1976
Claustrophobia struck the instant Hulda entered the old stone prison building, known as ‘the penitentiary’, on Skólavordustígur; that horrible sense of suffocation that she never told anyone about.
She didn’t even need to see the cramped cells; the thought alone was enough to rob her of her breath.
It didn’t help that the building was so drab and cheerless, though it had a sizeable yard hidden away behind its high stone walls.
She had regular business there, and always dreaded it, though she tried to put on a brave face.
A good police officer didn’t show any signs of weakness, she knew that.
She presented herself at reception.
‘I’m here to see Einar Másson. My name’s Hulda Hermannsdóttir.’
The giant who received her, an old misogynist nearing retirement, knew perfectly well who she was but always faked ignorance. To counter this, she had developed the habit of announcing her name loud and clear every time she arrived.
‘Sign here.’ He showed her into the interview room, where she was kept waiting what felt like an unnecessarily long time for Einar.
She had never met him before, though of course she had read the news about the bank robbery when it happened.
No one could come up with a satisfactory explanation for why a promising youth like him should have gone so badly astray.
It was as if one day he’d simply had the idea of robbing a bank – to see if he could get away with it.
Admittedly, security at Reykjavík’s banks had been pretty lax in those days, and, truth be told, it hadn’t improved much in the intervening years, although the robbery should have been a wake-up call.
Given the situation at the time, Einar could probably have got away scot-free.
The robbery had been well organized and timed, but the robbers hadn’t anticipated the possibility that one of the employees might resist – it turned out that an older man had been entrusted with the job of security guard alongside his duties as cashier.
During the struggle, a shot had been fired and the man had been killed instantly.
The door opened to admit a man in handcuffs, currently serving the eleventh year of his sentence.
He was thirty-four, yet he looked closer to sixty, his face heavily lined, dark circles under his eyes, his hands bony, his hair thinning, his eyes like those of a dead man. Any spark of life extinguished.
‘Hello, Einar. My name’s Hulda.’
He barely responded. She pulled out a chair for him.
‘I work for the police.’
‘I thought you might,’ he said in a low voice.
Hulda was aware that Einar must soon be coming up for parole but, seeing him now, she was afraid he wouldn’t last that long. The poor man looked terrible.
‘I just wanted to have a chat with you about that business back in ’65.’
‘The bank robbery, you mean? Isn’t it best to call it by its name?’
‘Yes, you’re right.’
‘I’ve said everything that needs to be said. God help me, I have nothing more to say, Hulda. Your name is Hulda, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
She didn’t add anything, just waited patiently.
‘I made my confession a long time ago and asked for forgiveness.’ His voice was hoarse, his breathing worryingly shallow and rapid.
‘I’ll never be forgiven, I know that. I can’t even forgive myself.
One mistake, you know? One mistake that can never be undone.
You and me might have been friends today, Hulda, if I’d finished my studies and gone out into the world, as intended.
You’re not much younger than me, are you? ’
‘I’ll be thirty next year.’ Actually, she was twenty-eight, but in this job it paid to come across as older than you were.
‘I haven’t met you before, Hulda.’
‘No. Does that make any difference?’
He shrugged.
‘Not really. I suspect you’re here for the same reason as all your colleagues. Am I right?’
‘What did they want?’
‘To fish for the name of my accomplice.’
‘I gather they didn’t have much luck in getting that information.’
‘Are you going to ask me the same thing?’
‘No, I’m not.’
That gave Einar pause. A hint of curiosity entered his dull eyes.
‘I want to know why you did it,’ Hulda asked in a level voice.
‘Would that make any difference?’
‘It could make all the difference.’
‘It’s too late to undo what’s done, and, as you can see, I’m at the end of my tether. I can’t cope with being locked up inside for another minute; I can’t sit here, day in, day out, brooding over my mistakes, over the man who died.’
‘Did you shoot him?’
‘Do I need to call my lawyer?’
‘Einar, your situation can hardly get any worse, but, on the other hand, you might gain some peace of mind by telling the truth.’
This time he burst out laughing, completely wrongfooting Hulda.
‘Of course you want to know the same as all the rest. Well played, though, trying to fool me like that.’
‘Did you need the money? Or did you do it for kicks? It must have been one or the other.’
‘Couldn’t it have been a mixture of both? What’s life worth without a bit of variety?’
‘You can experience variety in your life without killing someone.’
Hulda studied the prisoner. Despite his haggard appearance, his brain was still sharp.
Oddly enough, she found herself liking him and felt instinctively that he must have been the victim of circumstance.
She even felt the stirrings of sympathy for him, though she knew that was against the rules.
As a representative of the law, it was her duty to stay impartial.
‘Of course. Look, I didn’t wake up one morning and decide, today, I’m going to shoot someone.
But I think you already understand that.
And, you know…’ He broke off for a moment.
‘Do you know what, Hulda? I think you’re convinced I’ve reached the end of the road, that I’m dying, and you’re hoping for a death-bed confession.
Well, I’m going to have to disappoint you there.
I’m not saying another word about it: the case is closed and I abandoned all hope long ago.
But I reckon I’ve got a bit of time left.
I haven’t been feeling too well recently, but not every day’s the same.
I’m in no hurry to leave this world. There’s no urgency. ’
It was plain that Einar had no intention of saying anything, and perhaps he did have a bit of time left.
His will to live might yet prove stronger than his body.
Meanwhile, Hulda was finding it increasingly hard to handle her claustrophobia, although, unlike Einar, she had the power to decide when she wanted to leave.
The mere thought of a prison cell and being deprived of her liberty filled her with panic and she was grateful that she had always managed to stay on the right side of the law.
‘All right, that’ll do for now, Einar,’ she said, but saw at once from his expression that he didn’t want her to leave. That he craved company. In spite of this, he didn’t say anything or betray any other signs of weakness.
‘I may look in on you again. Please let me know if you ever have anything you want to share with me.’
‘I find it unlikely,’ he said. ‘But I’ve enjoyed talking to you.’
‘Likewise,’ she said. She walked out of the interview room, trying not to run, and emerged into the sunlight.
Sometimes she wondered if she was really cut out for this job.
Then again, she reminded herself that she was better at it than most of her colleagues, and that was why she had no intention of quitting. But, for now, all she could think about was getting home to Jón and little Dimma.