The Darkness Knows

‘No,’ Konrád said. ‘I’ve never experienced anything like that.’

‘It’s dogged me all these years. That case. Ever since I was a young man. All because I allegedly threatened Sigurvin. Because I allegedly shouted at him in a car park and some police informant pretended he’d heard what I said.’

‘Right.’

Hjaltalín rested his gaze on the ceiling again. ‘The doctors say I shouldn’t talk too much. I’m supposed to spare my voice as much as I can. The cancer has spread. They didn’t think it would but it has.’

‘Don’t you think this would be a good moment to relieve your conscience? In case you take a turn for the worse.’

‘Relieve my conscience? How? I didn’t do anything. And I know you believed me. You were the only one who had doubts. You had your doubts all along.’

The witness, a repeat offender, had provided a description of the man in the car park and that description had fitted Hjaltalín. But when the police went round to see him, Hjaltalín had claimed not to have been in the car park with Sigurvin or to have made any threats. He was asked if he wanted to rule out the possibility that he was the man the witness had seen by taking part in an identity parade. Without a moment’s hesitation, he said: ‘Of course.’

‘That’s him,’ the repeat offender had said, the instant he laid eyes on Hjaltalín in the line-up.

‘Are you sure?’ he was asked.

‘Yes.’

‘You don’t want to take another look? We’ve got plenty of time.’

‘No, that’s him,’ said the witness.

Hjaltalín hadn’t been allowed to go home. Instead, he had been taken to the cells after his statutory phone call to a lawyer. He had protested at this treatment, pointing out that he’d come into the station voluntarily and that the whole thing was a terrible mistake. The witness was adamant, however, and provided an exact time for the altercation between the two men. Hjaltalín was asked where he had been during the relevant period. He said he couldn’t remember. When the question was subsequently put to him again and he was asked if he could provide an alibi, he had given them the name of his girlfriend, saying that they’d been at his place together. The police had got in touch with the girl straight away and Konrád had interviewed her at the police station. She worked in one of Hjaltalín’s clothes shops and had been seeing him for a while. Although she confirmed her boyfriend’s story, Konrád had detected an underlying nervousness. He’d reminded himself that she hadn’t been expecting to be interviewed at the police station on Hverfisgata about the high-profile missing persons case, possibly even murder, that was all over the papers, TV and radio. She’d had no previous run-ins with the police either, and it was clear from her confusion that she hardly knew what had hit her. But there was something else going on there. The elastic hairband she kept twisting between her fingers. The way she avoided eye contact and kept her gaze fixed on the door, asking repeatedly if they were done. The embarrassed smile. After two hours of questioning, Konrád had succeeding in prising out of her the admission that although she had been at Hjaltalín’s place, she had gone out at the same time as him. She had no idea of his movements after that. The timing was consistent with the alleged encounter in the car park. Hjaltalín had called and asked her to say that she’d been with him all evening — in case anyone ever asked, which he said was unlikely.