Snowblind by Ragnar Jónasson

question.
    Finally she looked up. ‘I lost … lost my boyfriend a few years ago,’ she said. ‘That’s why I moved here.’
    Accustomed to being the one who had suffered loss – the one receiving the sympathy, Ari Thór didn’t know how to respond.
    ‘My condolences,’ he said, not knowing what else to say, but recognising that his words were empty of meaning and he could just as well have given her a standard flower-shop sympathy card.
    ‘Thank you.’
    ‘How did he die?’
    ‘Well … we were out on the town in Patreksfjördur. There’s a small bar there and he…’ Águst , she wanted to say, hesitating as if she couldn’t say his name out loud. ‘He got into an argument with someone from out of town, someone who was very drunk. He was punched, fell down and he never woke up… It was just that one blow,’ she added.
    Her expression was desolate, but Ari Thór had the feeling that telling him the story had been a relief for her.
    ‘I’m sorry to hear it,’ he said. ‘Very sorry.’
    ‘Thank you,’ she murmured again.
    She put aside the coffee mug and looked at the clock.
    ‘I don’t want to keep you here all evening,’ she said, with a clearly artificial cheerfulness in her voice. ‘Isn’t it time we made a start?’
    ‘Certainly. I need to go over what we did last week. It’s not going to be pretty!’
    He sat at the piano and placed his hands on the keyboard.
    ‘No, that’s not right,’ Ugla corrected him, lifting his right hand and moving it. He flushed at her touch, feeling an agreeably warm energy from her.
    ‘Thanks. That’s better,’ he said, and suddenly it was as if Kristín were a thousand miles away.

11
    His voice louder this time, he asked again where the money was, loud enough to frighten but not loud enough to be heard outside in the street. Still wearing the coat she had put on to fetch the rice, she had handed him her purse the first time he asked.
    The rice. Had she forgotten about that? She pushed the thought to the back of her mind, surprised that she could worry about takeaway rice at a moment like this.
    He had taken a quick look in her purse, seen there was little cash, and demanded again where the damned money was hidden.
    She shook her head and he asked about a safe.
    Again she shook her head but her eyes probably gave her away. Like a cat with prey on his mind, he seemed to have found the scent.
    He took a step closer, putting the knife to her throat.
    ‘You get one chance. Make it count.’ His voice terrified her.
    He continued: ‘If you tell me that there’s no safe, I’ll kill you right here, right now. I have zero tolerance for bullshit.”
    She answered him instantly, showed him the way down the stairs, along the passage leading from the hall and into the study. He switched on the light and the low-powered bulb illuminated the room, including the heavily built safe in front of them.
    He looked at her.
    She was quick to reply before he asked the question.
    ‘I don’t know the combination. You have to believe me!’ she almost shouted. ‘You have to wait for my husband to come home.’
    He raised the knife and her heart pounded.
    It was probably the phone that saved her life at that moment – or at least prolonged it.

12

SIGLUFJÖRDUR. CHRISTMAS EVE 2008
    ‘Merry Christmas, my boy!’ Tómas called cheerily, as he set off into the cold night. Ari Thór was going to reply when he heard the door shut and he decided there was little point in calling out Christmas greetings that only he would hear. He sat alone at the police station’s computer. Red-and-white paper chains had been hung, and a plastic Christmas tree, adorned with cheap baubles, stood by the entrance; that was the full extent of Christmas at the police station.
    Maybe that was enough; the place wasn’t exactly going to be crowded over the holiday period. Ari Thór was the only one who would be there, with a shift from midday on Christmas Eve to midday on Christmas Day itself. It was