Why Did You Lie? (28 page)

Helgi was the first to reach for his phone. The coastguard control centre seemed to have worked out that he had taken charge. Heida and Ívar sat stock still, intently following his every word. The message was blessedly short, and he hung up and told them the news: they would only have to spend one more night in the lighthouse. If they’d had any alcohol with them they would have drunk a toast.

Tóti’s fate no longer seems to matter and no one refers to the acrimonious words that passed between them earlier. Heida and Ívar seem to find it easy to shrug off recent events and act as if nothing has happened, but Helgi has the feeling that the anger is still there, lurking behind the radio equipment in the corner, conserving its energy for the coming night.

‘I’m going to have a bath.’ The woman’s face is a patchwork of dark shadows and bright, pale skin. ‘The moment I walk in the door. Then I’m going to crawl into bed and sleep for twenty-four hours. Mum’s promised to babysit for a bit longer.’ Heida had rung her mother to give her the good news and hadn’t spared her the grim details of what they’d been through. Yet it’s surprising, Helgi thinks, how few calls or messages any of them have received. None of them appears to be particularly popular. Then again, they have only been here thirty-six hours, just twelve hours longer than originally planned. People probably think they’re still immersed in the tasks they came here to perform. Perhaps nobody wants to disturb them in such cramped conditions. There isn’t really room to talk privately, after all.

Heida shudders. ‘I’m never coming back here. Screw the equipment.’ She won’t be persuaded to complete the installation, and Helgi doesn’t care enough about the assignment to put pressure on her. Besides, he thinks it might be risky to let her loose on an expensive radio transmitter in her current frame of mind. She might decide to cut all the wires or throw the whole lot on the floor.

‘I’ll need to pack in a hurry when I get home,’ Ívar announces, oblivious to the fact that neither of his companions has the slightest interest in his plans. Helgi assumes Heida is equally indifferent to what he himself is going to do since she showed no sign of asking him when the opportunity came up.

‘I’ve got to catch a flight on Tuesday. I’ll be seriously pissed off if I miss the plane. The tickets cost a bomb.’

Helgi relents. He knows perfectly well where the man is going; Ívar told him about the trip that time they met in the bar. At such tedious length that every slurred word seemed to last half a lifetime. ‘Where are you going, again?’

‘Thailand. For two months. Not bad, eh?’ Ívar smiles, failing to notice Heida’s scandalised expression. She glares and opens her mouth to comment. She’s probably about to ask if Ívar’s going there for the cheap prostitutes. Helgi’s curious to know if he’s guessed correctly, but errs on the side of caution and says nothing.

He turns to Heida. ‘So, where do you live?’ It’s all he can think of and anyway he assumes he’ll never see her again once this disastrous trip is over. He’s unlikely to run into her, though it’s strange to think their paths may cross one day at the supermarket or strolling through town. He suspects she’ll pretend not to notice him and dive behind a shelf or into the nearest shop. It would be best for both of them. His presence would only remind her of this horrible experience, and if at any point he thought he might like to get to know her, that moment has definitely passed.

‘In the west end of town. I can’t imagine living anywhere else.’

Helgi nods, hoping his opinion doesn’t show on his face. She’s obviously one of those people who doesn’t realise that not everyone can afford to have a favourite district and stay there. He, for example, has to put up with whatever accommodation he can afford, and her part of town is out of his league. ‘Is that where you’re from?’

‘Yes. Born and bred.’ She moves and the shadows play across her face. ‘You?’

‘Oh, I’ve lived here and there. Always in Reykjavík but never in the west.’ It feels odd to mention the city by name. Out here in the Atlantic it seems so far away, and although the plan is for the helicopter to rescue them tomorrow morning he can’t stop worrying that a volcanic eruption or some other natural catastrophe might take priority. Perhaps they’ll end their days out here after all. He runs through everything that could prevent the helicopter from coming: a broken rotor blade; an outbreak of food poisoning in the pilots’ canteen; the forecast of a week-long storm; a tangled winch line. Any number of other unforeseen eventualities could prolong their stay on the stack.

‘I doubt you’ll get to enjoy a bath straight away.’ Ívar shifts on his buttocks, wincing and pulling up his sleeping bag. There’s a note of tetchiness in his voice. Perhaps he
did
clock Heida’s reaction when he said where he was going. ‘We’ll be lucky if we’re allowed a shower at the police station before they throw us in the cells. You do realise we’ll all be arrested the minute we set foot in Reykjavík? If not right here on the rock, before we’re even lifted off.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Helgi is sick to death of their bickering. ‘Nobody’s going to be arrested. They’ll launch an inquiry and take it from there. It was almost certainly an accident and hopefully they’ll tell us what happened once they’ve worked it out.’

