Page 41 of The Darkness
‘Katja?’
‘Yes, also Russian.’
‘Russian?’ Hulda was so startled that she momentarily forgot her feeling of suffocation. ‘Were there two Russian girls?’
‘Yes. They come here together. Katja and Elena.’
Hell, Hulda thought: Katja had probably left the country months ago, which was frustrating, as Hulda would definitely have liked to talk to her. She needed to get closer to the victim, get a better sense of what had been going through her mind, who she associated with, whether she was afraid of someone, and whether she had really been trafficked to work in the sex industry.
‘Do you know where Katja is?’ she asked, assuming the answer would be no. ‘Was she granted a residence permit, too?’
‘I don’t know. Nobody know.’
‘What do you mean?’ Hulda felt her heart beating faster, though with excitement now, rather than panic.
‘She disappear.’
‘She disappeared? How do you mean?’
‘Yes, disappear. Or run away. She is hiding, maybe. Or leave country. I don’t know.’
‘When did this happen?’
The girl wrinkled her brow. ‘Before Elena die. Some weeks before. Maybe one month. I am not sure.’
‘Weren’t you worried? How did the police react?’
‘Yes … yes, sure. But she just run away. I should have done same … And nobody has found her, I think.’
‘What about Elena, how did she take the news? You say they were best friends?’
‘Well … At first she is angry. She think Katja is stupid. Think they both get permission to stay. But then …’ Amena’s face grew grave. ‘Then she is worried. Very worried.’
‘Was there any explanation for her disappearance?’ asked Hulda, not really expecting an answer.
Amena shook her head. ‘She just go, she don’t want to be told to leave country. People here are …’ She searched for the word. ‘Desperate. Yes, we are all desperate.’
‘What was Katja like?’
‘Nice. Friendly. Very beautiful.’
‘Is it possible that it was her, not Elena, who was working as a prostitute?’
‘No. No, I don’t believe it.’
‘I see.’ Hulda had been completely absorbed in the interview, but now the feeling of claustrophobia gripped her with renewed force.
Thanking Amena profusely for her help, she rapped on the door and waited, twitching with nerves, for Ólíver to open it and let her out.
‘You remember,’ Amena said, breaking the silence. ‘You will help me.’
Hulda nodded: ‘I’ll do my best.’
At that moment, the door opened.
‘Get what you wanted?’ Ólíver asked, without any real interest.
‘You and I need to talk. Now,’ Hulda snapped, her tone that of a senior officer addressing an underling.
