Arnaldur Indridason - Outrage

‘Your sister didn’t go so peacefully,’ said Elínborg.

‘Who have you been talking to?’

‘That’s not important.’

‘There are good people here, too. Don’t get me wrong.’

‘I know that,’ said Elínborg.

‘Addý didn’t tell me anything. Not until it was too late,’ said Valdimar, his features hardening. He grasped a large spanner that lay on the front tyre of the tractor and swung it in his hand. ‘It’s one of those things that happen. She closed up. She was alone when he attacked her. We were short of money, so I got work on a freezer-trawler, and I was out at sea for weeks at a time. I’d just gone when it happened.’

Valdimar fell silent. Hunched forward, he tapped the spanner gently against his other hand. ‘She never told me anything. Never told anyone. But when I got back she was like a different person. She’d changed in some unfathomable way. She wouldn’t let me near her. I didn’t know what was happening — I was just a sixteen-year-old kid, after all. She hardly left the house, locked herself away, wouldn’t meet her two best friends. I wanted her to go to the doctor, but she wouldn’t. She asked me to leave her alone — said she’d get over it. She wouldn’t say over what. And she did make a partial recovery. It took a year or two. But she was never the same again: she was always frightened. Sometimes she would fly into a rage for no apparent reason. Other times she just sat and cried. She was depressed and anxious. I’ve read about it since — she was a textbook case.’

‘What happened?’

‘She was raped by a man from the village, in a quite horrible way. She couldn’t bring herself to tell me, or anyone else, exactly what he did to her.’

‘Was it Runólfur?’

‘Yes. There was a dance in the village. He tricked Addý into going with him down to the river near the community centre. She had no reason to suspect anything — she knew him well. They’d been classmates right through school. I’m sure he thought of her as easy meat. When he was done, he went back to the dance, carried on having a good time as if nothing had happened. But he dropped a hint of what he’d done to one of his friends, and that was how it spread gradually around the community. Except for me. I never heard a word.’

‘So that’s where it began,’ Elínborg murmured, as if to herself.

‘Have you found out about any other women he raped?’ Valdimar asked.

‘The woman we’ve got in custody. No one else has come forward.’

‘Maybe there are more like Addý,’ said Valdimar. ‘He threatened to kill her if she spoke out.’ Valdimar stopped knocking the spanner against his hand, looked up and met Elínborg’s stare. ‘All those years, she was a broken woman. However much time passed, it made no difference.’

‘I believe that,’ said Elínborg.

‘And when she was finally able to confide in me it was too late for her.’

After Addý had finished speaking, brother and sister sat together for a long time in his flat over the garage. Valdimar held his sister’s hand and stroked her hair. He had sat next to her as she told him her story, which grew more difficult and heartbreaking as it went along.

‘It’s been so horribly hard,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve often been on the point of simply giving up.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ asked Valdimar, dumbstruck with horror. ‘Why have you never said anything before? I could have helped you.’

‘What could you have done, Valdi? You were so young. I was hardly more than a child myself. What was I supposed to do? Who could have helped us against that animal? Would it have made any difference if he’d served a few months in jail? Rape isn’t a serious offence, Valdi. Not to the men in charge. You know I’m right.’

‘But how have you kept it bottled up all this time?’

‘I’ve just done my best to live with it. Some days are better than others. You’ve been such a comfort to me, Valdi. I don’t think there can be a better brother in the world.’

‘Runólfur,’ murmured Valdimar.

His sister turned towards him. ‘Don’t go doing anything foolish, Valdi. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. I’d never have told you otherwise.’

‘She didn’t tell me until the day before she gave up the fight,’ said Valdimar, with a look at Elínborg. ‘I let go of her for a minute — and that was enough. I didn’t realise she was in such a bad way, how deeply he’d wounded her. They found her that evening on the seashore below the churchyard. Runólfur moved to Reykjavík soon after he raped my sister, and after that he only made brief visits here.’

‘You need advice. You must talk to a lawyer,’ said Elínborg. ‘Please don’t say any more.’

‘I don’t need a lawyer,’ replied Valdimar. ‘What I needed was justice. I went to see him, and I found he was still at it.’

The pill worked faster than Runólfur expected and Nína leaned heavily against him on the way up to Thingholt, towards his home. She seemed very susceptible to the drug. She clung on to him and he had to half-carry her the last few steps. They did not go in from the front of the house but through the back garden, so he did not expect anyone to notice them. He did not switch on any lights when they entered, and he laid her gently on the sofa in the living room.

He shut the door, went into the kitchen, lit candles, arranged them in the bedroom, and then lit two more in the living room. He took his jacket off. The candlelight cast an eerie glow over the flat. He was thirsty. He drank a large glass of water and put on some music from one of his favourite films. He bent over Nína, took the shawl, bundled it up and flung it into the bedroom before pulling off her San Francisco T-shirt. She was not wearing a bra.

Runólfur carried her into the bedroom, then removed the rest of her clothes and undressed himself. She was unconscious. He squeezed himself into her T-shirt and looked down at her naked motionless body. He smiled, and bit off the corner of a condom wrapper.

His whole mind was focused on the young woman.

He lay down on top of her unmoving body, stroked her breasts, and thrust his tongue into her unresponsive mouth.

About half an hour later he left the room and changed the music. Serenely, he picked out another film theme, and turned the volume up a little higher.

As Runólfur was returning to the bedroom there was a knock at the door. He looked towards it, not believing what he was hearing. On two occasions since he moved to Thingholt revellers had come to his door late at night, in search of a party on their way from the city centre after a night’s drinking. They had either forgotten the address or were lost, and he had only been able to get rid of them by answering the door. He stood in the living room, glanced into the bedroom, then back at the door. The knocking was repeated, louder this time. His caller was persistent. One such night-time visitor had been calling out for someone named Sigga who he thought lived there.

Runólfur hurriedly put on his jeans, half-closed the bedroom door, then cautiously opened the front door and peered out. There was no porch light and he could only vaguely discern a figure standing on the doorstep.

‘What-?’ he began, but got no further. A man shoved hard against the door, burst into the flat, and swiftly shut the door behind him.

Runólfur was so astonished that he did not even try to resist the invasion.

‘Are you alone?’ asked Valdimar.

Runólfur recognised him at once. ‘You?’ he asked. ‘How …? What do you want?’

‘Have you got someone with you?’ asked Valdimar.

‘Get the fuck out of here!’ hissed Runólfur.

He saw the handle of a cut-throat razor in Valdimar’s hand, and a split second later the flash of the blade. In a moment, Valdimar had clenched his hand around Runólfur’s throat and thrust him hard against the wall, holding the razor to his skin. Valdimar was a much taller, stronger man. Runólfur was paralysed with terror. Valdimar scanned his surroundings and, through the half-open bedroom door, saw Nína’s feet in the bed. ‘Who’s in there?’ he asked.