Dark as Night, page 8
Áróra rose and Agla was obviously delighted that she didn’t intend to sit there making endless small talk.
‘I’ll get cracking on it straightaway,’ she said, thinking to herself she’d need every ounce of concentration to start on such a big, tedious project when all she wanted was to sit and watch the little three-year-old girl who said she was her sister.
32
Róbert turned on the fuses in the box he’d fitted in the greenhouse and plugged in the electric heater. He hadn’t had the foresight to run a pipe into the greenhouse when he installed the heating in the main house, but now he’d moved in maybe he could remedy that. He would enjoy designing some sort of energy-efficient heating system for the house. And of course it would be good for him to have a project to work on as time wore on. When he started to get bored. Because that was bound to happen sooner or later. Going out on dates and hunting for guys wasn’t on the menu. Gay clubs and dating apps were the first places they’d look, so he was better off steering clear of all that. The best way to combat loneliness was to keep himself busy.
The temperature outside was more or less average for April, around five degrees centigrade, and with the help of the electric heater he could easily get it up to fifteen or sixteen in the greenhouse. He plugged in the heating pads and arranged them on the bench. Then he put coir grow cubes into the trays, placed them on the heating pads and filled them with water. The cubes swelled up and the trays quickly warmed. He went back into the house to check on the freezer. The light on the side indicated it was in fast-freeze mode, so the food he’d bought yesterday should be fine. He went into the kitchen, put two slices of bread into the toaster and fetched butter and cheese from the fridge. He would miss the cheese when it ran out, but then he’d have all the frozen pâté. He needn’t venture out to buy food for a long time. According to his calculations he had enough provisions to last him a year – even if in the last few months he might be living off dried and tinned goods from the pantry. And eggs of course, as well as vegetables from his greenhouse. With any luck his hens would lay and his greenhouse would be plentiful.
He felt a knot tighten in the pit of his stomach, and he drew a deep breath to try to relax. He was a physicist. His PhD thesis had attracted international interest. There was nothing he couldn’t learn. He could memorise everything he read, and was told his deductive reasoning powers were excellent. Growing food, a fundamental skill that most of mankind had mastered, should therefore not be beyond him. It all came down to self-confidence. Whenever they’d caught up with him his self-confidence had taken a battering. He needed to keep reminding himself that each time this happened he had managed to elude them. And this time his plan was so bulletproof he must be safe. Providing he didn’t show his face in any towns and was careful not to leave any tracks for them to follow when he went online.
The toast on his plate was finished but he’d forgotten to enjoy it. He was so immersed in his thoughts and anxieties he’d eaten it without realising. He may as well have gobbled down a bowl of flavourless cereal. Not to savour good cheese was truly wasteful. He must rein himself in. Use some self-discipline. Reflect. Calm down. The last four years had been fun, but he’d gone a bit wild. A lot of drinking, a lot of partying, and loads of guys. And at the same time he’d used his brain very little, and hadn’t had a new idea for ages. Yes, he’d elaborated his back-up plan. Driven south over Hellisheiði practically every week to work on the house, read everything he could find on self-sufficient living and apocalypse preparation, but he’d made no new discoveries himself. And that wasn’t good for his brain. The brain was like a muscle – it grew stronger with use.
He got to his feet, left the plate in the sink and drained his glass of water. Then he went into the pantry, fetched the plastic seed trays and grabbed three bags of potatoes on his way out.
33
Elísabet hadn’t even wanted to open the door properly, but had kept it half closed and peered through the crack. Inside the apartment beyond, Áróra could hear Ester Lóa playing, and she longed to push her way in, sit on the floor with the little girl and play with her. Talk to her. Embrace her. But the expression on Elísabet’s face had been almost beseeching and she spoke in hushed tones.
‘Actually, your boyfriend told us to stay away from you,’ she said. ‘And we don’t want to be upsetting you like this. It’s a very emotional subject, naturally, and even though we believe Ester Lóa, we can’t prove any of it’s true. That she really is your sister.’
