deepen his voice and give it some authority.
‘… I think he’s going to hurt me …’
Ari Thór was now sure he could hear fear in the voice, fear and despair. Or had he perhaps only transferred his own feelings of dread – his claustrophobia and loneliness – onto the caller?
‘What did you say?’ he asked, as the line went dead.
He tried to call back but there was no reply. He looked the number up in the police database. There was no registered user, so presumably it was a SIM card that had been bought in a kiosk somewhere, maybe even the kiosk in Siglufjördur. But the phone call could have come from anywhere in the country.
He had no idea what he should do, so he waited a moment and called the number again.
It rang, and this time there was a reply, the same whispering voice. ‘I’m sorry … I shouldn’t have … sorry …’ And the line went dead again.
Perplexed, Ari Thór stared out into the darkness.
This bloody darkness.
‘Just call if there’s anything,’ Tómas had said, conscience touching his voice; an awareness that it was unfair to leave the new recruit alone at the station over Christmas.
It was half-past five. A man who took life with equanimity and didn’t let himself get stressed, certainly not at Christmas, Tómas probably didn’t even have his suit on yet.
Hell, Ari Thór thought and dialled Tómas’s number.
‘Hello?’ On the other end of the line was the familiar, powerful but amiable bass voice.
‘Tómas? It’s Ari Thór here … Sorry to call you at such an awkward time…’
‘Good evening,’ Tómas sounded distracted and distinctly less cheerful than his usual self. ‘Christmas doesn’t start until we’re ready and I’m not inclined to be hurried. We’re still wrapping presents here. The worst of it is that the priest always starts his service at six on the dot, but it wouldn’t be the first time that we showed up halfway through,’ he said, with a laugh that seemed forced.
‘I had a strange call, didn’t know what to make of it,’ Ari Thór said. ‘The caller, he or she, whispered something about being in danger, or that’s what it sounded like. Then when I called back it seems it had been a mistake.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Tómas said absently. He sounded tired.‘Every now and then we get these calls, someone playing a prank, normally youngsters. These kids.’ He hesitated before saying more. ‘So he, or she, pretty much admitted playing a prank when you called back?’
‘Well, I suppose so.’
‘Then don’t worry about it. It’s a nuisance being a cop at Christmas and there are people who just don’t have any kind of a conscience. Well, Reverend, don’t you have other things to think about? A sermon or something?’
The laughter was again forced and Ari Thór tried to smile to shake off the disquiet the whispering voice on the phone had left him with.
‘I suppose so. Well, regards to the family.’
‘I’ll pass them on.’
‘And Merry Christmas,’ he added, but Tómas had already put down the phone.
Ari Thór picked up the book he had bought, in spite of the promise he’d made to himself to save it until after dinner. He was eking out his small pleasures to keep the boredom at bay. Only a few pages into the book, he realised that he hadn’t taken anything in. Unable to concentrate, he stood up and opened the door, stepping out into the snow and looking up at the mountains. Man had beaten the mountains by tunnelling through them, and was doing his best to fend off the forces of nature with robust avalanche defences so big that they looked almost as if trolls rather than men had built them. But the darkness and the snow could never be defeated. Ari Thór lifted his face to the heavens and closed his eyes, letting featherweight snowflakes settle on his face, one at a time, offering them refuge.
There was a sound from inside, and this time there was no doubt that it was coming from his mobile and not the work phone. A
‘… I think he’s going to hurt me …’
Ari Thór was now sure he could hear fear in the voice, fear and despair. Or had he perhaps only transferred his own feelings of dread – his claustrophobia and loneliness – onto the caller?
‘What did you say?’ he asked, as the line went dead.
He tried to call back but there was no reply. He looked the number up in the police database. There was no registered user, so presumably it was a SIM card that had been bought in a kiosk somewhere, maybe even the kiosk in Siglufjördur. But the phone call could have come from anywhere in the country.
He had no idea what he should do, so he waited a moment and called the number again.
It rang, and this time there was a reply, the same whispering voice. ‘I’m sorry … I shouldn’t have … sorry …’ And the line went dead again.
Perplexed, Ari Thór stared out into the darkness.
This bloody darkness.
‘Just call if there’s anything,’ Tómas had said, conscience touching his voice; an awareness that it was unfair to leave the new recruit alone at the station over Christmas.
It was half-past five. A man who took life with equanimity and didn’t let himself get stressed, certainly not at Christmas, Tómas probably didn’t even have his suit on yet.
Hell, Ari Thór thought and dialled Tómas’s number.
‘Hello?’ On the other end of the line was the familiar, powerful but amiable bass voice.
‘Tómas? It’s Ari Thór here … Sorry to call you at such an awkward time…’
‘Good evening,’ Tómas sounded distracted and distinctly less cheerful than his usual self. ‘Christmas doesn’t start until we’re ready and I’m not inclined to be hurried. We’re still wrapping presents here. The worst of it is that the priest always starts his service at six on the dot, but it wouldn’t be the first time that we showed up halfway through,’ he said, with a laugh that seemed forced.
‘I had a strange call, didn’t know what to make of it,’ Ari Thór said. ‘The caller, he or she, whispered something about being in danger, or that’s what it sounded like. Then when I called back it seems it had been a mistake.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Tómas said absently. He sounded tired.‘Every now and then we get these calls, someone playing a prank, normally youngsters. These kids.’ He hesitated before saying more. ‘So he, or she, pretty much admitted playing a prank when you called back?’
‘Well, I suppose so.’
‘Then don’t worry about it. It’s a nuisance being a cop at Christmas and there are people who just don’t have any kind of a conscience. Well, Reverend, don’t you have other things to think about? A sermon or something?’
The laughter was again forced and Ari Thór tried to smile to shake off the disquiet the whispering voice on the phone had left him with.
‘I suppose so. Well, regards to the family.’
‘I’ll pass them on.’
‘And Merry Christmas,’ he added, but Tómas had already put down the phone.
Ari Thór picked up the book he had bought, in spite of the promise he’d made to himself to save it until after dinner. He was eking out his small pleasures to keep the boredom at bay. Only a few pages into the book, he realised that he hadn’t taken anything in. Unable to concentrate, he stood up and opened the door, stepping out into the snow and looking up at the mountains. Man had beaten the mountains by tunnelling through them, and was doing his best to fend off the forces of nature with robust avalanche defences so big that they looked almost as if trolls rather than men had built them. But the darkness and the snow could never be defeated. Ari Thór lifted his face to the heavens and closed his eyes, letting featherweight snowflakes settle on his face, one at a time, offering them refuge.
There was a sound from inside, and this time there was no doubt that it was coming from his mobile and not the work phone. A
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