Snowblind (21 page)

Karl opened the door with a look of exhaustion on his face, which was quickly replaced by surprise when he saw Ari Thór standing on his step. He shook his head and frowned.

‘What do you want?’

There was no suggestion of any courtesy here. Maybe people were only polite to the police when they were in uniform. Had Karl been playing a part all this time, with his friendly manner and show of concern for Linda? Was the real Karl now in evidence?

Ari Thór could smell the alcohol immediately. Not drunk, but not sober either, he decided, and probably from something stronger than a can of beer on a Wednesday night. It occurred to him to turn around and let it wait until the morning. He wasn’t on duty and the man he had come to talk to was in no state to be interviewed. Nevertheless, he remained determined to get to the heart of the matter.

‘Could I have a word?’

Karl looked him up and down, his face wary, but curious. He shrugged his shoulders before replying, ‘Why not?’

He stood aside to let Ari Thór in. It was cold in the flat. Not as cold as outside, but noticeably chilly.

Karl went ahead of him into the living room, and turned down the volume on the television. He sat down in the leather armchair that he had obviously occupied before Ari Thór had knocked. There was a small glass on the wooden table, a bottle of tequila, a lime cut into segments and another uncut lime next to it, a sharp knife and a salt shaker. There were knife marks in the wood of the table. Ari
Thór noticed with disquiet that Karl was between him and the door, like a guard dog. He sat on the old yellow sofa, still piled with the oddly decorated cushions. He felt awkward, unsure of himself in Karl’s territory. Karl shifted his chair and stared at Ari Thór.

‘I want to ask a few questions,’ Ari Thór began.

‘What?’ Karl asked, taking a long drink, which seemed to relax him.

Ari Thór gathered his wits and strengthened his resolve. ‘A few questions, I said.’

Karl sat silent.

Ari Thór took out his notebook and pretended to leaf through it, although he knew precisely what he was about to ask.

‘Your legal residence, Karl – is it correct that you’re still registered in Kópavogur?’

Start small, gather courage.

Karl laughed. ‘Is it correct? What a question! Don’t beat about the bush, Ari Thór. Of course I’m registered in Kópavogur, and you’ve already checked. What you want to know is the reason.’

Ari Thór nodded in reply.

‘I owe a bit of money, half a million or so. I’d prefer not to let them know where I live right now.’

‘Who? The bank?’

He laughed again, and this time he seemed genuinely amused. ‘The bank? No, these are gentlemen who don’t use conventional methods. They’ve probably forgotten about me by now. Who’s going to follow me all the way to Siglufjördur? No one in their right mind comes to Siglufjördur in the dead of winter,’ he said and paused. ‘Except for you, a fuckwit from down south,’ he added with a grin.

Don’t let him wind you up.

‘I gather you’ve been seen with another woman.’

Straight in at the deep end, drop the bait. Sometimes it paid off to be elastic with the truth.

Karl grinned again.

‘Well, it was going to happen sooner or later. Hide-and-seek gets tiring after a while, but it’s fun as long as it lasts. So who saw us?’

‘Hrólfur,’ he said, reflecting that it could well be true.

‘Hrólfur! That old bastard? Spying on his neighbours.’

Neighbours? Anna?

‘You’re still seeing each other? You and Anna?’

‘Ach, what the hell does it matter? Do you really care who I sleep with?’

Karl fell silent and suddenly appeared to realise the implications of what he had said.

‘Ah … so you reckon I pushed the old man down the stairs?’ he laughed loudly, his face a mask.

‘Did you?’

Karl glared at him. ‘No.’

‘You’re not ashamed of being unfaithful?’

‘Ashamed? No. It wouldn’t have been all that great if Linda had found out. She’s the one who paid the rent. But now … Now I don’t care either way, now that she’s dead, or as good as dead.’

Ari Thór felt a fury build up inside him, wondering how the man could say such a thing.

‘And Anna? I don’t suppose she’d want this to be widely known?’

‘No, definitely not. She’s planning to stay here and teach.’ He smirked. ‘That’s not my problem. I’m leaving. I have a job to go to in Akureyri.’

He stared out of the window, silent as the storm raged around them. Ari Thór waited, listening to the baying of the wind.

‘Did you come here to ask me if I’d murdered the old man?’ Karl asked at last.

Ari Thór fixed his gaze on Karl, determined not to let himself be side-tracked. He was in the lion’s den now and intended to see this through to the truth.

‘You think I killed Linda as well?’ Karl asked, mocking him now.

‘No,’ he said, holding Karl’s gaze.

‘Really? Then maybe you’re not as stupid as you look.’

‘I know perfectly well that you didn’t assault her. I know about the life insurance.’

Karl’s jaw dropped, and he struggled to rearrange his features. ‘How the hell did you find out about that?’

‘So you obviously knew about the insurance?’

‘No point denying it now.’

‘There were threads from your sweater on the knife.’

He smiled. ‘You’re as smart as hell, Ari Thór. Maybe I should just admit it to get rid of you.’

