“My god. What have you done?” Halldór groaned.
“I haven’t done anything,” Egill exclaimed. “It was just bloody unlucky, but we can fix this. We just quickly search his home, find the gun, and prove that the bugger shot both father and son. Then nobody can blame us.”
“Egill!” Halldór cried. “You get into the office right now. I don’t even want you going to the john without asking my permission. Do you understand me?”
“All right then. If that’s what you want…” His voice trailed off.
Slamming the phone down, Halldór snatched the search warrant and threw it into his bottom desk drawer. He sat motionless for a long time. There was a procedure the police had to follow when a prisoner died in custody.
He picked the phone up and dialed the number for the chief of police.
Diary XVII
January 1, 1940. On this first day of the year it seems a good idea to sit down and look back at the past and think about the future. People’s opinions are very divided about independence. There are voices that maintain that Icelanders are too poor and too few to take charge of their foreign affairs. Prima facie, this seems a reasonable argument, but it is not a new one. It has always been put forward against every demand that Icelanders have made on Denmark for increased liberty…
February 11, 1940. The German Consul-General called me to a meeting this morning. He asked me to assist him with the gathering of information, as the embassy has become very isolated because of the war. I asked if he was expecting me to spy on my own nation. He said he didn’t mean that at all. “Embassies are supposed to monitor developments in their host countries and file reports on them. That is what they are there for,” the consul said. I replied that I was much too busy, and was about to leave when he stopped me and said that my brother Matthías had been arrested in Hamburg for planning to leave the country illegally and without identification papers. The German partners in Isländische Bahn have complained to the authorities about developments in the business, and they hold Matthías responsible. The steelworks that sold us the rails have not received any payment in spite of having had a number of assurances. Naturally, I became angry on hearing these words, as it is Hitler’s warmongering that has caused all this trouble. It was the onset of hostilities that stopped loans, both domestic and foreign, to the railway as well as foreign currency transfers. I told him that this disaster was going to bankrupt me. Finally, I asked him to use his influence to have Matthías released, because he was simply my representative in this matter. I also said it was essential that my relationship with the embassy does not in any way give rise to suspicion. He must understand this…
April 9, 1940. A German force is reported to have invaded Denmark today…
April 10, 1940. A parliamentary session was held overnight, and two resolutions were passed unanimously. Foreign affairs and all powers exercised by the Danish Crown in Iceland are to be assumed by the government…the Norwegians are still resisting the German invasion…
Halldór was not feeling himself. Morgunbladid was not published on Mondays, so he couldn’t even seek refuge in its pages that morning. Perhaps this would change one day, he reflected. Perhaps Morgunbladid would be published on Mondays and there would be television broadcast on Thursdays. To Halldór, these deviations from the rule interrupted the pleasant and predictable rhythm of life.
He sat and nibbled absentmindedly on a piece of toast, pondering whether he had become too old for this job, or had lost interest or competence in it. It wouldn’t be too long now before he could retire, or maybe he could apply to be an attendant at the parliament building, as one of his old colleagues had done; that would definitely suit him nicely.
He listened to the morning news on the radio, relieved to hear no mention of a prisoner having died in police custody. If luck would have it, something else, something bigger, would occupy the headlines, then perhaps the newsmen would miss the story altogether. Matthías had, after all, actually died in the hospital, he reminded himself.
This situation was going to cause them a deal of trouble, though, that much was obvious. Solving the murder case was the only thing that would appease his superiors at this point. He closed his eyes and prayed silently to God almighty that something would fall from the sky that would give him the answer; there was certainly not much hope that the investigating team would do it anytime soon. Halldór was a believer, and he and his wife attended church services regularly, but he hardly ever prayed; on this particular occasion, he figured it wouldn’t hurt, and he did feel better afterward.