Why Did You Lie? (27 page)

‘Weren’t consistent how?’ Nína remembered the mannerisms that had indicated Thröstur was lying.

‘They claimed they hadn’t seen anyone go in. Full stop. There didn’t seem anything strange about it in the first statements because they’d been taken at the scene, but when they came in for formal interviews it transpired that they claimed not to have seen anybody at all. Not even Thorbjörg’s husband, who was known to have gone in while they were sitting there.’

‘How could the police establish that? Kids don’t have a particularly good sense of time. Perhaps they arrived after he went inside.’

‘No. A driver was parked there, waiting for the woman next door, and remembered seeing the kids on the wall and the man entering the garage. After being shown a photo of Thorbjörg’s husband he confirmed that it had been him. Then the woman he’d been waiting for came out and he drove away with her. His testimony also fitted with that of the woman’s son. He walked past the garage on his way home and saw Thorbjörg’s husband emerging from his house, the kids on the wall and the driver in the car.’

‘How was the driver traced?’

‘The kids’ licence-plate books. It was the last vehicle registration they’d all managed to write down before they recorded the number of the ambulance, so it was obvious that we should speak to the owner of that car. But the kids stuck to their story that no one had entered the garage.’ He stood up. ‘It was all very peculiar. No explanation was ever found.’

Chapter 22

25 January 2014

When Nói finally surfaced, his headache had gone and he felt as if a boulder had been extracted from his head. Sitting up on the edge of the bed he saw that he had slept for nearly four hours. A low rumbling from his stomach reminded him that it was long past suppertime and he could use a drink too. It was freezing in the bedroom with the window wide open, so he went over and closed it after sweeping out the snow that had collected on the sill.

Everything was going to hell.

Muffled sounds reached the bedroom. Vala must be watching one of her tedious crime serials, unless she’d nodded off over the evening news. That was probably it, since she hadn’t come and given him a shake as she usually did when he went for a rest. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been allowed to lie in peace until he got up of his own accord. Under normal circumstances she wouldn’t have stopped badgering him until she had dragged him out on a run with her. She never suffered from headaches herself so it was impossible to get through to her that however fast you jogged you couldn’t outrun the pain. For her, exercise was the magic solution to everything, whether it was aches, tiredness or just a bad mood. Usually he either gave in or ignored her, but at moments like this he felt his wife’s obsession bordered on insanity. What on earth was Vala running away from? She seemed incapable of grasping the fact that sometimes it was all right to be a bit under the weather or take some time out to relax.

Suddenly it occurred to him that the reason she had left him alone was almost certainly to postpone discussing the police’s visit. She had behaved very oddly while the officers were there and although he couldn’t understand what she had to hide, he’d got the distinct impression that she knew more about the whole business than he did. Could the Americans have contacted her instead? They had her e-mail address too, so it was perfectly possible – but what was it that she didn’t want to share with him? It was unlike her to be secretive, especially since she knew how much he loathed that sort of thing. He couldn’t even stand surprise parties like the one their friends had thrown for his twenty-fifth birthday ten years ago. He still shuddered when he thought of the flurry of furtive phone conversations she’d had in the days leading up to it.

While these thoughts were running through his head, he remembered that Vala had been in a pretty bad way before they went abroad. She had seemed depressed during Advent, and in the days before they’d left for the States she had suffered from mood swings, one minute hyper, the next jumping out of her skin at the slightest sound. When he demanded to know what was wrong, she had dismissed it as pre-holiday nerves. And certainly once they arrived in Florida she had relaxed and reverted to her normal self, so he had taken her explanation at face value.

Now, however, he wondered if he should have pressed her harder for the truth. Looking back, it seemed possible that she had been upset over something to do with the Americans. She had handled all the preparations for their trip because he’d had to work like crazy to be able to take time off. There had been no opportunity to ask what the matter was.

If he was honest, he would have to admit that he’d been relieved when she didn’t want to discuss it. Other people’s feelings were not his strong point. His attention span when it came to listening to someone fret over how things should have been done differently was very short, as he preferred to look to the future. Well, he would just have to make the effort if he wanted things out in the open.