Áróra was fuming with rage now as she drove, a little too fast, in the direction of the police station. Daníel had told her he would talk to them, not ruin everything. She texted him while she was waiting for the lights to turn green on Sæbraut and asked him to come downstairs. She needed to speak to him. Daníel would know what this meant, as whenever she picked him up from work Áróra always parked on Rauðarástígur, the street that ran alongside the police station. And that’s where he was when she drew up. Standing on the pavement waiting next to an empty parking space.
She had planned to begin by asking him exactly what he’d said to Elísabet, but before she knew it she had leapt screaming from the car, her mind a blind fog, with an overwhelming urge to break something.
‘Why the hell did you have to ruin everything?’ she shouted at him, slamming the car door hard. Seeing Daníel flinch did nothing to calm her. He took a few steps back and raised his palm in a defensive gesture while she kept yelling. ‘She wouldn’t even let me in to talk to the child. This is the first contact I’ve had with my sister in three years!’ Daníel murmured something which she couldn’t hear above her own yells. ‘I ask for your help, your support, and then you go meddling and ruin everything! How is that supposed to help me? Eh?’
She calmed down when she heard Helena’s voice ring out sharply next to her. Áróra hadn’t noticed her arrive, but it was obvious she’d come running, as she was out of breath.
‘The couple hosts a true-crime podcast!’ snapped Helena. ‘Weekly episodes, plus a whole website in English exclusively devoted to Icelandic crimes. What the hell did you think they wanted from you?’
It was like an ice-cold jet of water in her face. Both the information and how it was delivered. Helena seemed furious.
‘Huh?’ Áróra gazed in bewilderment at Daníel, who had backed up as far as the grey wall of the police station, and then again at Helena, who stood on the pavement, a look of determination on her face, arms folded across her chest.
‘Maybe you should take a few breaths and ask before losing your rag,’ Helena said, her eyes drilling into Áróra.
‘They’ve clearly coached the child in order to extract information from family members,’ said Daníel gently, his voice was filled with compassion.
‘But the little girl knows things only Dad and I and Ísafold — ’
Áróra broke off when Helena lifted up her phone to show her an article with a photograph of Áróra’s father holding her and her sister. Áróra took the phone from her and zoomed into the image. It was an old interview with her father taken when he won the Strongest Man in Iceland title.
‘He talks about his two daughters being complete opposites, both in physique and personality. You’re a troll like him and Ísafold is a skinny little elf girl.’
Áróra felt her knees suddenly buckle, and she collapsed onto the bonnet of the car. Could this be true? Was it that simple: Elísabet and Lárus dug up an old interview and some articles about her family and Ísafold’s disappearance, taught their daughter a few key phrases which, in her desperation to learn something about her sister’s fate, she had fallen for hook line and sinker?
‘Maybe mind the buttons on the back pockets of your jeans? I mean so as not to scratch the paintwork on the Tesla.’ Daníel said this in a soft hesitant voice, but it irritated Áróra all the same.
‘Ugh, Daníel, is this my fucking car or yours?’ she snapped without thinking, and instantly regretted it.
‘Maybe we should all go back to our jobs?’ Helena said, addressing herself to Daníel. She plucked her phone from Áróra’s hand and started back towards the police station.
Daníel hesitated for a moment, as if he expected Áróra to say something, then he nodded and followed Helena. Áróra was left behind with a hollow feeling inside. This glimmer of hope, the bittersweet pang of joy that Elísabet’s phone call had sparked in her had now died out. So the whole thing was a hoax. Or was it? Elísabet’s parting words whispered hastily through the half-closed door just now flashed into her mind. She called after Daníel and Helena.
‘But how did the child know that Ísafold was put in a suitcase?’ The two stopped dead in their tracks on the corner, as if they were playing grandmother’s footsteps. Then they wheeled round as one.
‘Huh?’ Daníel came walking back towards Áróra, a look of bewilderment on his face, Helena following fast on his heels.
‘Elísabet whispered through the crack in the door that the child said the ice-bear put her in a suitcase and carried her out to the car.’
