Outrage: An Inspector Erlendur Novel by Indridason Arnaldur

Author:Indridason, Arnaldur [Indridason, Arnaldur]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2012-09-17T16:00:00+00:00

Elínborg drove home, deep in thought. A pop song was on the radio, sung by a female singer who had long been a favourite of hers: I whisper your name, but there’s no answer… She thought about Edvard and the girl from Akranes, Lilja. Might he know something about her disappearance, six years before? She had checked it out earlier. Edvard had no criminal record. His relationship with Runólfur might prove to be the key to what had happened in Runólfur’s flat, but she was wary of reading too much into Edvard’s use of his friend’s name when he’d bought the Rohypnol. Had Edvard been supplying Runólfur with prescription drugs? When had that started? And what for? Or was Edvard using the stuff himself? Who was the man Petrína had seen hurrying through Thingholt, towards number 18? Elínborg felt that Petrína’s information about the man was reliable, even though some of her statements were hard to fathom. Why was the man in such a hurry? Did he see something? Did he have a connection with the tandoori woman who had apparently been in Runólfur’s flat? Was he more than just a potential witness? Perhaps he was Runólfur’s assailant?

Elínborg parked outside her home and sat in the car for a while, considering various questions but finding no answers. She was feeling guilty for neglecting her family recently. As if it weren’t enough that she was hardly ever home her mind was invariably on her job, even during the very limited time she did spend with them.

Unhappy though she was about the situation, she could not help herself. That was the way with the difficult cases – they were relentless.

As the years went by, Elínborg increasingly craved the safe haven of her family life with Teddi. She wanted to sit with Theodóra and help her with her knitting. She wanted to know Valthór better, and understand how he was growing into a young man who would soon be leaving home. Then he would probably be largely lost to her, except for the odd awkward phone call, neither of them knowing what to say. A visit now and then. Perhaps she had neglected him when he’d been younger because, in spite of everything, her work had always come first – morning, noon and night. Perhaps she had given it more thought than she had to her own flesh and blood. She understood that she could not turn the clock back but she could still try to make up for it. Or maybe it was too late. Maybe in the future she would only have news of her son from his blog? She no longer knew how to approach him.

She had checked Valthór’s blog earlier in the day when she’d been at work. He was describing a football match he had seen on TV, and a political debate on a popular chat show about conservation – apparently aligning himself with big-business interests. He also sounded off about a teacher at college against whom he

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