The Last Refuge (45 page)

‘Why did your father try to frame me? What did I do, or what did you say, to make that happen?’

She looked shamefaced, some of her anger at me having seeped away. ‘It wasn’t you. Not really. You were a man, so he did not trust you. And you were a stranger, a foreigner. And he thought you did not respect him when he asked you to leave me. But even then I think it was an accident.’

‘An accident? Come on . . .’

‘You were there when he walked through town after . . . after what he did. He did not plan it. Not any of it, but seeing you there . . . It was a chance. To get rid of the knife and to . . .’

‘And to get rid of me?’

‘Yes.’

‘And today? At the whale hunt?’

Karis shook her head, but Tunheim spoke up for her.

‘I think I can answer that. Harra Lisberg knew you were getting close to the truth. Far too close. He had to protect his daughter and his reputation and his church. He was a desperate man. He saw his chance to put an end to things. Do not think too badly of him, Frøkun. I am a father and if someone had done that to my daughter . . . well, I would seek the strength to deal with it.’

She looked up. ‘My father had the strength of his god.’

‘Frøkun, sometimes that is just not enough.’

Chapter 70

The road out of Torshavn to the airport at Vagar seemed much shorter than it had when I first arrived. The days were shorter, too, little blips of blue amidst a long stretch of darkness. This part of the world was turning upside down and the undying light of summer was inevitably being replaced by the strong grip of a long winter.

As we drove, I imagined the people of my dark summer lining the route and waving me a thankful goodbye. Martin Hojgaard, full of remorse at his lack of faith in me but equally devastated by his misplaced faith in Esmundur Lisberg. Tummas Barthel, gratefully holding the case of Ardbeg that I’d had delivered for him, the least I could do for the information he’d given me about Serge Gotteri. Broddi Tunheim, the good inspector who had smoothed out many wrinkles and made certain that Aron’s rape of Karis did not become public knowledge.

Some of them had left before me. Gotteri, the liar, the fraud. The man who’d saved my life by pulling me unconscious from the seabed. He’d flown back to France, no doubt planning to fight the good fight somewhere new, but not before he and Nils Dam had fought in the middle of town. They had knocked lumps out of each other, both driven by the fury of shame, wanting to hurt and be hurt. Nils never told anyone about his incarceration in the whaling station. He couldn’t. He had too many things he didn’t want anyone in Torshavn to know about, and his guilt ensured his silence.

The Danish cops had flown home too – Inspector Nymann having the decency to offer me a handshake, which I accepted. Nicoline Munk left me her card, with a handwritten invitation on the back to visit Copenhagen sometime.

The rain hit while I was on the bus, winding my way past now-familiar hills and fjords – soaking the greens and the browns and topping up the waterfalls that cascaded down from the peaks. The driver couldn’t have been able to see much more than twenty yards in front of him as the weather closed in, but he knew the road well enough to have driven it blindfold. The rain washed us all, cleansing past sins and leaving the land fresh to start again.

Karis hadn’t been to see me and I couldn’t entirely blame her for that. As she saw it, if it hadn’t been for me then her father would still be alive. And she was right.

But I knew that I’d done the only thing I could. If I’d accepted her confession, knowing it to be a lie, I’d never have been able to live with myself. No one has the right to take another person’s life, but Karis had more right than anyone to take Aron’s. If I’d thought she had actually killed him then I would have kept her secret happily.

When I’d told her about the person in the red raincoat placing the knife on me, I had seen the look on her face and recognized it for what it was. Genuine shock. Her father’s red coat, the one she’d often borrowed. That might have been the moment she knew for sure that her father had murdered Aron. And it was the moment that I knew that she hadn’t.

I’d had to save Karis by proving her father to be the killer. A life saved for a life lost. Of course, it also meant a love lost – but it was a love that was beyond saving.

It was almost a happy coincidence that I’d saved myself too. I had stared into Nils Dam’s eyes with a knife in my hand when I most needed the truth, and I came up with the right answer. I wasn’t the person I’d feared I was. Nils lived, and because of that, I did too.

As the bus pulled into the tiny airport car park in the wilds of Vagar, the rain hammered down, making passengers scurry across the tarmac to the terminal. I walked, letting the rain lash my face and enjoying the feel of it on my skin.

