Season of the Witch (23 page)

“I started working at Yumm as a messenger. That was while Gunnhildur’s husband, Gudmundur, was still alive. Gunnhildur treated me like one of the family. I’ve worked there ever since. At first I had a summer job during the school vacations, and then I started fulltime after I graduated from Commercial College. I’ve been the office manager, in practice, but without the job title.”

“And how have you liked working under Ásgeir’s management?”

“I don’t want to speak ill of Ásgeir. He came into this old family business, which had been run with the emphasis on
family
rather than
business
. He wanted to introduce new management methods, marketing strategies, and so on. A huge amount was spent on all sorts of evaluations and management analyses and advertising campaigns and strategic plans, but he didn’t manage to turn the business around. And that’s all I’m prepared to say about Ásgeir. He had grand ideas, but his plans didn’t work out.”

“Gunnhildur doesn’t think much of him.”

“When old Gudmundur died, Gunnhildur wanted Ásdís Björk to take over the business, but she refused. She wanted her husband to get the job. She pointed out that he had specialist qualifications in business administration, which is absolutely true. Gunnhildur gave way, but she’s found it hard to forgive Ásgeir for what’s happened to the business. But it’s not fair to put all the blame on Ásgeir. There’s been fierce competition in the Icelandic candy market for years now. Not only between Icelandic companies, but also with imported candy from huge and powerful multinationals. Established products and trademarks drop out of favor, and new ones are launched. That’s just the way it goes.”

“Tell me a bit about this wilderness tour.”

“We’ve gone on trips like that, ending up with our annual dinner, for the past three years. I can’t say I like it. But it’s aw
of thing. It’s the latest craze in management and human resources policy.
Human resources policy
, just think! What’s that supposed to mean? Isn’t it enough to treat your staff like human beings? We’ve been on a glacier trip, snowmobiling, dogsledding, snow games, mountain biking, and kayaking. And, on this occasion, white-water rafting, which ended so horribly. What I think is extraordinary is that the objective is supposed to be to promote solidarity, encourage people to get to know each other, stimulate enterprise, but the way it’s done simply leads to competitiveness and rivalry. This time we were supposed to clamber up a cliff fifteen feet high, then jump off into a deep pool of water. They have safety procedures, of course, but the idea is to prove yourself, show how tough you are. And if you’re not prepared to get into that, you’re humiliated. I’ve seen two excellent members of staff, of the older generation, who gave up after trips like that. They felt they weren’t up to the job anymore.”

I’m now full of pancakes. I light up, to keep Ragna company.

“I assume the trips were Ásgeir’s idea?”

“Oh, yes. The other aspect of the wilderness tours is the question of where, when, and how the drinking will come to an end.”

“So there’s a lot of drinking, is there?”

“Not supposed to be. But people bring some beers along and sneak a drink when the guide isn’t looking. And then, when they get back to town, that’s when they get going. Everybody goes along to a fine dinner, tired out and hyped up on adrenaline, excitement, and frustration, and they really let go. That’s when things go wild.”

“Except this time?”

“Yes, except this time.” Ragna twists her cigarette in the ashtray.

“Gunnhildur said that Ásgeir attended the dinner although his wife was lying unconscious in hospital?”

“He stayed for an hour or two. Everybody was so traumatized after the accident that most of us decided not to go. But Ásgeir wanted the program to go on. He didn’t want to cancel. He felt that was what Ásdís Björk would want. Which is actually quite true. I knew her well enough to know that. And at that point we didn’t know how serious her injuries were.”

“What was their marriage like?”

“I’m not in a position to tell. I can imagine what Gunnhildur must have said about it. But no outsider can know what goes on in a marriage. Only the two people who are in it. I know what I’m talking about. When I got divorced, about ten years ago, nobody understood why. Not even my closest family and friends. Some of them couldn’t grasp how I could let go of such a good man after thirty years together. Others couldn’t fathom how I had put up with such a tedious boor for so long. And then there were those who felt my husband was lucky to be rid of me.” She smiles warmly. “But I will say that over the past five or six years Ásdís Björk has been much less involved in the business. She’s hardly been seen in the office, let alone in the factory. She stayed home, mostly. Ásgeir never said anything about their private life, but I gathered from Ásdís Björk—from the little we spoke to each other—that she was very ill.”

“What was wrong with her?”

“It seemed to vary. First one thing, then another. She used to be a beautiful woman, but she’d put on a lot of weight in the last few years. Maybe because of her poor health.”

“Did you see her fall into the river?”

“No, I was in the boat ahead of them. I just heard all the shouting and screaming. We’ve talked about it a lot, of course.
Especially that evening, at the restaurant. I got the impression that no one actually saw her fall. She was sitting in the stern, and she seemed to have stood up, lost her balance, and fallen overboard. Ásgeir was sitting in front of her, and he immediately jumped in after her. He was quite a hero, really.”

As I take my leave of Ragna, darkness is falling. I remember another question: “Gunnhildur told me that Ásdís Björk and Ásgeir had a disagreement about the running of Yumm. Do you know anything about that?”

She hesitates. “Not exactly. But I’ve noticed over the past few years that Ásgeir has sometimes had meetings in his office with intimidating men carrying briefcases and shown them around the factory. Whatever that may mean.”

“I’ve been told that Ásdís Björk had an addiction problem?”

Ragna looks at me in astonishment. “I’ve never heard any such thing. But, as I say, there’s so much we don’t know about people and their private lives. And even less that we understand.”

As I have said before, two plus two doesn't make twenty-two. Nonetheless, Chief of Police Höskuldur Pétursson in Reydargerdi informs me, off the record: “There are people here, actually quite a few people, who think these arrests are purely political.”