Nói went out onto the landing. He hoped there was some supper left, though his wife and son would probably have made themselves separate snacks. The emphasis on eating together as a family was all on his side; Vala and Tumi were happy to give shared meals a miss when he wasn’t around. But this didn’t bother him as he felt it wasn’t a proper family supper anyway if he wasn’t there. He walked past the TV alcove on the landing and saw that it was Tumi lying there on the sofa, glued to the screen. He might have known: a war film was on and while he stood there two soldiers were blown into the air by a landmine.

‘Move. You’re in the way.’

Nói shifted so his son wouldn’t miss any flying limbs. ‘Where’s your mother?’

‘She went round to Sigga’s. She said you’re to heat up the soup in the saucepan for yourself.’ Tumi didn’t look at his father; all his attention was focused on the battling actors. ‘But I’m warning you, it’s disgusting. It’s …
green
.’ He shuddered theatrically.

‘When did your mother go out?’

‘As soon as we’d eaten, luckily – so I could fix myself some proper food. She said she’d be late so we weren’t to wait up for her.’

‘Oh?’

Tumi shrugged, indifferent as ever when it came to his parents. ‘She said you knew.’ If so, either Nói hadn’t taken it in or the fact had slipped his mind. His headache hadn’t exactly helped his concentration, so Vala may well have mentioned her plans, but he didn’t think so. Well, if she thought she could dodge his questions like this, she could think again. He would stay up and wait for her, however tired he was.

‘Oh, yeah, and the police rang.’

‘What did they want?’

‘They were just asking if you knew some people. I wrote some notes on the pad by the phone. I didn’t want to wake you up, and Mum had left.’ Tumi sat upright. ‘Did the cop really think me and my mates had put that cat on the barbecue?’

‘No. But they have to ask to eliminate all the possibilities.’

‘Oh.’ Tumi seemed disappointed. ‘Anyway, there’s a number you’re meant to call. I think he said to call tomorrow, not tonight.’

Nói went downstairs to the kitchen, frustrated that the boy was incapable of taking down messages properly. He paused on the bottom step, then called up to ask Tumi if he knew where Púki was. His son said he hadn’t seen him. The cat was accustomed to going out at night, which was infuriating because when he finally did come home he would miaow insistently until either Nói or Vala woke up and let him in. And as an extra treat, he brought them presents of mice from the beach. For some reason he never did this during the day. But Nói didn’t care about that now; he just wanted the cat safely indoors. He couldn’t stop thinking about how like Púki the cat on the barbecue had been. Was it a coincidence?

‘Púki! Puss-puss!’ Nói called into the dark back garden, then listened. If the cat was nearby he usually came running in the hope of food. But he couldn’t hear the familiar jingling of his bell. He raised his voice. ‘Púki! Here, kitty!’ There was no sound, so Nói closed the door. He peered outside but the light from the house didn’t reach far and the darkness hanging over the sea beyond the garden seemed almost solid. No moon or stars tonight. If someone was standing out there watching, they wouldn’t even need to hide.

The boy hadn’t lied about the soup. The green gloop in the pan was so unappetising that Nói’s hunger evaporated. He poured a little down the sink so it would look as if he had eaten some, then turned his attention to the notes Tumi had scribbled down. They conveyed little; there was a telephone number – the police station, presumably – and two male names he didn’t recognise. Though scrawled down any old how, the words were just about legible. On the rare occasions when Tumi picked up a pen the results left a lot to be desired.

‘Tumi. Come down here a minute.’

‘What? I’m in the middle of a film.’ His son slouched downstairs, looking anything but pleased.

‘What does this mean? There are some names and a phone number here. I gathered from what you said that there was more to the message. Is this the man I’m supposed to ring?’ He pointed at the name beside the number.

Tumi frowned at the paper as if struggling to remember. ‘No.’

‘No? What do you mean?’

‘That’s not the bloke you’re supposed to ring. You’re to call this number but I can’t remember the guy’s name. Gud-something. I didn’t write it down. But he’ll answer.’

‘Tumi, what are these names?’

‘They’re the names of two blokes he wanted to know if we recognised. One’s the owner of the cat on the barbecue. I said I’d never heard of him. Apparently he lives in Breidholt. Oh, and the cat was killed – poisoned. According to this Gud-bloke, anyway.’