‘How do you explain the note, then?’ Ívar’s pessimism seems to have infected Heida.

‘I’m not even going to try. That’s a job for someone else.’ Yet he can’t stop himself from hazarding a guess. It might help to prevent the firestorm that is about to break out. You can almost smell their smouldering anger. ‘Perhaps the note was already in his sleeping bag when he came here. Perhaps it ended up there on some camping trip months ago. Who knows? The idea that one of us came out here with the intention of shoving it into his sleeping bag is absurd. Why would we?’ Helgi takes a deep breath and exhales a white cloud of vapour that vanishes almost immediately. ‘I know I didn’t do it, and I imagine the same goes for both of you. Anyway, I don’t understand why you’re so bothered about this
day of reckoning
business. It doesn’t mean anything to me and I refuse to get all worked up about it.’

‘
I’m
not getting worked up.’ It appears that Heida at least has come to her senses. Helgi hopes everything will be all right again. ‘And
I
didn’t put it there.’

‘Neither did I.’ Ívar sounds affronted. Of the three of them he seems to be taking the message most personally, though he refused to admit it when Helgi tried to quiz him.

‘Of course not. None of us did. We’re ordinary people who don’t go around committing murder. Obviously it was an accident and the police will work on that assumption unless they can prove otherwise, which I doubt. At any rate, it’s clear the police won’t arrest us without substantial proof.’ Helgi digs his hands into his anorak pockets to warm them. ‘I’ve never been arrested and I intend to keep it that way for the rest of my life.’

‘Does that matter?’ Heida’s voice is suddenly tremulous.

‘No. Probably not. Why?’

She doesn’t look as if she’s ever been on the wrong side of the law.

‘No, it’s just …’

‘Just what? Have you been arrested? Sentenced?’

‘No, of course I haven’t been sentenced.’ She turns pink. ‘I was done for drink driving once. Years ago. I was arrested, technically, but it was settled out of court. I got a fine and a ban. They must see there’s no way that could have any bearing on what’s happened here. If they can even be bothered to look it up.’

Helgi notices that Ívar has gone unusually quiet, where ordinarily he’d chip in with some snide remark. ‘What about you? Have you got a police record?’ The moment he asks the question, Helgi regrets it. What if the answer exposes Ívar in some way and causes him to go berserk? He could easily overpower and even kill them. They would have a hard job defending themselves in this tiny space.

‘Nothing worth mentioning.’

‘Go on, tell us. It’s only fair. I told you about mine.’ Heida leans forward as if she expects Ívar to whisper it to them.

‘It’s nothing major. I was arrested for being drunk and disorderly. It was bullshit. I got a suspended sentence.’

‘Disorderly? Did that involve violence?’ Heida’s voice betrays her eagerness for him to say yes. Helgi can guess her reasoning: if Ívar has a record of assault, he’ll probably be arrested while they are allowed to go free. Then she’ll get her bath in her nice house at the fancy end of town.

‘It had nothing to do with violence. I said drunk and disorderly. You do a lot of things when you’re drunk that you wouldn’t do sober. But no one’s ever accused me of violence, not once. So don’t try and pin it on me now.’

Helgi wishes he could put in his earphones and use music to drown out the quarrel that is brewing, even if it drains his battery, but he doesn’t dare in case he needs his phone later. The night is young. ‘Stop squabbling. Neither of you is known to the police. For God’s sake, try and bury the hatchet.’

They all fall silent and return to staring at Tóti’s sleeping bag. Helgi feels as if he knows every inch of the shiny material, every thread and stain. He assumes the same applies to the others. No one speaks until abruptly Ívar scrambles to his feet and says he’s going out for a slash. He pushes past Helgi, treading on his foot where it’s concealed by the sleeping bag. Helgi winces but doesn’t protest; it wasn’t deliberate.

Once the door has closed behind Ívar, Helgi’s and Heida’s eyes meet. He hopes he doesn’t look as despairing and frightened as she does. She licks her lips, her eyes widening. ‘That man scares me to death,’ she whispers. ‘We’ll have to take it in turns to sleep.’