‘You’re quite obviously innocent of the assault. But you can wipe that grin off your face because I know what you did.’

‘Really? Tell me, then. I can hardly wait.’

‘You moved the knife. You hid it behind the bushes so it wouldn’t be found near her, so it would look as if someone else had done it.’

‘And why would I do a thing like that?’ Karl asked, his voice measured, as if speaking to a child.

‘I’m guessing that you read the terms and conditions of the life insurance policy, or at least had an idea of their contents. You don’t stand to get anything if she commits suicide so soon after the policy starts.’

The look on his face said it all.

‘Do you think she intended to commit suicide?’ Ari Thór asked.

‘I don’t have a clue,’ Karl said, looking away. ‘She was always whining. She couldn’t stand the weather, didn’t like the darkness. If she’d wanted to do herself in, then she would have cut her wrist or something. I think it was just attention-seeking. She talked about it sometimes, doing herself harm, playing with the kitchen knives. I told her to shut her trap and grow up.’ He was quiet for a moment. ‘Something went wrong, she must have cut too deep and lost too much blood. Damned stupid. She probably wanted to tempt fate, cut herself to draw blood in the snow. She could be a proper drama queen. But you have to admit it makes a great contrast, blood red on white, and she had an artistic side to her.’

This cold analysis told Ari Thór that this man had no fondness for Linda.

‘Then on top of that it was all Hrólfur’s fault,’ continued Karl.

‘Hrólfur’s?’

‘After he tumbled down the stairs. She got much worse, more unstable, especially after the rumours that he had been murdered.’

‘But you admit you moved the knife, because of the insurance?’

‘I never admit anything. It’s not worth it. I’d get nothing from that … I just play along when there’s something to be won … I admit it’s a pain in the neck to be with someone who does shit like that. What does it say about me?’

He stopped, and was quiet, before continuing in a more aggressive tone.

‘I can see you were hoping to stick something serious on me. But you won’t put me behind bars for moving a knife …’

No, unfortunately.

Ari Thór took some folded sheets of paper from his pocket and laid them on the table. His phone rang as he did so. He took it from his trouser pocket and looked at the screen. Ugla. He placed the phone on the table and switched off the ringer.

‘What’s that? What have you got there?’ Karl asked, stuttering slightly, his composure wavering. He didn’t go so far as to stand up, instead reaching for a lime and cutting it into slices. It didn’t seem to bother him that he was cutting more grooves into the surface of the old table.

Ari Thór didn’t answer right away.

‘What the fuck is all that stuff?’ Karl asked again.

‘Documents that were sent to me by the Danish police.’

Karl’s face was expressionless, but the force he used to slice the lime increased visibly.

‘You lived there for a while, didn’t you?’ Ari Thór asked.

‘You know that already. What are you trying to dig up, you bastard?’

‘These are old police records. It looks like you had a few altercations with the law.’

‘So what? There was never anything serious.’

‘One incident was more serious than the others, and it seems you
were interviewed as a suspect in a very significant case … Strongly suspected, but no proof.’

No reaction.

‘Shall I refresh your memory?’

Silence.

‘There was a break-in at the home of a woman on the outskirts of Århus … Stolen jewellery. Does that sound familiar?’

Karl’s expression was as cold and hard as stone. He stopped slicing the lime and, as if by rote, he laid the blade against the sofa and ran it slowly up the arm, scarring the leather.

‘A woman was assaulted. I guess you know the rest of the story, don’t you?’

Karl grinned and Ari Thór shuddered at the chill it sent creeping up his spine.

‘Yes, I know the story.’

She tried again to open the door, her heart hammering as she could hear him approaching, sense him coming closer.

The click was the most wonderful sound she had ever heard. The door was unlocked, and she pulled it inwards, taking a step back so she could swing the door open and make a run for it, run as fast as her legs would let her. She would run for her husband, run for her children and grandchildren. She would run so she’d be able to go back to the Indian takeaway again and get chicken, with rice this time.

He was livid when he realised she was trying to get away. His fury gave him an additional burst of energy and he raced for the door with the knife in one hand and his phone in the other; he ended the call to his friend, the one who had pointed the house out to him as an easy target – a woman frequently home alone. In exchange for the information, he would take a share of the proceeds.

He had killed before, but not in circumstances like these, and never with violence. Killing hadn’t affected him at all; it had simply been a necessary piece of work to achieve an aim. Why should it be different this time?

There was no hesitation, not even a stab of conscience, as he drew back the knife and plunged it deep.

Her back turned, she didn’t see him, feeling only a stinging pain. She looked over her shoulder with difficulty, and saw him pull the knife from the wound. She closed her eyes, missing the second plunge of the knife. And then she saw nothing more.

He had been right. He didn’t feel anything; not a shred of remorse – only anger that he had given her the opportunity to run, and, of course, frustration that he’d never claimed the contents of the safe. That didn’t matter now. The important thing was to get away.

He made his way out into the warm darkness of the Danish evening and vanished among the imposing suburban houses where people took care not to notice anything.