34
It felt cosy inside the greenhouse even though the thermometer only showed ten degrees. The house sheltered it from the cold spring breeze and the lights added a bright, summery feel. It was as if the grow lamps tricked the brain into thinking they were radiating sunlight. He would install a chair in the middle of the greenhouse and sit there to read. It would be a good way to ward off depression. But right now he had work to do. The water in the drip trays was sufficiently warm and the swollen grow cubes moist enough for Robbi to begin sowing his seeds.
First he planted a row of regular tomato seeds. Then one of cherry tomatoes. A total of fourteen tomato plants of which, according to his research, he might expect half to come up. Afterwards he planted two rows of cucumber seeds, two of courgette, three of spinach and finally half a row of parsley and half of basil. He would plant the herb and spinach seeds at ten-day intervals to ensure he always had a supply.
Later that spring he might sneak up to Hveragerði in a face mask and buy some nice fruit trees, such as a grapevine or fig. Perhaps a cherry tree if they had one. He could drive the long way round and he knew of an old ramshackle nursery where they certainly didn’t have CCTV.
He planted the sweet-pepper seeds in a big flower pot. Eight in total. With any luck four of them would come up. He gave the soil a good soaking and congratulated himself on all his research into growing vegetables. That was two years ago now, yet he remembered everything he’d read. Everything he needed to remember. He could retain information in his head endlessly and retrieve it whenever necessary. It was only his emotions that were always in some kind of turmoil. They were what made him doubt himself.
He placed the covers on the seedling trays and stretched some plastic over the pot with the sweet-pepper seeds, then went out of the greenhouse, carrying the bags of potatoes. He took them into the outhouse and emptied them onto the floor. The horse was out in the paddock but now it ambled over, as if to see what Robbi was up to. Robbi had fenced off the horse’s side of the outhouse by erecting a simple barrier made out of some old pallets so it couldn’t get at the potatoes, even at full stretch.
‘They should sprout in here, old boy,’ he said to the horse, which stood with its hindquarters outside, as though ready to bolt if Robbi tried to catch it. Clearly the animal was in no mood to take another trip anytime soon. ‘I know how you feel,’ said Robbi. ‘I’m as bow-legged as a cowboy today. And I imagine you’re exhausted too, darling. That’s what comes of too much riding.’ The horse didn’t respond to his feeble joke and headed back out to the paddock as soon as Robbi left the outhouse. Tomorrow he’d fence off a bigger area for the horse. And begin digging his potato patch.
35
‘She doesn’t look right to me,’ said Helena on their way up the stairs to their office. ‘She’s not her usual self. It’s strange seeing her so angry.’
‘She’s always had a quick temper,’ said Daníel, aware of how he sounded – excusing bad behaviour.
‘But that wasn’t normal rage just now,’ said Helena. ‘I think maybe you’re right about the steroids.’ She took hold of Daníel’s arm, and he pulled up short. ‘Did she hit you?’ she asked, pointing at his face. ‘Did she do this?’ Helena looked so concerned he couldn’t help giving a chuckle.
‘No, Helena,’ he said. ‘It was the guys who took the phone off you at the filling station. The ones looking for Gúgúlú. Which is why I don’t think they’re cops.’
‘Okay,’ Helena said raising her finger, as if she were a school ma’am. ‘But this is no laughing matter. Men are victims of domestic violence, too, and it’s something we need to take seriously.’
‘Absolutely,’ Daníel said, looking straight at her and nodding his head. ‘You’re a good friend,’ he said smiling. ‘Looking out for me like this.’ Now it was Helena’s turn to feel self-conscious and she bounded up the last few stairs.
‘Lay off,’ she said bashfully and knocked on the commissioner’s door, which swung open almost the same instant.
‘I have three minutes,’ said the commissioner. ‘Spill it.’ She strode back to her desk, which seemed incongruously small in the airy room, and stood rifling through some papers.
