Why Did You Lie? (40 page)

‘So Thröstur didn’t remember the garage when we bought the flat?’

‘Apparently not. Which is understandable. How much do you remember from when you were that age? I can’t even describe the house I was living in when I was seven.’

‘Why did he want to quote Vala?’ Nína asked. ‘What did she know about historical paedophiles?’

‘After he made this discovery, Thröstur decided to change his angle; to write about Stefán’s suicide and mention the part played by the three of them.’

‘What do you mean?’ Various ugly versions of what might have happened ran through her mind: three skinny little kids knotting a noose; one of them Thröstur.

Örvar’s computer bleeped. He turned to the screen to check his e-mail. It only took a moment but felt like a lifetime to Nína. She had been waiting so long for this information that it wasn’t fair to have to wait any longer. She had to stifle a sigh of relief when Örvar finally turned back to her. ‘Apparently the kids saw a man enter the garage and come out again shortly afterwards. In other words, they lied when they repeatedly insisted they hadn’t seen anyone. The man noticed them as he was about to make off and came over. He grabbed Vala’s arm and told them that if they ever told anyone they’d seen him come out, he’d murder them. But first he’d kill their mothers, cut off their arms and legs and drown them in the sea – in front of the children. Then he’d do the same to them. He frightened the life out of them so they didn’t dare disobey. They promised to say they hadn’t seen anyone going in or coming out. And they kept their word.’

Nína felt dizzy. The moment when the policeman in the video had told Thröstur he mustn’t hurt his mother suddenly acquired a whole new meaning that the officer hadn’t intended. ‘How could the man have dreamt that they’d keep quiet?’

‘Because he knew from experience that children don’t open their mouths if you threaten them badly enough. He’d been sexually abusing children for years, so these kids got off very lightly compared to some of the others who crossed his path. Think of all the people who are coming forward now and opening up about abuse they suffered thirty, forty years ago; people who’ve kept quiet about much uglier secrets than this, just because their abuser convinced them that something terrible would happen if they opened their mouths.’ Örvar fell silent and looked at her, puzzled. ‘Why do you think Thröstur didn’t tell you any of this if he was planning to make it public anyway? You were pretty close, weren’t you?’

‘Of course. We were married.
Are
married.’ It wasn’t only the patronising tone of his questions that aroused her resentment. She was also unhappy about the implications they contained. Why
hadn’t
Thröstur told her? Did he think she wouldn’t understand? She was his wife and best friend first; a cop only a poor second.

‘Calm down.’

These words really made Nína’s hackles rise – whenever she heard them. She’d often wondered if people realised how counter-productive they were. But she remained silent and allowed Örvar to continue.

‘I’ll tell you what the letter said about that. It seems that Vala had been longing to explain to her husband why she hadn’t told him. She mentioned that Thröstur had kept it quiet too, so she hadn’t been alone.’

‘Why did they?’ Nína wanted Örvar to tell her, even if the answer proved to be humiliating for her. She knew nothing about his relationship with his wife but could only hope they fought like cat and dog. Perhaps that was why he was always at work. The thought made her feel a little better.

‘Vala didn’t want to confide in her husband because he was a control freak when it came to his family. He wanted everything to be perfect: their home, health, their whole life together. The fact that she’d lied to the police as a child would in no way fit in with that picture. She wrote that she’d buried the incident at the back of her mind and avoided thinking about it, so she hadn’t unburdened herself to him at the beginning of their relationship. As the years went by it grew more and more difficult to bring up the subject, especially as there was no reason to. Then Thröstur rang. You can imagine how shocked she was when he said he wanted to quote her in the article. She also wrote that Thröstur had told her he was in the same position: his wife didn’t know anything; she was a police officer, so it was a sensitive issue. But he was going to come clean before the article appeared. Does this sound familiar at all?’

Nína shook her head. ‘No.’ Her voice was high and brittle as glass. She felt as if she were crumbling into little pieces. ‘He never told me.’

‘No. I couldn’t be sure.’ At last there was a trace of sympathy in Örvar’s voice. ‘Did you receive any letters at all – strange, threatening notes?’

‘No. None.’ Nína was reduced to monosyllables. Every word stung.

