Why Did You Lie? Page 14

  ‘And?’

  ‘And nothing. They wouldn’t tell me. Apparently passenger lists are confidential. Then there’s the business of the outside lights. Who do you think broke them? Even if the Americans were a bit odd I can’t believe they’d have done that.’

  ‘No, I’m sure they didn’t. But we do have vandals in this country. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything if they target you. For Christ’s sake.’ Vala rolled her eyes. ‘Nói. I’m dying of hunger. If I don’t eat something soon I’ll pass out. Gudda was sick and I had to take her spinning class on top of everything else.’ She glanced around. ‘I was hoping you’d have magicked up something to eat.’

  ‘I would have done if I’d realised how late it was. I forgot the time while I was going through the recordings from the chalet. But I’ll throw something together. Why don’t you have a rest while I’m doing that?’

  Vala sighed and let her head fall back. When she spoke again her voice sounded oddly constricted. ‘Did you think the scissors would feature in one of the videos? Or the pizza?’ She sat up again, regarding him with half-closed eyes.

  ‘No, I didn’t.’ Nói couldn’t keep the defensiveness out of his voice. It was partly triggered by Vala’s indifference but also by the fact that he had failed to sort out any supper. ‘I’ve decided to call the police and I wanted to find a video clip that would persuade them to look into the case.’

  ‘Case? What case? There is no case.’ Vala groaned again, loudly. ‘The two of them are just off somewhere having a good time and can’t be bothered to talk to you. I bet you’ve sent them a million messages about the keys, but they’ve probably lost them and don’t want to admit it. They must think you’re crazy.’

  He had not sent them a million messages. OK, he’d sent a fair few, but he’d rather not go into that. Some people might indeed find his e-mails odd, particularly the most recent one. ‘No one’s answering the mobile number they gave us. And then there are the videos; it’s as though they thought someone was prowling around outside the chalet. I’m beginning to wonder if they got into some kind of dispute with whoever it was.’

  ‘Oh, please, stop it.’ Vala shook her head. ‘Just because you invent some story it doesn’t mean it’s true.’ She got up and jerked open the fridge. On the half-empty shelves were pots of jam, tomato ketchup and other items that tended to accumulate until the family could bear it no more, threw out the lot and began collecting a new set. ‘We didn’t leave their fridge this empty. Perhaps they’re embarrassed about that as well. I’d have been mortified if we’d left behind nothing but an apple and come home to find our own fridge full of food. I just hope it all goes off while they’re in Europe.’ She rummaged in the fridge drawers. ‘Though I doubt there’s any chance of that. Doesn’t American food keep forever? They’re ashamed, Nói. That’s all it is. Remember what a disgusting state the stairs were in?’

  ‘Yes, all right. But at least they left some food behind.’ Nói wasn’t prepared to concede that the explanation might lie with the empty fridge. Or the filthy staircase.

  Vala turned, folding her arms across her chest. ‘Are you kidding? Open cartons and ancient pots of skyr and butter covered in crumbs? They couldn’t be bothered to throw this stuff away, that’s the only reason it’s there.’ She kicked the fridge door shut. ‘Just accept it. There’s nothing going on.’

  No sooner had she finished speaking than the family’s new automatic Roomba vacuum cleaner popped out of its charger and began its robotic dance across the floor. Practical as he was, Nói hadn’t managed to set the timer since they’d taken it out of its box and it started up whenever it felt like it. They stared, transfixed by the behaviour of the vacuum, which seemed unable to make up its mind where to go. When it suddenly made a beeline for Vala, Nói leapt over to switch it off before his wife could kick the expensive gadget. He put it back in its charger. ‘Go and have a lie-down. I’ll nip out to the shop.’

  On the way down the street he saw his neighbour’s car approaching and decided to ask him a few questions. It couldn’t hurt and – who knows? – he might even have noticed something. The man’s expression suggested that the last thing he was in the mood for on his way home from work was a leisurely chat. Their eyes met awkwardly while their windows were rolling down.

  ‘Hi, Steini. I just wanted to ask if you’d happened to notice the Americans who were staying in our house while we were away?’

