Helgi paused on his way out of the door and glanced back over his shoulder.
The lawyer was standing very still by his desk, deep in thought. He appeared to have aged considerably on his birthday.
‘No crime novels?’ Helgi asked with a smile.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Don’t you have any crime novels in your library?’
Baldur paused, then cast a glance at the surrounding books.
‘I prefer to read legal texts, but yes, Elín’s books are here. All ten of them. I had them bound in leather so they would fit in better with the rest of my library. I like to have everything tidy around me; nothing too jarringly conspicuous. It’s best to live one’s life like that, I find, to merge into the crowd.’
1976
The meeting with Einar at the prison continued to haunt Hulda for a long time afterwards.
The despair in his eyes, through which she had nevertheless caught occasional glimpses of his youth; the faint hope in his voice. His face scored with lines long before his time, a young man grey and wan after a decade in the dark.
Hulda had discussed the case a little with Jón over supper without divulging anything particularly confidential. After all, it was common knowledge that Einar was serving a prison sentence for armed robbery and manslaughter.
‘How could it happen?’ Hulda had asked her husband, but he couldn’t provide any answers. Jón was a man of few words, more interested in business, property and the stock market than police matters. He was always so level-headed that she couldn’t imagine him ever being guilty of a crime.
Jón praised the food instead. Hulda had poachedhaddock, which didn’t require any special skill, though it was delicious. As the meal was ending, he had asked – as he did from time to time – whether Hulda wasn’t involved in matters that were too distasteful, like meeting condemned criminals in prison, and whether she shouldn’t consider a change of career. It was never too late to try something new. Then he had added that one should never forget the victims. Einar had killed a man, causing irreparable damage, and somewhere there must be family members who were still mourning their loss.
Few things got on Hulda’s nerves more than comments like these, but she ignored them, as usual. This was typical of Jón, but he didn’t really mean it. He would probably be happier if his wife was doing a quieter, safer job, but Hulda had no intention of living her life like that. She wanted to make a difference, break down walls, do something to be remembered by, while also taking care of her family.
She also meant to continue with her mountain-hiking trips, with or without Jón. She loved the highlands and enjoyed keeping fit by walking, but she had the feeling that Jón was losing his enthusiasm for this shared hobby of theirs. Hulda hadn’t exactly made many female friends over the years, but no doubt this could be rectified and she could find herself a walking companion. For the moment, though, she was content with Jón and Dimma, and her job.
‘I’m going to look in on Dimma,’ Hulda said, getting up from the table. The house was quiet and peaceful that evening, as it was most evenings.
She thought about what Jón had said.Somewhere there must be family members who were still mourning their loss.
Next morning, Hulda stood in the summer rain outside a block of flats on Kaplaskjólsvegur in the west end of Reykjavík. She pressed the bell marked ‘Elísabet Karlsdóttir’, introduced herself over the intercom, explaining that she was from the police, and was buzzed in.
‘I hope I haven’t done anything wrong,’ the occupant, a woman of about seventy, said.
‘You’re Elísabet, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Could I have a word with you, just a quick one? And no, you definitely haven’t done anything wrong.’
‘Come in. No need to take off your shoes. You seem harmless enough.’
Hulda took this as praise.
‘There were no women working on the investigation when my husband died,’ Elísabet added. ‘We can take a seat in the kitchen, if that’s all right by you.’
‘That’s fine.’
The kitchen was small and neat, a relic of the fifties, with white wooden units and yellowish-brown tiles. There was a pleasant smell of fresh coffee in the air.
‘I was just having a cup and trying to read my fortune in the grounds. There’s more hot coffee in the pot if you’d like some.’
‘Yes, please.’
‘Has anything new come to light?’ Elísabet asked as she poured a cup for Hulda. ‘About the robbery?’