Daníel did the talking. ‘I’ll send you a more detailed email, but in a nutshell a couple has come forward claiming their child is some sort of medium between the living and the dead. Under any other circumstances we’d dismiss this as nonsense, naturally. However, their account of the events surrounding the disappearance and possible death of Ísafold Jónsdóttir is significant.’
The police chief immediately glanced up from her papers, her eyes lingering on Daníel’s lip for a second. ‘Significant in what way?’
‘Because their description of the attack on Ísafold coincides with the bloodstain patterns we found in the apartment, and now they’re saying she was put in a suitcase and driven away in a car. Forensics identified a large urine stain in the boot of Björn’s car that contained traces of blood, but no hair, skin or clothing fibres. On the other hand there were scratch marks around the rim of the boot, suggesting a heavy object had been dragged out of it. The car had been thoroughly cleaned, so it was difficult to tell how recent the damage was, but it could have been made by a suitcase.’
‘This nonsense spouted by these mediums, or whatever they are, sounds like a leak coming from our department,’ said the commissioner. ‘And we need to plug it.’
Daníel and Helena nodded as one. The odd pretext they’d given her didn’t matter, all they needed was the commissioner’s permission to follow this lead. ‘By all means utilise the station’s resources to look into this, but if we officially relaunch the investigation we’ll need to put someone else in charge because of your personal connection with the case, Daníel.’
‘Absolutely,’ he replied, and Helena nodded beside him.
36
Ari Benz Liu, chief superintendent in the International Department at the Police Commissioner’s Office, was sitting at his computer with his headphones on and didn’t hear Daníel knocking at his half-open door then walking in. Ari was immersed in something and listening to music at the same time, it seemed, from the way his head bobbed rhythmically up and down. Daníel tapped his desk, and finally Ari looked up and removed his headphones. His face broke into a broad smile.
‘Daníel, old man!’ he exclaimed. ‘How are things?’
‘Fine,’ said Daníel, sitting down on the chair opposite Ari. ‘I wanted to ask you something I think you might know about.’
‘Go ahead.’ Ari rested his elbows on the desk and leaned forward.
‘I wanted to know whether any foreign law-enforcement agencies are operating in Iceland right now. Or any undercover intelligence agents or anything like that?’
‘Ah.’ Ari sat up in his chair. ‘Actually there aren’t, and even if there were you know I’m not really at liberty to tell you. This kind of stuff is on a strictly need-to-know basis. Why do you ask?’
‘Because I think I may have had a run-in with some of them.’ Daníel pointed to his lip. ‘It’s a bit of a long story, but my tenant, Haraldur, has disappeared — ’
‘The drag queen?’ Ari cut in, astonished.
‘Yes, Lady Gúgúlú. You remember her from that barbecue one time.’
‘How could I forget?’ said Ari. ‘Are you telling me your drag queen has disappeared?’ Daníel doubted the appropriateness of Haraldur being referred to as ‘his’ drag queen, but he let it go.
‘Yes, and then three men came looking for him and I had the impression they were agents of some sort.’
‘Did they behave like agents?’ Ari rose abruptly to his feet. His manner was now different and his voice sounded slightly forced, as if he were trying to seem jovial despite the furrow that had appeared on his brow. ‘There’s nothing like that going on here at the moment,’ he said. ‘I can assure you of that Daníel, old man.’ Ari gestured for Daníel to stand up then strode over to the door, continuing in the same forced tone, his voice overly loud: ‘Come out to the parking lot with me. I want to show you my new car.’
Daníel stood up and followed him into the hallway and down the stairs.
‘Two of them were British, I think, and there was — ’ began Daníel, but Ari cut him off.
‘As I said, there’s no undercover stuff going on. We’d know about it if there was. Foreign agents can’t operate here in Iceland without our knowledge. Now, what make do you think my new car is?’
‘I’m guessing it’s a Benz?’ Daníel said, increasingly puzzled by Ari’s behaviour. Not that there was anything unusual about Ari wanting to show Daníel his new wheels. He had a thing about driving shiny new cars. But even so he was acting very strangely.
