Jonasson, Ragnar - Snowblind by Jonasson Ragnar

Author:Jonasson, Ragnar [Jonasson, Ragnar]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Contemporary, History & Criticism, Regional & Cultural, European, German, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Mystery, International Mystery & Crime, Thrillers & Suspense, Suspense, Reference, Contemporary Fiction, Criticism & Theory
ISBN: 9781910633038
Google: QTcSrgEACAAJ
Amazon: B00Q1UK0VW
Publisher: Orenda Books
Published: 2015-06-14T12:00:00+00:00

Ari Thór stood in the driving snow outside the house on Thormódsgata. It was late in the evening, but there were lights on in both upstairs and downstairs flats. He went straight to the back garden, where Hlynur was bent over as he searched in the snow, looking for the weapon or any other clue. Ari Thór tapped him on the back. There was no point in calling out to him in this weather.

Hlynur looked up.

‘Nothing. Nothing so far,’ he yelled through the storm.

Ari Thór nodded acknowledgement and pointed towards the house.

Hlynur came closer. ‘Take a look inside. I’ve been through the flat and taken pictures. Didn’t find anything there except her shirt – a red T-shirt on the floor,’ Hlynur said. ‘It’s in an evidence bag in the car.’

The shirt she was wearing when the attack took place?

Ari Thór stepped into the warmth of the flat through the back door, and it was as if he’d gone back a couple of decades, judging by the quaintly colourful furniture and fabrics. There was nothing here that went properly together, at all – although, in a weird sort of way, it did make some kind of cohesive whole. Had she been attacked inside or outside? Could it have been someone she knew, someone she had invited in?

There was no sign of a struggle inside, nothing to be seen in either the living room or the little kitchen. The bright yellow paint on the kitchen walls and cabinets screamed at him, as if it had been cut from some over-the-top, mid-seventies magazine. There was a cheap set of tired kitchen knives next to the stove, with slots for five knives, three small and two larger ones. There were only four knives to be seen; maybe a coincidence, or maybe not.

Ari Thór looked into the bedroom, pausing at the picture of Jesus that hung above the old double bed and letting his mind wander back to his days studying theology. The Reverend Ari Thór. He was certainly better off in the police force. What had God ever done for him, other than take away his parents before there had been a chance to get to know them properly?

He looked out of the window.

The snow had stopped falling, as if a tap had been turned off.

That was when he saw the phone, a small, red mobile phone next to the pillow on the unmade bed. Her phone? Probably. He was gripped by a sudden discomfort, a sudden stab to the guts, and his heart beat faster. He put the phone in an evidence bag and placed it in his pocket.

Could it be what he thought it was?

No, hardly. Damn it.

Ari Thór went out through the front door, up the steps and rang Leifur’s doorbell.

Leifur looked tired, but not surprised to be getting a visit from the police so late in the evening.

‘I’m sorry it’s late,’ Ari Thór said. ‘I won’t keep you long; I imagine you have work in the morning.’ He smiled, making an effort to be amicable.

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