2005
[hissing]
I think I’ve about run out of questions, Elín. I’ve kept you far too long, but it’s been so enjoyable, and fascinating to hear about the extraordinary life you’ve led.
Extraordinary… yes, sometimes, I suppose. But isn’t it the same for everyone – that we all have extraordinary experiences at one time or another? It may be a cliché, but life is always a mixture of sunshine and showers.
I’ll let you read the interview when I’ve written it up. There’s no rush, I assume? I can’t quite see where it would be best placed. It won’t necessarily…
We can talk about that at the end. You’ll recall that I mentioned two conditions when we first spoke? I haven’t brought up the second one yet.
Oh, yes, OK. I remember. That… that’s fine.
First, I wanted to tell you a story, Kristín, if you have time.
Yes, of course. Shall I turn off the recording?
No, please don’t. This will all belong in the interview, when the time comes. I have a crime story for you, to finish off with. It’s a story that’s never found its way into any of my books and never will. But you’ll get to tell it.
I’m intrigued…
The story begins in 1965 with a group of friends, three law students, one of whom has a brilliant idea.
The brilliant… well, that’s debatable…
idea of how to commit the perfect crime.
I don’t really know why. Perhaps it was just for the thrill of it – that’s my suspicion.
As a way of spicing up their life, or simply because it was possible.
Sometimes people do things just because they can. Do you know what I mean?
Yes, I suppose so.
Well, anyway, the law students discuss the idea, initially as a joke, I believe, but gradually it becomes apparent that they’re serious.
There’s money at stake too, and of course that can be a big motivating factor.
Eventually it turns out that there is an actual plan to commit a serious crime, but a victimless crime, as it was described in my hearing.
Hang on, what was the crime?
To rob a bank. A local branch on a quiet street, not much security in evidence – an easy target, in other words.
Lots of businesses deposited their money there – that was the justification I heard.
That it would be a piece of cake; the perfect crime, in other words.
Although I got wind of it, I had no intention of taking part.
All I was interested in at the time was finishing my degree.
I was still aiming to become a lawyer. But they were my friends, so I watched from the sidelines; saw it become a reality, little by little, saw the idea taking shape.
But I didn’t say a word, didn’t lift a finger, perhaps because I thought it was all a big joke.
Though perhaps on some level I knew better.
But then, how well do we know our friends when it comes down to it?
And when do we stop standing by them? When do we stop trying to step in and save them from danger?
This sounds like good material for a novel…
Then one morning it happened. A bank robbery in broad daylight. The country was in shock.
Wait a minute, I’m not sure I’ve ever heard about that.
Maybe not, no. After all, this was before you were born, but people had never experienced anything like it, not in quiet little Iceland.
There must surely have been bank robberies in the past?
Not many armed robberies, not in those days. And that wasn’t all: one of the bank staff died.
Oh, I see. That’s terrible.
Things went dreadfully wrong. A victimless crime, they’d said. But a brave cashier – maybe he was a security guard too – tried to resist them and a shot was fired.
Wait, you knew about this…?
Yes, I knew about it, not precisely when it was supposed to happen, but I knew about the preparations and of course I knew the names of the bank robbers.
The name of the killer. But I didn’t say anything.
Remember what I said just now: when do we stop standing by our friends? What do you say to that, Kristín?
Weren’t they ever caught?
One of the robbers was caught, yes. But only one. He was sentenced to prison for murder; he got sixteen years.
What’s his name?
His name was Einar. He was a good friend of mine, a sweet boy, from a hard-up family. Like me, he meant to become a lawyer. He was a good student. Perhaps he was led astray by the money… as if it could ever pay to rob a bank.
Is he dead?
Yes, he died a long time ago.
What happened? Did he serve his full sentence?
He served ten and a half years, or thereabouts.
Then he was released on parole. You know, I never went to visit him in prison.
I didn’t dare, didn’t want to get involved.
I had long ago given up my law studies; I couldn’t continue – for various reasons, including this.
I was afraid. I wanted to try and live my life in peace without being implicated, even indirectly, in a bank robbery and murder.
I just wanted to forget about it, but of course it’s been preying on my mind ever since.
