Viktor Ingolfsson - The Flatey Enigma

“What drew you to this club?”

“Vanity.”

“Oh?”

“I was pretty well read in various foreign authors. My uncle, who was a sailor, used to bring me back quite a few books from abroad, which I loosely translated for the meetings. I was therefore able to supply some pretty good reading material. I thought it would give me some kudos when I was invited to join, and I enjoyed having a drink or two.”

“What happened then?”

“When new members were taken in, they had to kneel under the sword, as they called it. The club owned an old Viking-style sword. It was a good replica they had gotten some skilled blacksmith to make for them many decades earlier. And the sword was both heavy and sharp. One of the members held the sword up in the air over the block, and the new member was supposed to kneel under it. Part of the Jomsviking saga was read out during the ceremony, and at some point in the text, the sword would be swung down. The patter went something like this in the end: ‘A hirdman took hold of the hair and twisted it round his hands and held Sveinn’s head on the block with both hands, as Thorkell prepared to slam down his sword.’ That was the cue, when the words ‘slam down his sword’ were spoken, the sword was supposed to be swung. The new member could always see the executioner’s shadow and get his head out of the way in time. The longer you could hold your head on the block for before the sword dropped, the braver you were considered to be. In the story the hirdman’s hands are cut off when Sveinn pulls his head off the block, so everyone at the meeting would shout out in unison, ‘Whose hands are in my hair?’ and that was it, the new member had been initiated.”

“Why were you holding the sword on this occasion?”

“There was a certain prestige to it. When you’d been a member of the society for a while and created a niche for yourself, then you got to draw the sword once and that elevated you to a higher status. Bryngeir suggested I be given the role that night.”

“But there was an accident?”

“Yes, there was an accident-or it looked like an accident. I swung the sword down on cue and could see that Einar had pulled his head away from the block under me. But then it was like he’d hit a wall because he bounced right back just as the sword was coming down. It struck him in the back of the head and he died instantly.”

“It must have been a shock for you?”

“Yes, of course, horrific. When the sword hit the obstacle, it seemed hard at first, the way you’d expect the block to be, but then it was strangely soft. When I realized what had happened it was as if I’d been hit by a train, and I collapsed with my head hitting the edge of a table.”

Kjartan lifted his hand and stroked the scar on his forehead.

“So it was an accident, then, or what?”

“Yes, of course, a horrendous accident. But then someone said I’d swung the sword too soon. And instead of backing me in the police investigation, my companions testified that I had swung the sword faster and harder than normal. They said that this was normally a harmless prank that put no one in danger.”

“Was that true?”

“No, it was part of the ritual to ensure that the sword remained firmly planted in the block after the strike.”

“According to my information, you blamed Bryngeir for the accident.”

“Yes. When I was over the initial shock a few days later, I was able to recall the scene. I’m sure that Bryngeir was standing behind Einar and kicked him back onto the block.”

“Weren’t you believed?”

“No, and someone even testified that Bryngeir wasn’t in the room. It was used against me to give me a heavier sentence when the verdict was reached. They said I was making false accusations. I spent five years in jail, as you undoubtedly know.”

Thorolfur nodded. “So you just came here and took the law into your own hands!”

Kjartan shook his head. “I never asked to come here. I expected to be doing other things when I accepted this summer job.”

“How did you react when you met Bryngeir here?”

“I didn’t know who the reporter was until I saw Bryngeir dead in the churchyard. It was a terrible shock for me.”

“Where were you on Sunday evening?”

“I went for a walk across the island and popped into the library on the way back. Doctor Johanna was there.”

“Did you know that she’d been the late Einar’s girlfriend?”

“I didn’t know that then, but I do now.”

“How did you first find out?”

“She told me late that night after a long conversation.”

“Did she tell you that Bryngeir had confessed to her that he had caused Einar’s death?”

“Yes.”

“How did you respond to that?”

“I was greatly relieved to hear it.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Even though I believed the accident hadn’t been my fault, it was good to hear it confirmed. Not that it could take away all those years of hell I had to go through.”

“You perhaps wanted to reap vengeance on Bryngeir?”

“I’ve been struggling to find peace with myself and start a new life. Bryngeir wasn’t supposed to come into the picture.”

“But he did come into the picture?”

“Yes. He was like a resuscitated ghost there in the churchyard. I thought I’d had a nervous breakdown when I saw him there yesterday morning.”

“Do you feel better today?”

“Yes. I went to Johanna yesterday afternoon to ask her for something to help me. She gave me some tranquilizers, and I managed to recover.”

“It was pretty handy finding a shrink on the island you could go to.” That last comment came from Lukas, who had just entered the room and joined in the interview. “But I find these coincidences a bit odd,” he continued. “A notorious boozehound of a hack arrives here from Reykjavik. Within twenty-four hours he’s pranced all over the island, creating a racket and offending people left, right, and center, and yet you two innocent lambs hadn’t the faintest idea that he was here! Isn’t that just a little bit too incredible?”

“I knew about the reporter, but I didn’t know who he was. I later came to the conclusion that he’d tried to avoid me and Johanna. I guess that’s hardly surprising.”

“Yeah, sure, that’s what he did, but then he decided to pop in to see Johanna on Sunday night,” said Lukas.

A crew member from the coast guard ship stuck his head through the door and handed Thorolfur an envelope.

“We were both in the library that night,” Kjartan continued. “So he must have found the door locked when he arrived.”

“But what if he bumped into the two of you together?” said Lukas. “With no other witnesses around, and you with a newly purchased penknife in your hands. Wouldn’t it have been tempting to even the score with that monster?”

Kjartan gave a start and groped his trouser pockets.

“You did buy a penknife in the store, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but I think I’ve lost it. There’s a hole in my pocket.”

“Right. But I think the story went like this: Bryngeir went to see Johanna. He entered the doctor’s house, which was unlocked, and poked around when no one answered. Johanna was, yes, in the library chatting to you. Being the scoundrel that he was, Bryngeir, of course, took the opportunity to look around the doctor’s house, even though there was a dead body lying in there. And what do you know? He found Professor Gaston Lund’s papers, which Johanna had put aside last fall, after she’d taken the sleeping old man to Ketilsey. Something must have put Bryngeir on the right track in the Lund case, according to what witnesses say. Anyway. Then Bryngeir staggers outside and decides to walk across the churchyard when who should he meet in the middle of it but you and Johanna. And you hadn’t lost your penknife then yet, had you? So after saying good evening to him, you both pin the punk to the ground with his face pressed into the ground to smother his cries and start carving up his back and pulling his lungs out through the cuts. Or was it maybe the doctor who did that bit? Anyway, when you were done you draped him over a tombstone and went home to celebrate a job well done. You just didn’t have the good sense to look through his pockets, where you would have found the papers he’d stolen a few moments earlier.”