‘What house is it, darling?’
‘We walked. We walked here. Dad, you can’t come here. I don’t know what to do. You have to come alone. Just you! You’ve got to help me.’
‘I’ll come and get you. Do you know the name of the street?’
Konrád dressed hurriedly in tracksuit bottoms and shrugged on a jacket over his pyjama top.
‘I’m coming with you,’ said his wife.
He shook his head. ‘She wants me to come alone. You stay here. Are you there, sweetheart?’ he asked.
‘I don’t … don’t know the name of the street.’
‘What’s the name of the man who lives there? Maybe I can find him in the phone book.’
‘His name’s Runólfur.’
‘Do you know his surname?’
Silence.
‘Nína?’
‘I think …’
‘Yes?’
‘Dad? Are you there?’
‘Yes, my dear.’
‘I think … I think he’s dead.’
‘All right. Don’t worry. It’s all right. I’ll come and get you, and everything will be all right. But you’ve got to tell me where you are. Which way did you go?’
‘There’s blood everywhere!’
‘Try to be calm, now.’
‘I can’t remember anything. Not a thing.’
‘All right.’
‘I went into town for the evening.’
‘Yes.’
‘And I met this man.’
‘Yes.’
Konrád heard that his daughter was becoming less hysterical.
‘We passed the High School. And then the American Embassy, round that way,’ she said. ‘You must come alone. And make sure no one sees you.’
‘All right.’
‘I’m so scared, Dad. I don’t know what happened. I only know I must … must have attacked him.’
‘Where did you go next, darling?’
‘I don’t remember anything — but it’s not that I was drunk. I didn’t drink anything. And yet I can’t remember. I don’t know what’s wrong with me …’
‘Can you see any bills lying around, something with his name on, which might show the address?’
‘I don’t … don’t know what’s going on here.’
‘Have a look around, dear.’
Konrád opened the garage door, got into the car and started the engine. He reversed out into the street and drove off. His wife had refused to be left at home and she sat in the passenger seat, devoured by anxiety as she listened to the conversation.
‘Here’s a bill. It’s addressed to Runólfur. And there’s an address.’ Nína read it out.
‘That’s my brave girl,’ Konrád said. ‘I’m on my way. I’ll be with you in five minutes, at most.’
‘You must come alone.’
‘Your mother’s with me.’
‘No! God, no! She mustn’t come. You and Mum mustn’t be seen here. I don’t want anyone to see. I just want to go home. Please, please don’t bring Mum …’ Nína was sobbing uncontrollably. ‘I can’t do this,’ she moaned.
‘All right,’ her father said. ‘I’ll come by myself. I won’t park at the house. Is that all right? Don’t worry. Mum’ll wait in the car.’
‘Be quick, Daddy. Be quick.’
Konrád turned off the Ring Road, up Njardargata, then made a left turn. He parked a short distance away and, leaving his wife in the car, set off towards the house where Nína was waiting for him. He hurried towards her with his phone to his ear, doing his best to calm her as he walked. The streets were empty and so far as he could tell nobody had noticed his presence. On arrival he started up the steps to the front door. But he saw that the name on the doorbell was not Runólfur’s, so he turned back and followed the path around to the back garden. There, above the postbox, was the name he was looking for.
‘I’m here, my dear,’ Konrád said into the phone. The door stood slightly ajar. He pushed it open and stepped inside. He saw a man lying on the floor in a pool of blood. Nína was wrapped in a bedspread, huddled against the wall, clutching her knees to her chest. She was rocking back and forth, her phone clasped to her ear. Konrád switched his mobile off, went to her, and gently helped her to her feet. She collapsed, shaking, into his embrace.
‘What have you done, my child?’ he murmured.
Konrád concluded his account. For a long time, lost in thought, he looked at the brace on his leg. Then he turned to Elínborg.
‘Why didn’t you call the police?’ she asked him.
‘I should have rung you immediately, I know that,’ he replied. ‘But we just gathered up her clothes and left. We didn’t go back the same way. We went out through the garden, down into the next street to the car, then drove home. I know I did the wrong thing. I just wanted to protect my daughter — protect us and our lives — but I’m afraid I’ve just made things worse.’
‘I’ll need to speak to her,’ said Elínborg.
‘Of course,’ said Konrád. ‘I told her and my wife that you were here yesterday. I think we’re all relieved.’
‘You have difficult times ahead, I’m afraid,’ said Elínborg as she stood up.
‘We haven’t felt able to tell her brothers about it yet. Our sons. We’re at our wits’ end. How can we tell them that their little sister cut a man’s throat? A man who had raped her.’
‘I do understand that.’
‘Poor child. What she’s been through!’
‘We should go to her now.’
‘We just want her to be treated justly,’ said Konrád. ‘That man defiled her and she retaliated. That’s how we believe you should see the situation. It was self-defence. She had to defend herself. Simple as that.’
22
Nína lived in a small rented flat in the west of town. Konrád phoned to say that he was on his way there, with the police. He spoke to his wife, who was with their daughter, and asked her to tell Nína. The pretence was over. He drove over to the university district, followed by Elínborg, and stopped in front of a small block of flats. They went up to the first floor. Konrád rang the doorbell and a woman of his own age answered. She looked at Elínborg with an expression of deep distress.
‘Are you alone?’ she asked. ‘I didn’t see any police cars.’
‘Yes,’ said Elínborg. ‘I’m not anticipating any need for them.’
‘No,’ the woman replied, and shook Elínborg’s hand. ‘Come in.’
‘Is Nína here?’ Elínborg asked.
‘Yes, she’s waiting to see you. We’re just glad it’s at an end, this absurd charade.’
The two women entered the living room, followed by Konrád. Nína stood with her arms crossed, her eyes swollen with weeping.
‘Hello, Nína,’ said Elínborg, offering her hand. ‘I’m Elínborg, from the police.’
Nína shook her hand. Her grip was clammy and weak. She made no attempt to smile.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘Has my father told you what happened? How it all was?’
‘Yes, he’s told me his side. Now we need to talk to you.’
‘I have no idea what went on,’ said Nína. ‘I don’t remember anything.’
‘No, that’s all right. We’ve got plenty of time.’
‘I think he drugged me. You found drugs there, didn’t you?’
‘Yes. Your parents can come to the station with you, but then you and I have to talk, just the two of us. Do you understand? Are you all right with that?’
Nína nodded.
Elínborg glanced into the kitchen. The flat smelt not unlike her own home: a fragrance of herbs and spices from faraway lands, of cuisine so familiar to her yet always exotic. On the counter by the sink stood a tandoori pot. ‘I like Indian cookery, too,’ she remarked, with a smile.
‘Do you?’ said Nína. ‘I had a dinner party that evening, before …’
‘I’ve got your shawl,’ Elínborg said. ‘The one you were wearing. I thought from the smell that you must have been cooking Indian food.’
‘We left it behind by accident,’ Nína explained. ‘Dad picked up everything of mine he could see, but I didn’t think of the shawl.’
‘And the T-shirt.’