Sometimes she wondered if she was really cut out for this job.
Then again, she reminded herself that she was better at it than most of her colleagues, and that was why she had no intention of quitting. But, for now, all she could think about was getting home to Jón and little Dimma.
2012
Saturday, 3 November
‘Let me get this right – you’re saying you can’t get hold of her?’
The man in the polo-neck jumper seated opposite Helgi was tall, with a long face and an almost totally bald head. He was holding a brimming mug but still hadn’t taken a sip of his coffee, perhaps for fear of spilling it on his cream-coloured trousers. His face was a picture of surprise, his eyes almost starting out of his head, and he punctuated his words with a heavy sigh.
‘No one’s seen or heard from her for over a week,’ Helgi replied.
He had managed to pull himself together and shrug off the discomfort he had felt earlier that afternoon.
‘Well I never. This is news to me. Is it a police matter? I haven’t read anything about it in the papers. I mean, I’m sure I wouldn’t have failed to notice.’
‘Orri, you’re closely related to Elín, aren’t you?’
The man nodded. A brief background check had established that he lectured in philosophy at the University of Iceland, a post he’d held for several years. He was around Helgi’s own age, or perhaps a few years older.
‘She doesn’t have any closer relatives than me, at any rate. My grandfather was Elín’s paternal uncle and the families used to see a lot of each other. They both lived in the west end of town. My grandfather owned an elegant villa on the seafront on Ægisída, sadly no longer in the family, and Elín lived with her parents in a block of flats on Vídimelur. Life was often a bit of a struggle for them, but my grandfather did well; in fact, he raked it in as a lawyer. He had only the one child, my father – who’s passed away too – and my parents only had me. And Elín is an only child, as you know, and has no children of her own. So it’s not a big family, as you can hear.’
They were sitting at an uncomfortable little table in the cafeteria in Oddi, the social sciences building. There were students milling around, but none appeared to be paying them any attention.
‘When did you last hear from her?’ Helgi asked.
Orri paused to deliberate, for an unnecessarily long time, Helgi thought. Was he really struggling to recall the last time they’d been in touch or was he trying to make up a cover story? No doubt Helgi was being over-suspicious, but then he never took anything for granted in this job. It was safest to assume that everyone had something to hide, since that did generally turn out to be the case. Even bald university lecturers in polo-neck jumpers had their secrets.
‘Um, it must have been some time in the autumn, Ican’t remember exactly when. Hang on a minute, yes, she rang me back in September, on the anniversary of Grandad’s death. She did that pretty much every year. Used to look out for me, as none of the older generation are left now, apart from her. You see, Elín was very fond of the old man – my grandad. She admired him. I remember her telling me once that she’d originally meant to become a lawyer like him, but then found that teaching suited her better. I’ve sometimes wondered if I didn’t become a teacher myself because I had such a good example in Cousin Ella. I was seven or eight when she had her big breakthrough as a writer, so I’ve always looked up to her, and of course I knew she’d been a teacher before she became an author. These things go in cycles, you see.’
Helgi was beginning to feel as if he was being lectured to. Orri took a brief pause for breath, but before Helgi could get a word in edgeways, the lecturer continued, now with more vehemence:
‘Really, you’ll have to tell me a bit more than this. I’m not accustomed to getting visits from the police. Has something happened? Is that what you believe? I mean, just because it’s been hard to get hold of Ella for a few days…’
‘We simply don’t know, that’s why I’m here. May I ask – you may have no idea – but do you think she could have been battling some kind of illness? Or depression?’
‘Ella?’ Orri shook his head. ‘I don’t believe that for a minute. Of course, I’m aware that sort of thing isn’t always obvious to onlookers, but she was fit as a fiddle, always going on walking trips around the country,whenever the weather was good, whatever the season. Is there any chance she could have got lost in…’ He broke off abruptly. ‘No, impossible.’
‘Why?’
‘Because she’d never go walking alone, I’m sure of that. She’s so careful. She doesn’t like taking risks. She loves life, does Ella. Yes. But depressed… Maybe I’m overstating it a bit, but there’s always been a kind of invisible screen around her, as if she doesn’t want to let you come too close, as if she’s nursing some secret sorrow that might otherwise come to the surface. But isn’t that the case with all poets, all writers? They need a bit of pain in order to create enduring art?’
‘You’re the philosopher, not me,’ Helgi replied.
‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Studying philosophy doesn’t automatically make you a philosopher. Listen, should I maybe try calling her?’
Helgi smiled.
‘No, what am I talking about?’ Orri said. ‘Of course, she doesn’t have a mobile phone. She’s old-fashioned like that. Writes her books by hand and rings people from her landline. Sometimes I don’t understand her, but I can’t help appreciating that kind of eccentricity.’ He belatedly took a sip of his brimming coffee, by some unbelievable feat of dexterity managing to hold his mug so steady that he didn’t spill a drop.
‘What secret sorrow?’ Helgi asked quietly, talking more to himself than Orri, his mind working.
‘Sorry?’
‘Excuse me. Are you saying that you think your cousinhad a secret? Something that might explain the situation that’s arisen?’
‘The situation that’s arisen, you say. You police don’t have much time for sensitivity, do you? You mean, anything that could explain why my cousin has gone missing?’