“Do you mean the Akureyri police are investigating Agnar Hansen and his gang for political motives?”

“No, I’m not suggesting anything myself. And the police don’t get into politics. I just heard a rumor that people think it’s likely that the political opponents of the bosses here in Reydargerdi are exploiting the opportunity to cast suspicion on those young men.”

“Why on earth would they do that?”

“To muddy the waters about the alleged disorder and strife that’s taking place here as a result of the industrial development. Could be convenient now, just before the election.”

“It sounds far-fetched to me,” I say.

“Perhaps. But why have they picked on those kids while the rest of the people at the party get off scot-free?”

“Because they were gate-crashers and made trouble?” I ask.

“Or because one of them is the son of the head of the town council and one a foreigner, to boot?” retorts Höskuldur.

But none of that gets into my rather threadbare piece for the Monday edition on the progress of the Skarphédinn investigation. My article concludes:

Skarphédinn’s funeral will take place today at
Akureyri Church.

“Bullshit,” says Trausti Löve. “It’s just the same old bullshit.”

“I’m just saying what the chief of police at Reydargerdi told me last night,” I object, sitting in my closet, shortly before midday.

“And the guy is Ásgrímur Pétursson’s brother,” Trausti irritably snaps. “It’s a desperate attempt to distract the public and the media from the real issue. Political conspiracies, my ass! Now do you see why it was so important to cover events in Reydargerdi properly?”

“There’s every chance you may have been right there.”

“Every chance? You should have the grace to admit I was right, without reservation, buddy. I was man enough to own up to my mistake the other day, about the
Question of the Day
…”

“Only because you were forced to.”

“…and you should be man enough to do the same about Reydargerdi.”

So it’s back to the old tug-of-war. “All right,” I say. “You were right. But I warn you, the
Afternoon News
had better not make a big splash about this Reydargerdi gang, Agnar Hansen and his buddies, being guilty. They haven’t made any admissions, and
there’s no proof they did anything at all. All the police have got is that they were there, at that party, for part of the evening—like plenty of other people. We can’t jump to conclusions—it’ll come back to bite us.”

“We’ve got to report what happens. All three of them are in custody, aren’t they?”

“Yes, two of them were picked up this morning. But they can only hold them for four days.”

“Then you have to provide more information about these guys in tomorrow’s paper.”

“Are we supposed to publish the names and personal details of people who haven’t been convicted of anything?”

“I say again: we report what happens. The guys are in custody. No one else. We should say who they are.”

I don’t like this. “Surely you’re not expecting me to identify Agnar Hansen by pointing out who his dad is?”

“Of course I am. Jóhann Hansen’s a public figure. Our readers have a right to know about the relationship.”

“But Jóhann’s not a public figure in this specific case. He’s head of the town council in Reydargerdi, who happens to be the father of the young man who’s in custody here in Akureyri. Do I have to spell it out to you, as news editor?”

“No need to spell anything out to me, buddy,” rages Trausti. “Just do what I tell you.”

“No, I won’t,” I firmly reply. “If we do that, we’re only going to encourage the idea—even confirm it—that someone’s trying to make political capital out of a completely unrelated matter. And it’s a serious matter. A murder investigation. Are you completely off your goddamned head again, Trausti?”

“Just do it. For days on end you’ve been doing your own thing, snooping around Skarphédinn’s background and character, without producing a single bit of copy. Not one line.”

“It’s a complex case.”

“What isn’t complex, so even you ought to be able to understand it, is that our readers have a right to information about a case that’s on everybody’s mind and everybody’s lips. And that’s that. So fuck you!”

I must admit, I’m beginning to feel like a little kid who’s always running to Daddy to tell tales on his big brother. “Hannes,” I say, after having explained the situation, “Trausti’s way off base, again. And I won’t do as he says.”

“My dear Einar,” pronounces the editor.

This doesn’t look good.

“My dear Einar, you must see the bigger picture here. The young men are in custody because they’re suspected of being involved in this case. And the fact that they’re being held has led to some political strain in Reydargerdi. The
Afternoon News
had nothing to do with that. Surely we have an obligation to report on it?”

“I’m not at all sure that it’s led to any political strain in Reydargerdi. It may just be some personal speculation by a few individuals, perhaps just one or two. Isn’t it likely that someone’s got their own agenda? That they’re trying to lead the paper into a political trap? To make these kids into political martyrs? And confuse the readers? Shouldn’t we stick to the facts of the case instead of repeating rumors and inventions from people who have nothing to do with the case?”

“Rumors and inventions can be worth reporting too, sir.”

I decide to change my tactics: “If you had a son, Hannes, or if Trausti Löve had a son—God forbid—and if that son were to be arrested in connection with a major criminal case, would you regard it as normal and correct for other media, or even the
Afternoon News
itself, to publish his name and add that he was the son of the editor or news editor of this paper—which is completely irrelevant? Do you find that a comfortable prospect?”

He doesn’t seem to need any time to think it over: “Facts are facts, whether or not we find them comfortable. It isn’t our job to sort out the comfortable ones from the others, which aren’t. This is an ugly world, Einar. Do you think we should be prettying it up?”

“So you’re on the side of the idiotic news editor?” I ask, disappointed and annoyed.

“I agree with him in principle,” Hannes replies. “But the principle can’t always be applied in exactly the same way.”

“What on earth is that supposed to mean?”

“Just this, sir. If we can get hold of the names of the three men, we should publish them. If we can find some Reydargerdi people who are willing to be named saying that there’s a nasty political smell about the case—and preferably more than just two of them—then we should publish what they say.”