‘Vala did. And Aldís informed me earlier that Lárus did too. She’d just woken up and saw the news about the events in Skerjafjördur. She told me everything that she presumably shared with you last night.’ Örvar gave Nína the chance to add something but she merely nodded warily. ‘Vala hid the letters,’ Örvar continued, ‘like Lárus. I imagine that as a lawyer he wasn’t keen for this to leak out. But Vala didn’t throw the letters away because she was afraid the threats might be serious and she wanted to be able to bring them out if anything happened. But she failed to do so when it appeared that the people who were staying in their house had vanished. She closed her eyes to the obvious explanation. The first notes had arrived before they did their house swap and Vala had hoped things would die down while they were abroad. She can’t have realised the danger she was putting their guests in.’

Nína sat up. Her self-confidence revived a little. ‘Could she have made the whole thing up? I doubt Thröstur would have got an article like that published in the paper. It has no substance. It doesn’t prove anything, be it child abuse or anything else. Three children told a lie – that’s not news.’

‘No, but Thröstur uncovered the identity of the man who threatened them. There was a picture of him among the old documents. He tracked him down, confronted him and told him he was going to tell all.’

‘All what?’

‘That he’d dug up enough evidence to expose him. This was the man Stefán had been planning to write about. Thröstur added that he was going to put forward the theory that this man had been involved somehow in Stefán’s death. And I’m fairly sure he was right. Why else would it have been so vital for the man that the children didn’t let on they’d seen him?’ Now it was Örvar’s turn to sag in his chair. He seemed to have shrunk all of a sudden. ‘I should have followed my own conviction at the time. I sensed that Stefán’s widow was onto something but I didn’t do enough. I was so young and new to the force. She ended up in the gutter and her son was a more pitiful sight every time we went round. It’s weighed on me ever since. I’ve seen worse, but this was the first human tragedy I witnessed. You don’t forget something like that.’

‘Why did you take the reports?’ Nína was exhausted. She couldn’t bear any more. She had her explanation but she felt just as awful as before.

‘I heard someone say that they’d received a call from one of the papers about an old case involving a suicide in a garage. I hadn’t a clue it was Thröstur who’d rung; his name wasn’t mentioned and the person who took the call obviously didn’t connect him to you. I said I’d deal with it next time the paper called and went down and fetched the file. But the call never came. This was at the beginning of December. We both know why no one rang back.’

‘Does that mean you still have the file somewhere?’

‘No. I can’t find it. Perhaps it got thrown out by accident.’

Nína knew Örvar was lying and he seemed to sense the fact. He didn’t give her a chance to speak: ‘I suggest you take some leave. Thröstur’s case will be reopened and Lárus’s too. It would be best for everyone, you most of all, if you stayed away from the station while this is going on. We believe the man who killed Stefán may have been involved in Lárus’s death and possibly Thröstur’s too. The plan is to gather evidence and arrest him as soon as we’ve put a case together and can be sure we’ve got the right man. At the moment we only have his first name. But the investigation’s only just been launched and there’s no reason to believe we won’t have all the necessary information very shortly. We could even arrest him as early as the middle of this week. Until then it’s vital that you keep away. You mustn’t under any circumstances try to make contact with the man. If you don’t think you can stop yourself, I’ll have you locked up in the cells.’

There were plenty of things he could do as her boss but throwing her in the cells wasn’t one of them.

‘I have no desire to meet this man. Not now.’ Nína stood up. ‘I’ve got to go over to the hospital. I won’t be going in tomorrow or the next day. Or ever again, probably.’ There was no pleasure in knowing that Thröstur might not have intended to kill himself after all. She had persuaded herself that the only thing that mattered was to find an explanation; that it would be easier for her to cope if she only knew why. Now she was close to knowing but felt just as bad. Thröstur had gone and would never come back.

Before opening the door she turned round. ‘What’s his name? I need to know so I have a name in mind when I curse him and gloat over what’s in store for him. Not for any other reason. You can be sure I won’t discuss it with anyone – not the business of the files or our conversation just now.’

Örvar studied her and seemed satisfied from her expression that she could be relied on. She was obviously too tired for pretence.

‘His name is Ívar.’