I didn’t do anything wrong except keep quiet.
But sometimes that’s a big enough sin on its own.
What happened to Einar?
He just wasted away in prison. He couldn’t take it.
I’m told his health gradually broke down.
Yet he survived long enough to walk free for a brief time, only to die shortly afterwards.
There was no single reason, it was the whole situation.
I didn’t have the courage to visit him even when he got out of prison, I kept putting it off…
Didn’t he ever reveal his accomplice’s identity?
Never said a word. Friends stand by one another, you see.
He was unlucky; the police caught him. I suppose he must have known his life was ruined, but he didn’t want to wreck anyone else’s.
I think I can understand that. He might have received a more lenient sentence, though he’d always have had to do a long, long stint inside.
Still, a shorter sentence might have saved his life.
Because who would be able to cope with the prospect of being locked up for sixteen years?
What about you, Elín? If you don’t mind my asking… why did you never speak up?
I’ve often wondered that. I think there were a lot of reasons.
They were my friends, my best friends, and, to be honest, I wasn’t sure it was my job to report them.
I hadn’t done anything wrong, I’d only heard about their plans and hadn’t taken them seriously, but when it was all over, of course I knew what had happened.
What would you have done? Should I have rung the police and sent my friends to prison?
The poor cashier was already dead. It was too late to save anyone’s life.
But as the years wore on I came to the realization that I couldn’t take a secret like that to my grave.
Perhaps I should have written about it in fictionalized form, but that didn’t seem appropriate.
My books are an outlet for my imagination, my creativity and artistic talents, whereas what had happened was all too real.
But it’s all right for me to tell people about this in the interview?
Yes, when the time comes. I trust you to do justice to the story. The truth needs to come out.
Your friend, Einar, who was arrested and died. Wasn’t he guilty?
Yes, certainly, he was involved. But it wasn’t his idea. And I know he didn’t fire the gun.
But wasn’t he convicted for that?
Yes, and he never pointed the finger at anyone else. Maybe I should have intervened at that stage, but I didn’t have any proof, only the testimony of my friends about what had happened. Einar committed armed robbery, but he didn’t kill anyone.
Are you willing to tell me who his accomplice was? The name of the man who killed the bank employee?
[pause]
It wasn’t a man, it was a woman.
[pause]
It was my best friend. Her name’s Lovísa.
And we’re still best friends. I’m finding it hard to say this aloud even now, after all these years, despite knowing it won’t appear in print straight away…
She’s done well for herself, in spite of everything.
She passed her law exams in style, the only one of us three, then later went to work for the courts and eventually rose to become a judge.
An illustrious career by any standards. She’s taught law, too, and written academic books.
She’ll never tell anyone what happened that day in 1965. That’s why it’s up to me to do it.
You’re still best friends, you say… Do you ever talk about this?
No, never. It’s too difficult. Sometimes it’s best to pretend it never happened.
But I’m going to warn her next time we meet that I’ve given an interview and told the whole story.
Then she’ll know that justice will come for her in the end.
But I’m also going to reassure her that it won’t come out until after I’m gone.
I know it sounds cowardly, in a way, not wanting to be around to help her deal with the situation, but in all honesty this was her mistake, not mine.
What, what do you mean? You’re… you’re not dying, are you?
No, fortunately. Lovísa’s pretty fit too. Maybe she’ll die before me and then she’ll never have to suffer for it – not in that sense, if you follow me.
Then I’m afraid I don’t quite understand, Elín, why the interview won’t appear until after you’ve gone?
Ah, you see, that’s my second condition.
I realize it could create quite a sensation, with you shedding light on a cold case, a major case, that most people have probably forgotten about these days.
But you’re just going to have to wait and keep the recording safe.
I trust you to find the right way of presenting the story when the time comes.
OK, I see… frankly, I’m a bit taken aback.
You needn’t be so polite; I know it’s unfair and that I should have been straight with you from the beginning. But it has to be this way. The secret has to be exposed one day, but I don’t want to see it. I’m too fond of Lovísa.
I think we should stop now, then, don’t you? Was there anything else that…?
Yes, let’s stop now. That’ll do.
[hissing]