The Last Refuge (28 page)

When I look to my right, I see the broken bones have been arranged in piles. Neat stacks of skinless alabaster. No bone connected to any other bone. Just lying cosily next to its other half. I find myself nodding appreciatively, liking the order of things. No mess. No problem.

But the pile of bones gets higher. It multiplies every time I look at it. I’m wondering why I ever thought this was a good thing. The pit of my stomach is full with it, but the pile continues to mount. Bone upon bone. There is a grating sound as one rubs against another then is sheared from it with a gut-twisting jerk.

The heads, what about the heads? They are lying there. Shorn from the bodies they once clung to. Inexpressive. Poker-faced. I know they’re sorry though. They must be. I can smell it.

But I am too. I did it. I clapped my hands and the bones shattered. I did that.

I clap them again. The little toe breaks on my right foot. Then my foot bone. Then my ankle bone. Then my leg bone. I shake dem skeleton bones. One by one I fall to pieces, until all that is left is my brain swilling in gristle and guilt. Dem bones are gonna walk around. They gonna walk around.

Chapter 41

The knock at the door snapped me out of it. Open-mouthed and breathing hard, I threw my legs over the side of the bed and steadied myself for a moment before pushing myself onto my feet. I tried to quell the hope that it was Karis, and it turned out I was right to do so.

Martin Hojgaard looked weary and troubled, doubtless not only due to a long, hard day at the fish farm. He held a plastic container in one hand.

He tapped it gently on the top. ‘Fish and potatoes. Mine waits for me. I will not stay.’

Something in his voice bothered me. It was as polite as ever, but curt, verging on irritated.

‘Thank Silja for me. She is very kind. You both are for letting me stay.’

Martin’s mouth tightened, a purse snapping shut, and he shook his head in quick, sharp movements from side to side.

‘No. it is Silja who is kind. Too kind. It is only her that you must thank for being allowed to stay.’

‘Not you?’

I struggled to read his face. Sadness certainly. Guilt, too, perhaps. And anger.

‘No, not me. I didn’t want you to stay. I still don’t. I am sorry but I cannot change how I feel. I told you before about bringing shame on me and my family. You have done that. You were charged with murder.
Murder.
’

‘The court has let me go, Martin. There was no evidence to charge me.’

His face darkened. ‘Not
enough
evidence. That they cannot prove it does not mean it is not so. You have to remain here while they continue their investigation. Do you know how this makes me look in the eyes of the church? Do you?’

‘Martin . . .’

‘Romans. Chapter thirteen, verse one. “Let every person be subject to the governing authorities. For there is no authority except from God, and those that exist have been instituted by God
.
” You will be not be judged by me or the court.’

‘It sounds like I’ve already been judged. What does the church say, Martin? What does the forgiving voice of God say?’

He scowled at me, obviously irked by my tone. ‘The church is here to look after the people of these islands. They have done so for centuries and will continue to do so long after you have gone. Do not mock them, please.’

‘But they say that I am guilty. In the eyes of the Lord?’

‘No one is saying that.’

‘No one? Are you sure?’

Hojgaard flushed with embarrassment. ‘Some maybe. But the church does not. “You shall not go around as a slanderer among your people, and you shall not stand up against the life of your neighbour.” Leviticus. I shall listen to the word of the Lord.’

‘You are very fond of quoting scripture today, Martin.’

He hesitated. ‘I reach to the Bible in times of trouble. These are very troubled times.’

‘And the church doesn’t look kindly on you letting me stay here. That will be making even more trouble for you. I’m sorry. I don’t want to bring that.’

Martin sighed heavily. ‘You can stay. I am not happy about it but you can. Silja . . . she wants it. I am doing this for her.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Do not give me reason to regret this. And do not give Silja reason to think herself wrong.’

‘Is that a threat, Martin?’

He laughed bitterly. ‘A threat? Not from me. I told you, you will be judged by a higher power. I quoted Romans to you before. There is another verse in the same Chapter that you would do well to remember.’

‘What’s that?’

‘“For he is God’s servant for your good. But if you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword in vain. For he is the servant of God, an avenger who carries out God’s wrath on the wrongdoer.”’

