Blackout by Ragnar Jónasson Page B

then took his tea and left the room.
    Hlynur stayed where he was, irritated by the superior smile he had seen on Ari Thór’s face.
    He could feel the jealousy growing inside him; outright anger even. Although perhaps that anger ought to be directed more at Tómas. After all, it was Tómas who had asked Ari Thór to handle the investigation, leaving Hlynur to deal with all the piddling little cases. Was he preparing Ari Thór to take on even bigger assignments? Or grooming him to be the next inspector at the Siglufjörður station? As the older man with more experience, Hlynur felt that he deserved priority.
    Nothing ever went right for him. And he couldn’t stop thinking about those emails – found it difficult to think of anything else. And now Tómas had put someone else on this big case, the most serious investigation of the last few years. That person being Ari Thór only served to magnify his misery.
    He knew that he desperately needed to escape from this vicious circle of regret and self-pity, but it was easier said than done.
    Would his career simply wither away? Would he be doomed to be a failure? Would he ever be able to haul himself back from the edgeand make something of himself, putting the misery of his childhood and misdeeds behind him?
    Once Hlynur had grown up and realised the pain he had caused all those years ago at school, he had been in touch with every one of those people whose lives he had made a misery and had asked for their forgiveness. Some took it well, others didn’t. Gauti was the only one whom he hadn’t been able to reach. He had finally tracked him down through the newspapers. But where he found him was on the obituary pages.
    There was no doubt: Gauti had taken his own life. Hlynur was convinced that this could be traced back, directly or indirectly, to the bullying he had suffered at school. So in all likelihood it was Hlynur who was responsible for the suicide of one of his schoolmates – he’d bullied him to death. And he had left others deeply damaged, too.
    Next time I’ll teach you how to die.
    Sometimes Hlynur was angry or bewildered when he read this spine-chilling message that appeared on his computer.
    Who would dare send him this kind of thing? Someone he knew? Maybe someone in Siglufjörður? Was the sender out there watching him, following him to work and back? Some days he found himself consumed with the suspicion that he was being watched, that someone close at hand was following his every move. He constantly glanced over his shoulder to see if he was being followed.
    Yet he still hadn’t made any real effort to find out who could be sending him the emails. Could it be someone from Gauti’s family, or one of his friends? Whoever it was, the messages continued to arrive, and they were undoubtedly real.
    Maybe he did need to learn how to die.
    His girlfriend in Sauðárkrókur had called that morning. He knew exactly what she wanted to talk about: the next step in their relationship. He definitely liked the girl, and under normal circumstances he would have been excited by the prospect – would have welcomed such a discussion.
    But he didn’t return her call.

    Ari Thór sipped his Christmas tea. It tasted the same as any other tea, with no particular Christmas flavour to it. He wasn’t even sure what flavour Christmas ought to have; had never even thought about it. He did recall that his late mother had occasionally mentioned that she associated the smell of apples with Christmas, probably because apples used to be difficult to come by in Iceland when his parents were growing up.
    He turned instead to the case. He was pleased with his progress so far and was determined to do well.
    After the news had been leaked that the owner of the house where the body had been found was none other than the notorious doctor Ríkhardur Lindgren, something had been nagging at the back of his mind. Could the killer have in fact set out to murder Lindgren?
    Ari Thór had searched out