Nói didn’t recognise the name. He wondered if it was the man who had delivered the notes or the one who had killed the animal. But it seemed unlikely that he’d have killed his own cat just to frighten a pair of strangers. ‘What did he say about the other name?’ It wasn’t familiar either.

‘Nothing. Just asked if I knew anything about this bloke. Obviously I’d never heard of him.’

Nói didn’t understand what was so obvious about it.

‘He’s going to ask you about it tomorrow. If you call. Otherwise he’ll be in touch on Monday.’

‘Didn’t he say why he wanted to know?’

‘Nope.’

Nói stared at the name.
Lárus Jónmundsson
. He didn’t think he knew anyone called Lárus, even in its shortened version, Lalli. ‘Did he say anything else?’

‘No. Nothing. Nothing I can remember. Can I go back to my film now?’

‘No, you can’t.’ Nói looked back at the paper again, picked up the phone and dialled the number. He could use this opportunity to notify the police that the outdoor lights had been smashed again. After several rings an automatic message told him his call was being diverted to the switchboard. He hung up. Naturally, the man had gone home – it was Saturday night.

He tried calling Vala but she didn’t answer either. This made him even more annoyed because it confirmed that she was avoiding him. ‘Next time you take a call like that you’re to write down exactly what they said. If you have trouble keeping up, just tell the person to repeat the information. Imagine if your mate Jói called and left a message that you were to meet him at the University Cinema at eight and I’d just written “cinema”.’

‘He’d never call this number.’

Nói was momentarily overwhelmed by anger. ‘No, of course not. How stupid of me. How incredibly stupid.’ He picked up the piece of paper, trying to force out a smile, and his eye fell on something written on the back. It was an ordinary sheet of A4, exactly like the one Tumi had found in the chalet. On the back was a brief message:
Serves you right, liar.

‘Did you write that, Tumi?’

‘Eh?’ Tumi took the paper and read the text. ‘Nah.’

‘Then what’s it doing here? Where did this paper come from?’ Nói was surprised at how calm he managed to remain.

‘It was lying on the doormat.’

‘When?’

‘The bell rang just after I’d answered the phone and I went to the door while I was talking to the cop. There was nobody there. Then the cop started asking if I could take a message and I grabbed the piece of paper. I didn’t notice what it said.’

‘Do you think the person who rang the bell pushed the note through the letterbox or was it there already?’

Tumi shrugged his bony shoulders. ‘Dunno. Though it definitely came after Mum left. She wouldn’t have stepped over it; she’d have picked it up, right?’

Nói agreed. ‘Had she been gone long?’

‘Yeah, I think so. Maybe half an hour, an hour. Something like that. Though it could’ve been longer. Or shorter.’

Nói controlled his anger with difficulty. Carefully, using his fingernails, he took the paper from Tumi and laid it on the table, telling his son not to touch it.

He was relieved when he saw on the phone display that it was almost two hours since the police had rung but even so he decided to check that the front door was locked. It wasn’t, and overcoming a powerful sense of reluctance, he peered outside to check if there was anyone hanging around. Perhaps the cat was out there.

A young policewoman was standing with her hand poised to ring the bell as Nói opened the door, and he was so startled he could hardly stammer out a word. She seemed equally taken aback and stared at him, open-mouthed and embarrassed. Then she dropped her hand, cleared her throat and asked rather formally: ‘Are you Nói Fridriksson?’

Vala hadn’t answered her phone. He was flooded with grief and dread, and even as he nodded he knew that the police visit was about her.

Chapter 23

27 January 2014

An obliterating darkness has fallen. Although the wild weather prevented the day from ever growing properly light, a faint greyness had at least filtered in through the cracks round the door and the blocked-off window, as if fleeing the storm. Now, however, they can’t see a thing if the lamp is switched off, and the cold seems to gain strength in the gloom. But as they huddle on the hard floor, wearing all their clothes, their fingers and feet numb inside their sleeping bags, the atmosphere is definitely less tense than it was this morning. This is not due to any cessation of hostilities between them but because the coastguard has just delivered the news they have been waiting for and were afraid would never come. The repairs to the helicopter are almost complete; they will be rescued at daybreak. When the phone started ringing they sat gaping at it without speaking. Although they had been waiting impatiently for the call for hours, they were suddenly robbed of the courage to answer. So many things could have gone wrong.