I was almost inside when I heard a car speed into the car park. Turning, I saw it was a familiar green Toyota – Tunheim’s. The passenger door opened and a figure stepped out into the rain. Even with her back to me, I saw the dark hair and the quiff and knew Karis immediately.

She ran across the tarmac, puddles splashing at her feet. I dropped my case and she ran until she stood just a few feet away, coming to a sudden, seemingly reluctant halt. She looked so small standing there, the rain soaking her hair and streaming down her cheeks. She made a step as if to come to me but instead stepped back, further from my reach, or me from hers. She stood there, dripping, eyes reddening.

‘I can’t stay, Karis.’

‘I know, John. And I don’t want you to. I want to say sorry.’

‘Call me Andrew. Sorry for what?’

Her mouth flopped open and it clearly pained her to even think the words she wanted to say. ‘Everything.’

‘For using me?’

‘No, I . . . Yes. Yes.’

‘Was that all it was?’

‘No! No, I swear. But now I think I know, deep down . . .’

She looked distraught but I wasn’t going to spare her this pain. We both needed to hear it. My mind flashed back again to the conversation on the bird cliffs of Vestmanna, when she had demanded a test of honour from me, wanting to know what I would and wouldn’t do in the name of love.

‘You said to me that at least your father did that for you – killed Aron. Was that what I should have done for the person I loved?’

Karis began to speak, but confusion caught her tongue. Then a sudden realization tied a knot in it.

‘It’s true, Karis. Isn’t it? You wanted me to murder Aron for you. ’

Tears streamed down her face and she seemed traumatized.

‘Not . . . not consciously. Oh, my God. I . . . I have had time to think. Lots of it. And I think I wanted someone to love me enough to take that pain away. To revenge me. To . . .’

‘Kill him. And you thought I was capable of that?’

She shrugged helplessly. ‘There was something about you. Something troubled, and I wondered why you had come here. What you had run from. I was drawn to it.’

I felt sick.

‘It wasn’t exactly a great foundation, was it? Being attracted by each other’s demons.’

Her mouth opened and closed, saying nothing, saying everything.

‘I did love you, Karis.’

‘I am so sorry.’

‘Don’t be. It’s okay. I didn’t think I would ever love anyone again, because I had hated myself. You solved both of those things.’

‘Can you forgive me?’

‘It’s his fault, not yours. But I knew we were done the moment you told me you had killed him. Even though I knew you were lying, I also knew you’d been prepared to risk me going to prison for it.’

‘I had to protect my father!’

‘Of course you did. Because you loved him more than you could have loved me. Because he did the thing for you that you wanted most.’

She stared at the floor and nodded.

‘Just go home, Karis. And forgive yourself. Aron did all this, not you.’

Tunheim was walking slowly toward us through the rain, but still a respectful distance away. ‘Look after her, Broddi. I need you to do that.’

‘I will . . . Andrew. And I need you to look after yourself.’

Karis half stumbled forward and drew her hand softly down the side of my cheek. She smiled and in her eyes I saw something of the wild, mercurial girl I’d fallen for. She blinked and it was gone as she turned away, walking through the rain to the car, Tunheim at her side.

I was still standing, nearly wet through, when the car turned and drove away, Tunheim offering me a wave and a smile from the driver’s seat. The car park was empty and there was nothing to be seen but the ghostly outlines of telegraph poles. I remembered the same scene when I’d first arrived, thinking that I’d come to nothing in nowhere.

I’d been wrong. It was somewhere. And I’d found enough of myself that I could go home with a lighter load. I would face whatever people thought, because I’d realized the true source of my fear. It wasn’t about what they thought of me. It was about what I knew about myself. Now, I could live with it.

Acknowledgements

This ship sailed under two outstanding editors, Maxine Hitchcock and Emma Lowth, and I owe them greatly. I wish them calm waters and a following wind in their future voyages. I miss them both.

My gratitude to everyone at Simon & Schuster for being so good at what they do; to my agent Mark Stanton for understanding and supporting this book from the start; to the wondrous Alexandra Sokoloff for expert help and for explaining Karis Lisberg to me; and to my family and friends for being who they are.

I want to thank all the people of the Faroe Islands but in particular Jan Egil Kristiansen, Eyvind Akraberg Hansen, Randi Samsonsen and Bob Walker, plus Regin W. Dalsgaard the photographer whose work features in the book
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