  ‘Notice them?’ The man’s gaze flicked automatically to his own house. He looked as tired as Vala. ‘As in did I see them coming and going, or did I notice activity in the house? Lights going on and off, that sort of thing?’

  ‘Oh, just if you’d seen them.’

  ‘Yes, I did. Once or twice. I expect they went out early and came back late. As tourists do.’

  ‘Were they all right? Did it look as if anything had gone wrong?’ It was a stupid question but Nói assumed the man wouldn’t want to prolong the conversation by demanding an explanation.

  ‘Er, I don’t know what to say. They seemed OK. They weren’t in wheelchairs or on crutches, at any rate.’

  Nói smiled weakly. Seeing the man put his car in gear, he hurriedly slipped in another question. ‘Do you happen to remember when you last saw them?’

  The man looked through his windscreen at his house and drive. ‘Not exactly. Maybe a week, ten days ago?’ He waved dismissively, rolled up his window and pulled into his drive.

  Supper was an uninspiring affair but it hit the spot. They’d had enough of dining out on their trip, so bread, tinned soup, cheese and liver sausage made a nice change. The lettering on the milk carton and the familiar plain packaging of the butter and cheese made them feel that they were truly home at last. It didn’t hurt either that the meal required only minimal washing-up, though Tumi still objected to being landed with the chore. His parents left the kitchen, ignoring their son’s protests about the injustice of the world, and went to watch the evening news.

  Before long, Vala nodded off in her chair. She was obviously even more exhausted than Nói had realised and he wished he hadn’t pestered her so hard to discuss the mystery of the Americans. Now he came to think about it, her reaction had been much more heated than usual when they disagreed. It must be due to fatigue. As a rule she avoided conflict and let Nói have the last word. He didn’t like to recall their disagreements because more often than not he turned out to have been in the wrong. But this time she hadn’t made the slightest attempt to concede that he had a point, not even to shut him up. Odd.

  Taking care not to disturb her, Nói got up and turned down the volume. It was unlikely he’d get a better chance to use the computer this weekend. Vala had convinced herself that he was barking up the wrong tree completely, and she wouldn’t leave him alone if she saw him messing around with anything connected to the foreigners. If he was going to win her over to his point of view, he would need more compelling evidence than the recordings, the objects in the bin and a vague hunch.

  He checked his inbox; there were no e-mails from the Americans. Then the doorbell rang; Bylgja from next door was outside. She was hugging her thick cardigan around her, the wind tousling her shoulder-length hair. Although Nói and Vala had little contact with their neighbours, they had got to know her a bit and found her pleasant enough. Her husband, on the other hand, was a bit of a lout.

  ‘Sorry to bother you, Nói, but Steini told me you’d been asking him about the foreigners who were staying in your house. I was wondering if you wouldn’t rather talk to me. He never notices anything – I’m amazed you even managed to get him to stop the car. I’d have expected him to drive straight past.’ She tried to smile but her mouth trembled with the cold. ‘I hope I’m not disturbing you.’

  ‘No. Not at all. Vala fell asleep during the news and I’m not doing anything much.’ He stepped aside so she could come in.

  The woman shivered as if to shake off the chill. ‘To tell the truth I’ve been wondering about your guests.’

  ‘Real
ly?’ Automatically, Nói bent down to the radiator and turned up the heat. ‘Was there something odd about them?’

  ‘No, not at all. They were very nice. A perfectly ordinary couple, not unlike you and Vala.’

  Nói felt rather put out at being compared to the big-bellied man; he wished she’d added that he was of course much slimmer.

  ‘I met them a few times and gave them some advice about where to go. They were worried about driving conditions. Perfectly understandable as it snowed quite a bit the first week and I gather they have little experience of winter driving in Florida.’

  ‘Yes, they don’t get much snow there.’ Nói wondered if he should offer her a cup of coffee but couldn’t tell if she was in a hurry.

  ‘If you don’t mind, I wanted to know why you asked if we’d seen them. You see, I’ve been a bit concerned about them and was wondering if everything was OK.’

  ‘Why were you concerned?’ Nói was careful to hide his excitement.