Anger flared in me. I didn’t appreciate being terrorized with the wrath of God. I also got the feeling that the quotes were fresh in Martin’s memory.

‘Is that how it is? Your church knows better than the court? The church has decided I am guilty and you have been sent here to deliver the message from the pulpit?’

‘No, I . . . I will not discuss what the church says. Not with you. But no one sent me here. How dare you accuse me?’

‘Because that’s the way it sounds. I’m sorry, Martin. But if you think I am a murderer, if you really think that, aren’t you afraid to be here?’

He stared back at me. ‘No. I am not afraid. Are you afraid of what you have done?’

His words slapped me and I had to stop myself from replying ‘maybe’. My knees nearly gave way, my head falling into my hands before I realized how guilty it looked and raised it again.

I looked up at him again, my eyes pleading. ‘It doesn’t matter to me what the church thinks, Martin. It
does
matter to me what you and Silja think. You have been good to me and I respect you. All I am asking is that
you
don’t judge me until you know the truth. Can you do that?’

I saw a little bit of the anger leak from him, even as his own conscience fought with his church’s. He rubbed at his eyes, his thick fingers working their way from corner to corner.

‘John, you remember that I heard your nightmare. The things you said. The words you used.’

A cold fear sneaked up my back. ‘Yes.’

‘I cannot forget those words. I told them to the police. I had to.’

‘And my fight with Toki. And how drunk I must have seemed when you picked me up the morning the police came.’

‘Yes. That too. I had no choice. It is the law and . . .’

‘The right thing to do. I know. I understand. You had to do it and I don’t hold it against you at all. You need to look after yourself first. It is okay.’

He nodded gratefully and the simple act of it filled me with fresh guilt.

‘But it is what you said that night that I can never forget. And the way you shouted. Screamed.’

The cold fear was freezing now, snaking its way round my back and weaving inside, wrapping itself around every rib.

‘What did I say, Martin?’

He breathed deep, tilted his head to the side as he shook it ruefully.

‘No. I don’t think—’

‘Please. I need to know.’

Martin couldn’t hold my gaze and looked away as he spoke.

‘You shouted about how there were four boys. How you wanted to hurt them.’

He faltered.

‘Kill them. You said that you wanted to kill all of them. Your voice was so angry. So full of hate. You said you were going to break them. You broke their bones. You said you broke all their bones. You were screaming that.’

I was no longer angry at him for judging me. I looked up at him, his face lined with pity as much as with scorn, and had no words to offer in my own defence. He took that as the admission of guilt that it was, and soberly nodded his head.

‘You can stay here for now. Until the police have completed their investigation. Stay away from my family. And do not shame me further. You understand?’

I could only let my head bob in submission.

Martin opened the door to leave, but turned before he closed it behind him.

‘May God go with you. And have mercy on your soul.’

Chapter 42

The fish and potatoes tasted good despite my mood. After the bland meals of the jail, they tasted of sea and salt and fresh air and freedom. Despite Martin’s visit, the mix was heady enough to clear away a little of the fear and depression that had been eating at me.

When the door was knocked again, my breath caught and I wondered which of them it would be, Martin or Silja. It turned out to be neither of them.

Inspector Broddi Tunheim stood a polite couple of paces from the threshold, wearing his familiar brown raincoat and a pleasant smile.

‘It is further to walk up here than I thought,’ he puffed. ‘But my wife is always telling me to take more exercise, so she will be happy. I will go home and tell her that I walked all the way up Dalavegur to speak to the Scotsman. She will be pleased. May I come in?’

By way of answer I stepped outside and closed the door behind me.

‘We can speak out here, Inspector. You have been inside already. You know there’s not much to see.’

Tunheim grinned. ‘Ah, that was not me, Mr Callum. That was the Danes. Very inquisitive people, the Danes. Very efficient. They never give up when they think they have the scent of something. And they are smelling you.’

I didn’t offer a reply, but then Tunheim didn’t need one. He carried on regardless.