‘I’m up for that.’ Helgi rubs his sore foot. ‘When he pushed past me just now I was wondering if I should ask him to hand over his knife.’ He doesn’t dare raise his voice above a whisper, either. Since the weather improved there is nothing to cover the sound of their conversation.

‘His knife? The one in his belt?’ Heida gulps. ‘Has he still got it? I thought the sheath was empty this morning. I thought he’d left it behind with his tools yesterday evening.’

‘Then he must have fetched it again. I thought I saw it. He definitely had it earlier when I went outside to bring him in.’ Helgi glances around, his gaze coming to rest on the spot where Ívar was sitting. ‘Perhaps it’s here somewhere.’ Rising to his knees, he rummages in the man’s sleeping bag. Nothing. He pulls the lamp closer and conducts a more thorough search. ‘I can hardly see a thing in this light, but I’m pretty certain it’s not here.’ Helgi moves the lamp and continues his search over a wider area. ‘Are you sure the knife wasn’t there this morning? I’m almost a hundred per cent certain I saw the handle sticking out when he went past me just now.’

‘No. I’m not at all sure.’ Heida worms her way further back until she is pressed against the wall. Helgi considers pointing out that she is no safer there and that really they ought to swap places. If all hell breaks loose, it would be better to be near the door. But it’s too much trouble to move so he says nothing.

‘Jesus. You’ve got to make him hand over the knife. The blood in the sleeping bag must have come from a stab wound. There might be traces on the blade that can be analysed. I don’t believe the blood can be washed off completely. Even if he’s cleaned it, they’ll be able to prove he stabbed Tóti. The knife’s a crucial piece of evidence.’ It takes effort to whisper for any length of time, and her breathing is ragged after this brief speech. Helgi pictures her standing out on the helipad as their rescuer is being winched down, yelling that Ívar has a knife.

‘And another thing: I don’t like the thought of him having a knife in here tonight. What if we accidentally fall asleep?’

‘I’m sure it isn’t the only weapon here.’ Helgi realises he doesn’t actually know this for certain, not having checked their supplies or sneaked a look inside his companions’ bags. ‘At least I’m assuming there must be something sharp among the tools they brought along. Or among your stuff, for that matter.’ He can’t resist needling her a little. He’s the only one who has brought nothing with him that could cause injury. At a pinch he could bludgeon someone with the camera. But he would never do that.

‘I don’t have anything like that with me.’ Heida doesn’t seem to have taken what he said personally. She clearly thinks he agrees with her about Ívar being the one to fear. Unless she’s inventing her suspicions to fool him? If so, she’s succeeding brilliantly, but he doubts she’s acting: the conversation is too boring to be deliberately manufactured. ‘And you saw his face when we found the note. I’m convinced the paper’s his. He must have dropped it when he was dragging Tóti’s body out of the sleeping bag, and he knows his fingerprints are on it. Are you sure it’s still in there?’

Helgi hopes Ívar will come back soon. He’s tired of whispering. ‘We were all shocked, remember? Not just him, though he was the only one who went nuts. And of course the note’s still there.’ Nevertheless, Helgi opens the bag with a pen and checks inside. ‘Yes, there it is.’ He settles back in the same place as before. ‘The cops’ll get to the bottom of it. Forensics are so advanced these days that they’re bound to find traces of DNA on the paper or in the bag.’ He pulls his own sleeping bag up over his thighs. ‘But if I’d stabbed somebody in such an isolated place, I’d begin by disposing of the weapon. That’s logical, isn’t it? I wouldn’t want it on me when the police arrived. Let’s hope he’s a bit slow and hasn’t worked that out yet. If not, he could be getting rid of the knife right now. And it would never be found.’

At that moment the door is flung open. An awkward silence falls, as it so often does when the person who’s being talked about comes in.

‘Don’t all speak at once.’

Helgi can feel the cold radiating from the man and decides not to go outside himself. It can wait. He sees that Heida is gazing at Ívar as if mesmerised, apparently unable to tear her eyes from the sheath hanging at his belt. It is empty.

Chapter 24

25 January 2014

The estate agent had left with the potential buyers; a young couple with a toddler whose nose they kept having to wipe when they weren’t intervening to stop it fiddling with the dishwasher controls. It was impossible to interpret the parents’ expressions; they’d exchanged glances from time to time and nodded as cupboard doors were opened or taps turned on. He had seemed more satisfied with the garage than his wife, who had grimaced and picked up the child.