The Girl Who Died, Ragnar Jonasson [small books to read .TXT] 📗

on the heels of this question followed another: did she even want to know the truth? And would she be able to keep her promise of secrecy?

‘Thór …’ she interrupted, when she saw that he was about to carry on. ‘I don’t … I don’t think …’

I don’t think I want to hear any more, was what she had been about to say, but she couldn’t finish the sentence. Her curiosity was too strong. She needed an explanation for the mysterious goings-on in the village, and she wouldn’t have been human if she hadn’t wanted to know the truth about the most notorious murder case in Iceland’s recent history.

Thór looked at her, his brows raised: ‘Are you all right?’

She nodded. ‘Are they really innocent?’ she asked. ‘And locked up in spite of that?’

‘Yes. Patrekur … the man you met … he’s the one who should have been convicted for the killing, not them. The sick bastard. The murdering piece of scum.’

Una was utterly wrongfooted. Was Thór innocent after all? She experienced a rush of relief but didn’t want to celebrate too soon. ‘How do you know?’ she asked. ‘Were you … Were you involved in the murders?’ She immediately regretted having phrased the question like that.

Thór shook his head. ‘No, but it’s hardly surprising you should ask. I knew Patrekur, though – knew what an evil bastard he was. I’m all too aware what he was capable of.’

She noticed that he spoke of Patrekur in the past tense. ‘In that case, why’s he still a free man?’ she asked.

‘Because the police buggered up the investigation. They arrested a bunch of innocent people and the courts played along.’

‘If that’s really true, Thór … If … Why haven’t you told people? Can’t you prove it? Can’t you help those poor people get out of prison?’

He hesitated, his eyes flicking shiftily away from hers.

Una glanced at Hjördís, but she was sitting very still, her face grim, staying well out of it.

‘Una, there’s nothing I can do,’ Thór said.

‘Why not?’ she asked, her voice coming out harsher than she had intended. ‘For God’s sake, Thór, why not?’

‘Because they’d kill me, Una. Those bastards are unbelievably dangerous.’

‘Who are you talking about?’

‘The men who were – still are – behind the smuggling ring. We were disposable, you know – just the little guys. But we decided to get out while we could and go to the police. They’d gone too far, way too far. But somehow they got wind of the fact we were planning to betray them.’

‘Who’s we?’

‘Me and Hannes.’

‘Hannes? The man who was killed? Did you know him?’

‘Yes. We were going to pull out and go to the police together. But then they unleashed Patrekur on us.’

‘To do what?’

‘To kill us, Una.’

‘What? You said he killed Hannes and Hilmar. Was he supposed to kill you too? But you got away …’

‘Una, you don’t understand,’ he said, lowering his voice, then reached across the table and took her hand. ‘Una, he only got to Hannes. Although his body’s never been found, I understand it’s somewhere in the lava-fields on Reykjanes. But Hilmar … Hilmar vanished without trace. He not only survived but he’s sitting in front of you now.’

XXXVI

‘What are … what are you saying?’ Una’s heart was pounding. She felt faint. She couldn’t have heard right. Had Thór really said that Hilmar was sitting in front of her? Hilmar, the man who had vanished at the same time as Hannes … The man for whose murder three young people had been sent to prison?

‘Hilmar Thór,’ he said. ‘My name’s Hilmar Thór.’ Letting go of her hand, he stood up, went over to Hjördís and put his arm round her shoulders. ‘And Hjördís here, is my sister, or half-sister, rather. The farm belonged to our father.’

Hilmar Thór.

‘You mean … You mean you’ve been here since … ever since you went missing … or deliberately disappeared?’ She could hardly take it in. Was it possible that she was sitting in front of the man whose fate had been a mystery all these years? Then, following hard on that came the thought that he had watched without saying a word while three innocent people went to prison because of him.

‘Yes,’ he said, in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘I fled out here as soon as I guessed what was coming. I knew my sister would take me in. I’d never lived here myself or had much contact with Hjördís, so I thought it was unlikely it would occur to them to look for me here. As you’ve probably worked out by now, I live here in the main house with my sister, not in the guesthouse. I lied to you about that. Sorry. I never thought I’d end up staying here all these years or that the case would blow up like that. The whole thing just escalated until, in the end, I felt it was too late for me to come forward. And all this time I’ve been living with the knowledge that my life is in danger. That’s why I grew the beard, just to be on the safe side.’ He stroked his thick facial hair. ‘The truth is, I’m still frightened – scared to death of the guys behind it all. You don’t know what they’re like, Una; what they’re capable of. But they never thought to come looking for me here, not until Patrekur showed up.’

Una frowned as she tried to recall the photos of Hannes and Hilmar, which had long been familiar to everyone in Iceland after being splashed all over the papers for years on end, but the beard made it hard to fit Thór’s face with that of the man who had disappeared. At least she understood now why he had struck her as oddly familiar the first time they met.

As if reading her mind, Thór went on: ‘That’s why I was a bit pissed off the first time we bumped into each other. I didn’t know if it was a