‘The inspector, Nymann, and his sergeant . . . Wow. They are sure it was you that killed Aron Dam. Sure as sure. They are working the forensic so hard. She is going back over everything. Every inch. At Tinganes. On the way from Natur. In here, of course. Everywhere.’

I looked over Tunheim’s shoulder and saw Torshavn laid out below me, its myriad colours and shapes glinting in the newly arrived sunshine. The reds and yellows and greens leapt up, demanding attention, declaring their importance.

‘I want the forensic to search, Inspector. I want her to find whatever there might be.’

Tunheim followed my gaze and moved to stand shoulder to shoulder with me, surveying Torshavn as if he’d never seen it before.

‘It is beautiful, no? I went to New York once, Mr Callum, and I went to the top of the Empire State Building. An amazing view. All those buildings under your feet. All so close together. And the people like ants and the cars like quicker ants. But you know . . . I think this view . . . this is as good as New York. Smaller, of course. Sure as sure. But maybe better. And the best thing? That you can find everything. You miss nothing.’

‘Inspector? You think the Danish forensic is as good as they say she is?’

Tunheim looked at me as if I’d questioned the Earth’s roundness.

‘Yes! Oh yes. They are all very good. Like a genius. The things they can do? Incredible.’

‘So if there is evidence of who killed Dam then she will find it.’

He smiled broadly. ‘Oh yes. Let us hope so. That would be good for everyone, don’t you think?’

‘I hope so.’

Tunheim laughed, his eyes never leaving the town below.

‘Mr Callum, when we were in the car at the top of Sornfelli, I asked you to let me help you. You said no. Are you ready to let me help you now?’

There was something infuriatingly likeable about him. I knew he was trying to trap me at every turn, knew he was playing me and probably putting on some kind of act to put me off guard. But he wasn’t Nymann. He wasn’t Danish. Somehow I’d become Faroese enough that that tilted the balance.

‘Yes.’

Tunheim didn’t look at me but he smiled quietly.

‘Good. That is very good. Tell me, Mr Callum, the night that Aron Dam was killed – you told the Danes that you went straight home after leaving the Cafe Natur. Is that true?’

I breathed in deep and exhaled hard. Now or never.

‘No.’

He smiled again. ‘So where did you go?’

‘I don’t know. All I know is I woke on the fish slabs at Undir Bryggjubakka. I don’t remember getting there. Then I went home. That’s all I know.’

Tunheim’s smile slowly broadened until it filled his face, but there was no glee in it, just satisfaction.

‘Good, good. Now we are together in this, Mr Callum. Now I know I can help you.’

There was something else, something behind the words.

‘What do you mean, Inspector? What aren’t you telling me?’

Annoyingly, he laughed again.

‘You know, I’m not investigating this case. Not properly. I think maybe you can call me Broddi, if you want.’

I didn’t.

‘I’d rather you just told me, Inspector.’

Tunheim held his arms wide, his face looking hurt.

‘Okay. We can be together in this now, Mr Callum, because I know you are telling me the truth. Or some truth. You see, I was playing a game again. I am sorry. I already knew you were sleeping on the fish slabs. I learned that today.’

He turned to see my reaction and grinned at the surprise that I must have betrayed.

‘The Danes are from Denmark, you see, Mr Callum. I am from Torshavn. When you are from Torshavn, you know who to talk to. And the people of Torshavn, they also know who to talk to.’

‘Someone saw me sleeping on the fish slabs?’

‘But of course.’

‘And do they know when I got there?’ My heart skipped faster.

Tunheim’s expression answered the question before his words did. ‘No. Sadly, no. You could have been there five minutes or five hours. You could have gone there after killing Aron Dam. It does not free you. But . . . you have been honest. This is good. You will let me help you.’

Maybe I would let him help me, but I had already decided to help myself. I knew what I would do, but first there was something else I had to ask him.

‘Inspector . . . Broddi . . . have you told the Danish detectives of this?’

Tunheim frowned as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

‘Ah, no. Not yet. The Danes are a very busy people. So efficient. And so many people to talk to. I am thinking I will not bother them with it. Not yet.’

Chapter 43