proud of their mother.

As Theodóra lay in bed with her mother beside her, she asked the question again:

‘What is your job, Mum?’

Elínborg did not know how to respond. Theodóra had always been interested in what she did at work: curious about the details, what Elínborg was doing, what kind of people she had to deal with, who her colleagues were. Elínborg had done her best to answer Theodóra’s questions without touching on murder and rape, violence against women and children, brutal assaults. She had witnessed so much that she would have preferred not to see, and it was impossible to tell a child about it.

‘We help people,’ she said finally. ‘People who need our help. We try to make sure they can live their lives in peace.’ Elínborg stood up and smoothed the quilt over her daughter. ‘Was I not kind enough to Birkir?’ she asked.