The Darkness Knows

53

The first proper snow of autumn was falling, silently settling in the streets, when Konrád finally set out for Salóme’s house. She lived in ostentatiously prosperous style in a large detached property in the upmarket suburb of Gardabær; alone, unmarried and childless. But all Konrád got to see of the house was the enormous kitchen into which she eventually invited him after some initial resistance at the front door. Konrád had insisted on having a word with her, in spite of the early hour, on a matter that couldn’t wait. The bit about not being able to wait was quite true. Konrád had persuaded Marta to let him talk to Salóme before the police took action, pointing out that, in the circumstances, she owed it to him. Marta had conceded, after a brief argument, but warned him that she couldn’t give him long.

He had phoned Marta from the scrapyard and the police had arrived a few minutes later. Some reporter must have got wind of a serious incident too, as the night had been lit up by a camera flash.

Konrád had filled Marta in on everything he knew about the links between Bernhard, Salóme, Sigurvin and Hjaltalín, going right back to school and the Scouts, and how he had picked up the trail thanks to Villi’s sister; how it had been Villi’s fate that had led him to Bernhard and now to Salóme.

‘You’ve got ten minutes,’ Marta had said. ‘Not a second more.’

And now here he was, confronting Salóme, more than thirty years after notification had reached the police on that cold February day that Sigurvin was missing. Could she be the person he had been pursuing for half his working life? The owner of a clothing store? He didn’t know how he was supposed to feel. Whether he should be blaming himself for all the difficulty he’d had solving the case, or experiencing a sense of triumph now he’d finally done it. The feeling of triumph didn’t come. He felt neither relief nor pleasure. Instead, he was plunged into a mood of profound sadness and gloom.

Although it was past two in the morning, Salóme was still up. She explained that she’d been out. She seemed agitated, though, and couldn’t hide her astonishment over Konrád’s visit at such an hour. He said he had just come from Bernhard’s scrapyard, and watched her try to conceal her shock.

‘I saw you outside,’ he said.

‘The poor man... he... is he all right?’ Salóme asked. ‘Did you talk to him?’

‘I understand you two were lovers,’ Konrád replied, his eyes straying to the six gas rings on the hob, the double fridge and double oven, surrounded by all the marble and polished oak.

‘Lovers?’

‘His wife suspected him of cheating on her. She reckoned you were the guilty party. What were you and Bernhard up to?’

‘I’ve known him since we were kids. He was... we never had an affair. That’s some kind of misunderstanding.’

‘What was his connection to Sigurvin?’

‘I didn’t know about that until tonight,’ Salóme said, her tone anxious.

‘Do you expect me to believe that?’ Konrád asked. ‘What were you and Hjaltalín and Bernhard up to, and why did Sigurvin have to die?’

‘Hjaltalín? It had nothing to do with him. Or me. That’s... that’s a crazy thing to say. How could you believe that?’

‘Then what were you doing at Bernhard’s scrapyard in the middle of the night?’

‘He rang me. He said he was at the workshop and wanted to see me. He begged me to come. The poor man was beside himself. He said it was all over — that you’d been to see him. I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. All I knew was that he was scared and having some kind of breakdown and had turned to me for help.’

‘Why? Why you?’

‘We were neighbours when we were kids,’ Salóme said. ‘We lived in the same block. On the same staircase, in fact. He came from a broken home. His dad was... he was an alcoholic and the kids used to spend a bit of time round at our place — Bernhard and his sister, who’s dead. We were at school together too but we lost contact when my mother moved out of the area, and after that I didn’t see Bernhard for years, not until our old class got together for a reunion some time in the late nineties. Since then, he’s been keen to stay in touch. He had a drink problem a while back but managed to sort himself out. Then he fell off the wagon again and became a complete mess...’

‘Do you know why?’

‘I didn’t at the time. All I knew was that he was depressed and in a bad way. It wasn’t until tonight that I found out why... why he was such a mess. Why he’d been so keen to stay in touch with me. Why... It was awful. He admitted everything. I urged him to talk to the police and as far as I know he was going to — first thing tomorrow morning. I offered to go with him, for moral support. He was in a dreadful state. Did he tell you... did he tell you about Sigurvin?’

‘I didn’t get a chance to talk to him,’ Konrád said.

‘Had he already gone?’

‘Yes, you could say that. After you left him, he decided to end it all.’