‘Feel?’
‘How does it feel?’
‘What …?’
‘How does it feel to be raped?’
‘Don’t …’
‘Like it, do you?’
‘Please don’t,’ sobbed Runólfur.
‘How do you think my sister felt?’
‘Don’t …’
‘Tell me! What do you suppose it’s been like for her, all these years?’
‘Don’t …’
‘Tell me! Do you think she felt the way you do now?’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know … I didn’t mean …’
‘You disgusting shit!’ whispered Valdimar in Runólfur’s ear, then slit his throat cleanly from left to right. He released his hold on Runólfur, who collapsed to the floor. Blood gushed from the wound. Valdimar stood by the dead man, then opened the front door and strode out into the night.
Elínborg listened to Valdimar’s account in silence, watching his face and listening to the intonation of his voice. He showed no remorse for what he had done. It was more as if he had carried out a task that had to be completed if he were to regain his peace of mind. It had taken him two years but now it was over. If anything, Elínborg felt, he seemed relieved.
‘You don’t regret what you did?’
‘Runólfur got what he deserved,’ answered Valdimar.
‘You appointed yourself judge, jury and executioner.’
‘He was my sister’s judge, jury and executioner,’ retorted Valdimar. ‘I see no difference between what I did to him and what he did to Addý. My only concern was that I might lose my nerve. I thought it would be more difficult. I didn’t think I’d be able to do anything to him. I was expecting more resistance, but Runólfur was a pathetic, cowardly little shit. I should think most men like him are.’
‘But there are other ways to achieve justice.’
‘Like what? Addý was right. Men like Runólfur get put away for a year, or maybe two. If they are even prosecuted, that is. Addý … Addý said to me that Runólfur might as well have killed her. It made no difference. I don’t see what I did as a serious crime. In the end, you do what you have to. Something must be done, to put things right. Should I just have stood aside and allowed him to carry on? I wrestled with that question until I couldn’t take it any more. When the system takes the side of the filth like that, what are you supposed to do?’
Elínborg thought of Nína and Konrád and their family, and how their world had been ravaged. She remembered the sad little gathering at Runólfur’s home — Unnur and her family, who had nothing but their silent pain.
For Valdimar, that was not enough.
‘Had you been planning this for long?’ asked Elínborg.
‘Ever since Addý told me. She didn’t want me to do anything. Didn’t want me to get into any trouble. She always worried about her little brother. I don’t know whether you really understand. What she went through — both when he violated her and for the years afterwards. All those long years. Really, Addý no longer existed. She wasn’t my sister any more, not the real Addý. She was just a shadow, a travesty of herself, who was withering away and dying.’
‘An innocent man and his daughter are in custody because of you’ said Elínborg.
‘I know, and I feel terrible about that,’ replied Valdimar. ‘I’ve been keeping up with the case and I intended to give myself up. I really don’t want innocent people to suffer because of me. I would have given myself up. I was going to. There were some things I needed to sort out first, and I’ve been doing that for the past few days. I don’t suppose I’ll be coming back here.’
Valdimar put down the spanner. ‘How did you work out it was me?’ he asked her.
‘My husband’s a mechanic.’
Valdimar looked at her, at a loss.
‘The father of the girl we’ve got in custody thought he smelt paraffin in Runólfur’s flat. She must have woken up just after you left, because when her father arrived there was still a trace of the smell of your clothes in the air. He assumed that Runólfur must have been using paraffin to burn something. I was reminded of it by a smell in my own home, so I asked the father about it. It seemed to be an oily smell, a garage smell. I thought of you at once — the man who’s always in his workshop. I thought about Runólfur’s past, and this village, and made a few enquiries.’
‘I went straight from here to Reykjavík, in my work clothes,’ said Valdimar. ‘It was Addý’s birthday that Sunday, and it felt like an appropriate time to make it right. I don’t think anyone noticed me go. I left in the early evening, and I was back by the next morning. I hadn’t made any preparations or planned anything. I didn’t really know what I intended to do. I just set off as I was, in my overalls. I took an old straight razor with me.’
‘The pathologist said the cut was smooth, almost feminine.’
‘I’ve slaughtered a few beasts in my time.’
‘Oh?’
‘There used to be an abattoir here. I often worked there during the autumn season, after the sheep round-up.’
‘When people here heard that Runólfur was dead, they must have put two and two together?’
‘That’s quite possible, but no one ever mentioned it to me. Maybe they felt the score had been settled.’
‘Do you think Runólfur’s father knew what his son had done?’
‘He knew. I’m sure of it.’
‘You told me the other day that you once visited Runólfur in Reykjavík,’ said Elínborg. ‘That must have been before you knew about the rape?’
‘Yes. I ran into him in the middle of town and he invited me over. We met quite by chance. I didn’t stay long. We were from the same village, but I didn’t know him particularly well and … I didn’t like him, really.’
‘Was he renting a place at that time?’
‘He was staying with a friend. Some man named Edvard.’
‘Edvard?’
‘Yes. Edvard.’
‘When was this?
‘Five or six years ago.’
‘Can you remember precisely? How many years ago, exactly?’
Valdimar thought about it. ‘It was six years ago, 1999. I was in Reykjavík buying a second-hand car.’
‘So six years ago Runólfur was living in Edvard’s home?’ asked Elínborg. She recalled Edvard’s neighbour mentioning a lodger.
‘Yes, so he said.’
‘Was it in the west of town?’
‘Not far from the centre, near the dry dock. That’s where Runólfur was working.’
‘Runólfur worked at the dry dock?’
‘Yes. He said he worked there part-time when he was at college.’
‘Did you meet this Edvard at all?’
‘No, Runólfur just told me about him. Made fun of him. That’s why I can recall it so clearly — I remember being struck by how nasty Runólfur was about him. He called him a wimp, but of course Runólfur was …’
Valdimar did not complete the sentence. Elínborg had taken out her mobile phone and at that instant a police car drew up outside. Two uniformed officers got out. Elínborg looked at Valdimar.
He hesitated, looked around him, passed a callused hand over the tractor seat, and glanced at the half-open tool lockers.
‘Will I get long?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know,’ answered Elínborg.
‘I don’t regret what I did,’ said Valdimar. ‘And I never will.’
‘Come on,’ said Elínborg. ‘Let’s get this over with.’
34
For seven hours Edvard sat in an interview room while his home was searched, without result. Elínborg questioned him repeatedly about the period when Runólfur had lodged with him, and before long Edvard admitted that he had rented a room to Runólfur temporarily while he was flat-hunting. That was around the time of Lilja’s disappearance. Edvard also confirmed that Runólfur had been working at the dry dock, a short walk away, but he claimed to have no idea if Lilja had come to his home and met Runólfur. He maintained that he knew nothing of whether Runólfur might have harmed the girl — and that he himself had certainly not touched her.