‘Are you sure about that?’
‘Yes, I skimmed through the manuscript before ringing you. I needed to work out what it all meant. The story is complete, as far as I can tell.’
‘You’ll have to leave the bag with me, Rut. I hope you understand that.’
‘Yes,’ she said resignedly. ‘Although it’s the only copy, of course. The whole thing handwritten, as usual. Could I make a copy of it?’
‘Allow me to take care of that,’ Helgi replied firmly. He was exasperated with Rut for withholding such an important piece of evidence. And now he wanted more than anything to read the manuscript. Was it possible that there was something in it that could shed light on Elín’s whereabouts?
Which brought him face to face with another, much bigger question: was there any need to investigate this disappearance?
Had Elín in fact been holed up somewhere in the countryside all this time, calmly finishing her manuscript while her friends were frantically looking for her?
‘Do you think she delivered the manuscript herself?’ he asked.
Again, Rut was slow to answer.
‘I haven’t been able to think about anything else,’ she said at last. ‘I suppose she must have done, but I simply can’t imagine it. Usually, when she’s ready to deliver, we meet up for a sort of formal handover ceremony and she entrusts me with the only copy of her new book. Then we talk about the plot, the publishing schedule, and soon. She’s never left a book behind without any explanation before. Let alone practically left it in the street. No, Helgi, it’s impossible to understand. Unless she wants to be lost – I have considered that possibility. That this is her way of telling us that she’s all right and we can stop looking for her.’
‘Do you think we should stop, Rut?’
‘Honestly, I don’t know. She’s my friend, my best friend, and I’m worried about her. I can hardly sleep at night. And I know my husband and Lovísa feel the same. We have to find her, but…’ After a long pause, she went on: ‘The problem is, Helgi, that if Elín doesn’t want us to find her, then we don’t have a hope. Because she’s extremely clever, you know. And I suppose there could be an explanation for all this, something that’s none of our business.’
‘I don’t think we can call off the search just yet. Let me read the manuscript and try to figure out if it contains the missing piece of the puzzle.’
‘What? Oh no, I doubt you’ll find anything. I expect it’s just a typical Marteinn Einarsson story. There won’t be any clues hidden there, any more than in Marteinn’s – I mean Elín’s – other books. They’re generally a great read, written with tremendous verve. Elín just can’t stop writing, you see. She loves it. And you can imagine how happy I am to keep publishing her, even if readers aren’t aware of it.’
‘How have the books performed?’
‘Pretty well. They may not reach the top of the bestseller lists like the series Elín published under her ownname, but then she’s never written to be popular or make money. Goodness, no. The Marteinn books haven’t been as successful abroad, though they sell quite well in Britain. Perhaps they don’t appeal as much to foreign readers. Who knows?’
‘Are you going to publish it?’
‘This book? Yes, of course. Assuming I get the manuscript back. Elín clearly wants it to come out.’
Helgi didn’t comment on this assertion.
‘Her last book, perhaps?’
‘For God’s sake, don’t talk like that. I really hope not.’
‘If… when the book is published, Rut, are you planning to reveal the secret if it turns out that Elín is dead?’
‘I can’t even think about that possibility,’ Rut said, her voice trembling. Then she collected herself and continued more steadily: ‘But the answer’s no, I’m pretty sure I won’t. The secret was never supposed to get out. Come to think of it, we did discuss something related to that…’
‘Oh?’
‘If she went before me, as she put it, she suggested that I simply continue publishing the Marteinn books. Let other authors have a go at writing about the main characters, using the same pen name.’
‘I feel I have to ask again: was Elín ill?’
‘No, to the best of my knowledge she’s extremely fit for her age. She’s simply the type who talks candidly about her own death. She’s always been like that. Perhaps that’s why she could write about death – write about it with so much insight, I mean. Helgi, can I ask you to keepthis to yourself, this business of the book and Marteinn’s identity?’
‘We’ll have to see. I’m happy for the literary world to keep its secrets, where possible. But first I need to submit the book for analysis, to find out if there’s any evidence. Then I want to read it. