‘No.’
‘Have you reported this to the police before?’
Again: ‘No.’
‘I’m not sure what I can do at this point, though,’ he said. ‘We can revisit this in the new year, if you are still concerned.’ Then he added: ‘Are you afraid someone might be out to harm you?’
She smiled. ‘No, not at all. I am too old to be afraid. I don’t have very long to go.’
‘Are you OK to stay by yourself here for Christmas, then?’
‘Of course, I think I just needed someone to talk to. Thank you for coming.’ She stood up.
‘Perhaps I should give you my phone number, just in case,’ he said.
‘That’s very kind. I’ll give you mine also,’ she said.
Halla went away again, before he had a chance to tell her that Ögmundur had already given him her number. She returned with a small note, and then also wrote down Ari Thor’s number.
Ari didn’t look at the note until he was standing in the doorway, saying goodbye to the old lady.
Her name and number.
The handwriting was the same.
They were back in the living room. The grandfather clock struck six.
‘Don’t worry, this clock has been twenty minutes early for years. You’ll make it back home in time for Christmas. You don’t live very far away, do you?’
‘A five minute walk,’ he said.
‘I know. In this town, everyone knows everything, you see.’
She had invited him back in when he had pointed out that the handwriting of her note matched that of the letters.
‘In a way I was hoping you would figure it out,’ she said, adding: ‘He was not a kind man. And yet, I have been writing these letters every year, in December. Writing down memories of some of the good times we had.’
‘Did you have children?’
‘Yes, both of them live abroad and this year neither of them could make it home for Christmas. They lead quite busy lives, of course.’
‘But again, surely writing letters to yourself in the name of a dead man is hardly a matter for the police …’
‘I called you over here because I was going to tell you, but then I lost the courage. But I am glad my note gave it away. I wanted to tell you the truth. As I told you, I don’t think I have very long to live, anyway.’
She fell silent again. The snowfall outside was getting heavier by the minute.
‘You see, I murdered my husband. Thirty years ago. No one ever suspected a thing. He was a very … he was a very violent man.’
Ari Thor sat across from her, motionless. ‘Did you say you murdered him?’
She nodded.
‘I think I simply needed to confess this to someone, before I go. I honestly don’t care what happens now, because I know what I did was wrong. I’ve known it for thirty years, but I have never regretted doing it. In the end, I think he would have killed me.’
Ari Thor wanted to ask how she did it, but in all honesty he didn’t want to know too much. Perhaps, one day, when Halla had passed away, he could look up the old case. There was no need to cause her or her children any harm now.
He stood up. ‘You called for me specifically, not my colleague Ögmundur?’
She nodded.
‘Did you want a policeman to speak to, or … well, someone who almost became a priest?’
Halla smiled.
‘I think you may know the answer to that. You had better walk home now, you don’t want to miss Christmas, young man.’
ALSO BY RAGNAR JÓNASSON
The Island
Rupture
The Darkness
Blackout
Nightblind
Snowblind
About the Author
RAGNAR JONASSON was born in Iceland and works as an Attorney at Law and writer in Reykjavik. Before embarking on a writing career, Ragnar translated fourteen Agatha Christie novels into Icelandic. Ragnar is the co-founder of the Reykjavik international crime writing festival Iceland Noir. He has appeared on panels at various crime fiction festivals, including Bouchercon and Left Coast Crime in the US. Ragnar lives in Reykjavik with his wife and two daughters. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Epigraph
Map
Prologue
Part One: Two months earlier – just before Christmas 1987
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXV
Chapter XXVI
Chapter XXVII
Part Two: Two months later – February 1988
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Author’s note
Excerpt: The Silence of the Falling Snow
Also by Ragnar Jónasson
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
First published in the United States by Minotaur Books, an imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group
THE MIST. Copyright © 2017 by Ragnar Jónasson. English translation copyright © 2020 by Victoria Cribb. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Publishing Group, 120 Broadway, New York, NY 10271.
www.minotaurbooks.com
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-76811-7 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-250-76812-4 (ebook)
Our e-books may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact your local bookseller or the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, extension 5442, or by email at [email protected].
Originally published in Iceland under the title Mistur by Veröld Publishing
First published in Great Britain by Michael Joseph, an imprint of Penguin Books, a Penguin Random House company
First U.S. Edition: 2020
eISBN 9781250768124