  ‘It’s nothing major. I just didn’t see them the second week. And I lent them our satnav but they didn’t return it. I found that a bit odd because they’d struck me as honest sort of people.’ The woman turned pink. ‘I didn’t tell Steini because he’d only harp on about it endlessly. Actually, I was rather hoping you might have come across it.’

  Nói shook his head. ‘No, I’m afraid not. It could be here somewhere but I doubt it. It wasn’t in the glove compartment or on the dashboard.’

  ‘I’ve already had a look in the car – I tried the door and it turned out to be unlocked. The satnav wasn’t there.’ She added hastily: ‘I pushed the door-lock down afterwards. To be on the safe side.’

  ‘I see.’ Had the Americans been a couple of crooks after all? Why on earth hadn’t he and Vala requested references before signing the house-swap agreement?

  ‘You wouldn’t mind asking them about the satnav next time you hear from them, would you? They might have hired a car and accidentally left it inside. All I’d need is the name of the rental company.’

  ‘I don’t imagine they’d have hired a car. They had the use of ours.’

  ‘Really? I thought it had broken down.’

  ‘Why did you think that?’

  ‘It stood here untouched all last week.’

  Nói hadn’t tried the ignition, so he didn’t know if the woman’s guess was correct. ‘When did you last see them?’

  Bylgja furrowed her brow as she tried to remember. ‘I saw them now and then during the first two days. Then they went up to your holiday chalet and that’s when I lent them the satnav, but I wasn’t aware of them after that. The car was back in the drive one morning, though, so they must have come home during the night. But I didn’t see them again.’

  Shortly afterwards Bylgja said goodbye and Nói remained standing in the hall. Something must have happened to them. He walked over to the computer and on his way past the kitchen window he thought he saw a dark shadow moving at the near end of the garden. He looked more carefully but couldn’t see anything. The naked branches of the bushes lining the boundary waved in the wind and the rope on the flagpole slapped in unison. Of course there was nobody there. Nevertheless, he went into the hall and locked the front door.

  It occurred to him that there was a key to this house on the ring with the keys to the chalet. What had happened to that? Nói thought about it. The question was not where the keys were but who had them. He went to the garden door and peered out through the glass. Nothing. Taking out his phone, he tried the Americans’ mobile number again. When it began to ring, he went back to his computer, trapping the phone on his shoulder.

  So he didn’t notice when the blanket of snow at the bottom of the garden was lit up briefly by a bluish glow. It vanished momentarily, then lit up again and went out when Nói hung up in frustration.

  Chapter 14

  22 January 2014

  All the flat’s contents below a certain size had been packed into boxes or crammed into black bin bags that were now waiting to go to the dump. It had taken much less time than Nína had anticipated, perhaps because she was throwing so much of it away. She was only going to hang on to essential household items or things that would be expensive to replace. Some of the stuff she was throwing out could, she knew, have been used by other people, but she didn’t want any of these things to have a future. That way she wouldn’t have to dread seeing someone wearing Thröstur’s clothes or come across objects in other people’s houses that had once belonged to them. Nína could tell Berglind was unimpressed by her reasoning, but Thröstur’s sister Kata didn’t even ask her about the black bags littering the floor.

  ‘Did he never mention it?’ Nína handed a glass of Coke over the coffee table to her sister-in-law, then topped up Berglind’s. The two women were sitting at opposite ends of the sofa, as if it were Nína’s job to reconcile them after a long feud. ‘Or your mother, maybe?’

  Kata sipped her Coke, regarding Nína with wide eyes over the rim of her glass, then dropped her gaze. Since Thröstur had gone into a coma their relationship had cooled and they spoke less and less often, though Nína couldn’t quite work out why. She suspected Kata felt she was monopolising the right to grieve. She read as much in her sister-in-law’s expression when she came to visit Thröstur in hospital; a shadow had crossed her face when she saw Nína curled up in the chair at his bedside. Nína could understand Kata’s feelings. Brother and sister had always been very close – perhaps because of their mother’s untimely death – and Kata’s grief was genuine, so it must have felt a bit strange to be sidelined like this. Nína certainly wouldn’t have been too pleased to find Kata sitting by Thröstur’s bedside whenever she arrived at the hospital.

