The Darkness Knows
- Автор: Indridason Arnaldur
- Серия: Detective Konrad #1
- Год: 2021
- Язык: английский
- Год: Harvill Secker/Penguin Random House UK
- ISBN: 978-1-78730-232-7
- Переводчик: Victoria Cribb
- Жанр: Криминальные детективы
Электронная книга - «The Darkness Knows». Краткое содержание книги:
The case: impossible to solve. Until now.
A frozen body is discovered in the icy depths of Langjökull glacier, apparently that of a businessman who disappeared thirty years before. At the time, an extensive search and police investigation yielded no results-one of the missing man’s business associates was briefly held in custody, but there wasn’t enough evidence to charge him.
Now the associate is arrested again and Konrád, the retired policeman who originally investigated the disappearance, is called back to reopen the case that has weighed on his mind for decades.
When a woman approaches him with new information that she obtained from her deceased brother, progress can finally be made in solving this long-cold case.
Konrád cleared his throat. ‘What kind of car did you yourself drive at the time?’
‘Me?’ Steinar said. ‘You don’t still think I bumped him off? I didn’t own a car. I was sometimes allowed to drive one of the delivery vans home, but that was the only vehicle I had access to.’
‘I don’t think any such thing. I was only asking.’
‘I didn’t like the way you lot used my testimony to hound that bloke,’ Steinar said, his voice suddenly weary. ‘I knew I should never have talked to you. That bitch, ringing you like that. That bloody bitch.’
‘There’s no need to talk about her like that,’ Konrád said reprovingly. ‘We’d have found you anyway.’
‘I doubt it.’ Steinar snorted. ‘I very much doubt it.’
Neither of them said anything for a while. Instinct told Konrád that Steinar was withholding something. A member of staff he’d met in the corridor had said that the old man never got any visits, just sat in his room and didn’t mix much with the other residents. His health had declined rapidly over the last few weeks and they couldn’t be sure how long he had left.
‘Is Le— Is Leó still in the police?’ Steinar asked after a long silence.
‘Leó? Yes, he’s still working. Why do you ask?’
Steinar scratched his white stubble, looking frail and hollow-cheeked.
‘Oh, I don’t know. By the way, about my old girlfriend... I don’t know why I called her a bitch. Maybe there have been enough lies.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Leó never told you?’
‘Told me what?’
‘How he treated me?’
‘What do you mean? How did he treat you?’
‘Oh, it doesn’t matter. It was nothing. Forget it.’
‘What did he do?’
‘No, it doesn’t matter,’ Steinar repeated, raising a hand to his chest. ‘It was nothing. I’m tired. I need to lie down.’
‘Steinar...?’
‘I’d like you to go,’ Steinar said. ‘I’m not up to this. I can’t be doing with this any more. Please, just leave me alone.’
Konrád helped him to lie down on the bed, then said goodbye. On his way out, he let the staff know that the old man had been complaining of feeling tired, and they promised to keep a careful eye on him.
18
Herdís rang Konrád the next day, wanting to meet up, and asked if he could come and see her at the Krónan discount supermarket where she worked. He decided to pick up a few groceries while he was there: bread, milk, coffee and other basics. Herdís spotted him out of the corner of her eye as she was serving at the till, asked a colleague to relieve her, and came over. It was lunchtime and there were few other customers on the vast shop floor.
‘That cop was all right, that Marta,’ Herdís said as they shook hands.
‘Yes, she’s pretty good,’ Konrád said. ‘You’ve spoken to her then? Where do you keep the olives in this barn?’
‘Come with me,’ Herdís said, and he followed. ‘I got the feeling she didn’t really buy it, though.’
‘No, Marta always takes a bit of time to digest things.’
They entered a long aisle containing Italian goods — pasta, tinned tomatoes and sauces — and Herdís pointed out the olives. He selected a jar of large green ones and put them in his basket.
‘I need porridge oats too,’ he said. ‘I’ve no idea where anything is: I’ve never been in here before.’
‘I wanted to let you know,’ Herdís said, setting off again, ‘that I bumped into one of Villi’s old mates here and we got talking. It turns out Villi told him what happened that night by the tanks and he remembered that he’d been up there himself around the same time and noticed a big off-roader parked nearby.’
‘An off-roader?’
‘Yes. He mentioned that specifically. It wasn’t your ordinary jeep; it was one of those super jeeps, with the huge tyres. Villi told him it could have been the same car he saw.’
‘And this was around the same time, you say?’
‘Villi’s mate saw the car a bit before he did. He knows that because he was at a junior-league handball game at the Valur indoor court then went up to the tanks afterwards with some mates. He could remember the game and looked it up to see what date it was on. Turns out it was at the beginning of February.’
‘The car was that memorable, was it?’
‘Yes. He started thinking about it when Sigurvin turned up on Langjökull. According to him, a super jeep like that could easily have been used for glacier driving.’
Konrád put a packet of rolled oats in his basket.
‘Good. I might have a word with the guy,’ he said. ‘I’m asking around a bit about the case. It won’t stop bugging me, so I’ve been talking to a few people and gathering information, telling them it’s on your behalf. I just wanted you to know. Are you OK with that?’
Herdís stared at him. ‘On my behalf?’
‘I tell them I’m looking for answers about what Villi saw — and that I’m doing it for you. That’s my excuse.’
‘I asked you to find the person who deliberately ran Villi down. Isn’t that an even better excuse?’
Konrád sat in his kitchen late that evening, when peace and quiet had settled on the neighbourhood and most people had gone to bed. Despite the late hour, he opened a bottle of wine Húgó had given him, hoping that a glass or two would help him get to sleep. Not that it really mattered. His internal clock was so messed up that day and night had ceased to have much meaning for him.
The light was on over the kitchen table, but apart from that the house lay in shadow. Konrád smoked a cigarillo, going over the conversation he’d had with Hjaltalín in prison for the umpteenth time.
‘Is it because of him?’ Hjaltalín had asked, trying to stay on the subject of Konrád’s father.
‘What?’ Konrád had said. ‘Is what because of him?’
‘That you joined the police?’
‘I have no idea what you’re on about. As usual.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, I’m sure,’ Konrád had said. ‘I didn’t come here to talk to you about my father. He’s absolutely none of your business and never was.’
‘So you’re not trying to compensate for what he was like?’
Konrád hadn’t bothered to answer that.
‘Isn’t that what it’s all about, Konrád? Aren’t you trying to be a better man than him? Isn’t that why you joined the police? Isn’t that why you’re this sad-sack failure of a cop?’
‘Fuck off!’
‘You must take after him in some ways. He’s part of you, after all. But in what way, I wonder? How are you alike? Inherit some of his nastier traits, did you? Your dad’s vicious side, perhaps?’
Konrád took a mouthful of wine and at that moment his phone started ringing. It was Steinar’s nursing home to tell him that the old man had been admitted to hospital following a heart attack and that he was asking to see Konrád.
19
Steinar had been rushed to the National Hospital after being found lying in the corridor of the nursing home. He’d been suffering severe chest pains and was about to call for help when he collapsed. A member of staff had found him and raised the alarm, and now he was in intensive care. The only thing he had asked for was to see Konrád, but Konrád was warned that he couldn’t stay with the patient more than a few minutes. It was touch-and-go whether he would survive the night.
Steinar opened his eyes after Konrád had been standing over him for a while. It took the old man a moment or two to recognise him. Then a faint smile twitched at the corner of his mouth before his eyelids drooped again.
‘I don’t want to take it to my grave,’ Steinar murmured, so quietly that it was hardly more than a breath.