Chapter 34

28 January 2014

It is still pitch black in the lighthouse. The only light emanates from their torch beams, which are becoming worryingly yellow and weak. Fortunately, however, there is a promise in the air that the winter dawn is not far off. Helgi and Heida retreated indoors when they could no longer withstand the bitter cold outside on the helipad. It is freezing inside as well and they are sitting huddled in their sleeping bags again. They long ago ran out of things to say. Heida’s eyelids are beginning to droop and Helgi sees her head nodding onto her chest.

Ívar is the only one who has managed to sleep properly, though even he has stirred regularly. Once he sat up and ate half of the unappetising prawn sandwich that Helgi had left him. Heida had been fully awake at that point and they had both sat watching him in silence while he wolfed down the sandwich in two large bites. Heida’s face contorted in disgust when Ívar belched before lying down to sleep again. Helgi thought he himself had probably looked pained as well.

Now there is no way of telling how Heida is feeling; sleep has obliterated all expression, her mouth hangs slackly open and by the waning torchlight there is no colour in her face apart from two red blotches of cold on her cheeks. She reminds him uncomfortably of a blow-up doll.

Ívar has turned to face the wall but Helgi has no wish to see him anyway – his snores are bad enough. It has occurred to him to pull the sleeping bag over the other man’s mouth but that might wake him.

Suddenly a blue light illuminates the shiny fabric of Heida’s sleeping bag. A shockingly loud, cheery ringtone fills the tiny space and Ívar’s snores fade as if out of courtesy. Heida is jolted awake, her hair flying back, and stares around in bewilderment.

‘Your phone was ringing.’ Helgi points to the flat object in her lap. It lights up and starts ringing again.

‘What time is it?’ Her voice is despairing, like someone afraid they’ve missed a flight.

‘Why don’t you answer?’ Helgi’s keen to stop the noise as Ívar has begun to stir. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet but they seem to be moving under their lids.

‘Hello.’ Heida’s voice is husky from sleep. ‘Yes, that’s me.’ A look of astonishment crosses her face. ‘Yes, there are three of us.’ Again she falls silent. ‘In the lighthouse.’ She looks at Helgi and frowns, then puts her hand over the phone and whispers to him. ‘It’s the coastguard.’ Then she concentrates on what the person at the other end is saying. ‘What?’ She wrinkles her brow, perplexed. ‘I don’t understand. Aren’t you coming?’

‘Don’t say that!’ Helgi blurts out, louder than intended. Ívar opens his eyes and seems to be trying to work out where he is.

Heida’s gaze is lowered. She strokes the shiny material as if picking up pieces of text message that have fallen from her phone. ‘OK. We’re ready.’ She looks up and smiles at Helgi. ‘Should we wait outside or inside?’ It’s a stupid question, as she seems to realise. Even if they cut up their sleeping bags and stuffed the down into their ears, they still couldn’t fail to hear the helicopter arriving. ‘What?’

Ívar rises on his elbow. ‘Who’s she talking to?’ He speaks loudly and Heida turns away, trying to hear what’s being said on the phone.

‘Coastguard,’ Helgi whispers but Ívar answers as loudly as before.

‘What? Has my battery died or did I sleep through the ringing?’ He roots around in his sleeping bag, pulls out his phone and checks the screen with a disgruntled look. Up to now the coastguard has called either him or Helgi, who can’t help smiling at this latest development.

Heida raises her voice and Helgi’s smile fades. ‘Can’t you come at once? Now, I mean. Straight away. We can’t stay here with this man. I knew it. I knew it. I said so all along.’ Her eyes are stark with terror. ‘I can’t stay here any longer. You’ve got to get me out of here. Now. At once.’ She scrambles out of her sleeping bag, her movements violent.

‘What on earth’s wrong?’ Helgi can’t believe Heida’s losing control now, when it’s so nearly over. She is staring rigidly at Ívar, her breathing ragged. Helgi gets up and says firmly: ‘Heida, give me the phone. I’ll talk to him.’ Heida backs into the corner, as if she wishes she could escape through the wall. ‘Give me the phone.’ To his astonishment, she obeys.

‘Helgi here. Anything wrong?’ The question is redundant but he can’t help hoping that the answer will surprise him.

The man at the other end speaks with the calm deliberation of a person telling someone that a tiger is standing behind him, baring its teeth. ‘Your phone’s dead.’