Page 20 of The Darkness
‘Oh, no, not at all. To be honest, I can’t understand why you’re bothering with this. The girl died ages ago and everyone else is satisfied – if you know what I mean.’
Hulda did, only too well. With no one to speak up for her, the poor Russian girl had received shoddy treatment from the police. Although this wasn’t her fault, Hulda felt ashamed.
‘I just happened to remember something – it’s probably totally irrelevant but, you never know, it might be of use to you.’
Instantly, Hulda was on the edge of her seat, ears pricked.
‘Only there was some bloke who came to pick her up once – a stranger.’
‘A stranger?’
‘Yeah, not one of the lawyers who usually handle these asylum cases. Not that Russian interpreter guy either. Someone else.’
‘You say he picked her up?’
‘Yes, I saw her getting into his car outside the hostel. It’s only just come back to me.’ From the sound of her voice, Dóra was feeling rather pleased with herself about having new information to impart. ‘You see, I remember wondering where she was going with this bloke because, of course, she didn’t know any Icelanders.’
‘Was he an Icelander?’ Hulda asked, pulling out her notebook and jotting down the details. She felt suddenly energized.
‘Yes.’
‘How do you know? Did you talk to him?’
‘What, me? No. I just ran into them outside, though he must have gone in to ask for her at reception. I was on my way in to start my shift or something.’
‘How do you know he was an Icelander?’ Hulda repeated.
‘You can always tell an Icelander: they all look alike – you know what I mean. Typical Icelandic face, Icelandic appearance.’
‘Could you describe him?’
‘No, it was too long ago.’
‘Was he skinny? Overweight?’ Hulda sighed privately at the thought of having to prise all the information out of this girl bit by bit.
‘Yes, overweight, that’s right. Kind of fat, and a bit of a minger, as far as I remember.’
‘Not your type, then?’ said Hulda.
‘God, no. I remember thinking maybe she’d found herself a boyfriend, but they seemed so badly suited – she was attractive, you know, tall and graceful, but he was short and fat.’
‘And you’d never seen him before?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘Do you remember when this was?’
‘You must be kidding. I can’t even remember what I had for breakfast. God, it was just, I don’t know, some time before she died,’ said Dóra, pointing out the obvious.
‘You think it could have been her boyfriend?’ From what she had learned during her conversation with Bjartur, Hulda had her own theory about what had been going on, but she wanted to know if a similar suspicion had struck Dóra. She didn’t ask straight out, though. There was no call to start a rumour – not yet, anyway.
‘Well, no, not really, it just crossed my mind. If she’d had an Icelandic boyfriend, I’m sure he’d have been much fitter than this bloke.’
‘Can you think what business he might have had with her?’
‘No. But then it was nothing to do with me. I have enough on my plate with running this place; what the residents get up to isn’t my problem.’
‘What sort of age was he?’
