Saturday SkandiCrime: Trapped – parts 9 & 10


Once the key fell out of Eirikur’s pants last week, and Andri (somewhat unnecessarily) matched it up to the padlock that trapped Hrafn in with the fire, my thoughts began to run in straight lines, linking various pieces of the puzzle that has run through Trapped this past month.

I was all set for further twists, but there were none. The final two episodes were all about straight lines, A leading directly to B, over and over again, never crossing, never conflicting, just converging on  the one spot. The opening scene to part 1 was what it was all about, all along. What Trapped was about being was a dirty, sordid little tale of human greed, of nasty, petty self-interest, supposedly excused or justified by the Crash of 2008. As simple, as mundane as that.

And all the better for it. So many, many ramifications, all of them played out over the last fur weeks, and now coming together in one bundle of ends woven in. Two teenagers decided to sneak into a fish factory for a screw. Maybe if they’d had a bed to go to, a room in a house that allowed them their warmth, none of it would have happened.

But that’s not so. What  poor, dead Dagny, and self-hating, self-blaming Hjorter did wrong was to choose the night that Seydisfjordur’s self-appointed elite had selected for a shitty little insurance scam.

It all came out, piece by piece, step by step. From Eirikur’s immediate confession the moment Andri brought the key to him (after contemplating hurling it into the fjord). Hrafn’s admission that it was all a mistake, that it wasn’t his fault, the inevitable and fatal excuse that took Eirikur to the line and shoved him over.

Asgeir uncovering the connection between Leifur, Gudny and Hrafn in the new company that now owns the Fish Factory, not to mention several plots around town, plots the Chinese would be interested in.

Ragnvoldur’s telescope that leads Andri and Hinrika to a search for Geirmundur’s car, a blue rental, buried in the snow, untouched for a week. It was in the next street over from Maria and poor little Maggi, and there was a straight line I hadn’t foreseen until the last moment for in the back of the car was a box, wrapped in a child’s wrapping paper. Before Andri opened it, I was expecting a fire engine.

Because the late Geirmundur was Maggi’s missing father. A father by rape of Maria, a father given his freedom if he burned down a fish factory and ran to Spain. A man who partially redeemed himself, if only for a moment of a life of destruction, by pulling Hjorter out of the flames. Oh, and let’s not forget that that factory belonged to Leifur, and Leifur is Maria’s father: so much family feeling there.

The lines led inexorably on. Maria was Geirmundur’s killer, in self-defence under violent attack that was heading towards a repeated rape. The elite gathered to help her: clean the house, dismember the body, throw the bits in the fjord: Hrafn, Gudny, Leifur, Sigisdur. Only Kolbrun was left out.

So the picture was at last clear. Gudny wanted to run. Leifur wasn’t so sure, maybe it had all gone too far and they should just tell the truth. But Gudny was too far gone for that. Everyone was going to have to die to cover his traces, even Leifur, even Maggi.

At least that wasn’t to be. There was a moment of piercing clarity as Hinrika confronted the near-mad man, who held a knife to Maggi’s throat: you will never be forgiven, she said. There is no reparation, there is no way back. No pretending that this can be put right. Everything Gudny had done had taken him further and further away from all possibility of his being seen as human again, and little Hinrika, who has been the surprise package of this series, with her understated competence and directedness, made no bones about it.

Though it was, in the end, Andri’s determination to put a bullet through Gudny’s head that broke the impasse.

So much that sprung from so simple a cause, so dirtily, cheaply, greedy a cause. In a town like Seydisfjordur. Trapped outshone the convoluted and dreadful likes of Fortitude like the Sun outshines a Toc.H light bulb.

I’d watch a Trapped 2 in a heartbeat, but though the chinese port sale is still alive, and Kolbrun is still utterly determined to drive that through, and take all the money from it, I cannot see that Trapped 1 has left enough pieces unbroken, or at any rate of sufficient size, on which to stand another murder/mystery. I would be delighted to be proven lacking in sufficient imagination.

There’s more SkandiCrime next Saturday, with something called Follow the Money. The trailer looks worryingly hi-speed melodrama, but let’s not judge too soon, eh? Though I’ll be in That London next Saturday, so it’ll have to keep until the next morning.

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