  ‘If they ever told me, I’ve forgotten. I would have been nine if Thröstur was seven, and I’m afraid I don’t remember much that far back.’ Kata placed her glass gingerly on the table, as if afraid it would break. ‘Is there any chance it could be a mistake? That the boy wasn’t actually Thröstur?’

  Nína held out her phone. ‘There’s no question who it is.’ As a favour, the technical manager had agreed to convert the video into digital format for her. It hadn’t been necessary to explain, though it must have been obvious to him that it wasn’t work related. She tried to interpret her sister-in-law’s expression as she watched the footage. The voices of the policeman and Thröstur emerged, high and tinny, from the phone.

  ‘Yes. That’s Thröstur all right. And Mum too.’ Kata watched the video to the end without further comment. She passed the phone back to Nína. ‘Can’t you find the rest of the recording? Half of it seems to be missing.’

  ‘I’ve searched high and low but I can’t find a thing. I don’t think there is any more. Perhaps they didn’t realise the tape had run out.’ Nína turned off the screen. ‘So it doesn’t ring any bells? Seeing that?’

  Kata shook her head slowly. ‘No. Though I do vaguely recall that licence-plate book. Thröstur was mad about collecting car numbers for a while.’

  ‘The book doesn’t still exist, does it?’ Nína asked, though she found the possibility highly unlikely after all these years and the constant moves that had, by his own account, characterised Thröstur’s youth.

  ‘No chance. Dad got rid of loads of stuff after Mum died. If the book still existed, he’d have thrown it away then. We moved out of the west end that summer and I’m pretty sure I don’t remember Thröstur having the book after that. He made new friends and maybe they weren’t interested.’ Kata shifted on the sofa but seemed no more comfortable afterwards. ‘Anyway, I don’t understand what good it would do you to find the book or any other information about this old case. It was such a long time ago. Aren’t there more than enough problems that need sorting out now?’ she said witheringly. She didn’t need to add that she felt Nína had failed Thröstur.

  ‘Because I suspect this old case may have some connection to Thröstur’s decision to commit suicide.’ Nína spoke slowly and evenly, and it dawned on her that she didn’t actuall
y give a damn what Kata thought. Her sister-in-law’s sidelong glances had long ago ceased to bother her.

  ‘That’s a bit far-fetched, isn’t it?’ Kata’s look of scorn deepened, though it was mingled now with a hint of uncertainty. ‘Why would something that happened when he was seven drive him to do that? I think you’re deluding yourself.’ Kata’s eyes alighted on the bin bags and boxes on the floor, apparently registering them for the first time. ‘Why’ve you packed everything away? Are you planning to decorate?’

  ‘No. I’m moving.’ Nína cleared her throat. ‘And I’ve decided to let them switch off the life support.’

  ‘The life support? You mean Thröstur?’ Kata’s voice was choked with pain.

  ‘Yes. I’m going to follow the doctors’ advice.’ Nína straightened her shoulders, as if to show her resolve. Berglind was doing her best to melt into the sofa.

  ‘Why now? And shouldn’t you have told me and Dad?’

  ‘I rang your father earlier. And I’m telling you now.’

  ‘Just because I asked about the boxes?’ Realising how ridiculous this sounded, Kata lowered her gaze but couldn’t hide her burning cheeks. ‘What did Dad say?’

  ‘Nothing. Except that he supported me in this. There’s no hope of recovery.’ It was all perfectly clear to Nína now. She couldn’t understand why she hadn’t decided the instant she grasped Thröstur’s situation. There had never been any hope and, on reflection, the hospital staff had made this as plain as they could, but she had chosen to put a different interpretation on their words. ‘There’s no point delaying. Thröstur did what he did and we can’t change that. This decision’s only a sort of epilogue.’

  ‘When?’ Kata looked up and met Nína’s eye. Brother and sister were so alike, though her features were a little finer.

  ‘Early next week. Probably on Tuesday.’

  ‘I see.’ Kata stood up. ‘Are you sticking around here for a bit longer? I’m thinking of going over to the hospital. I’d like to be alone with him for a little while.’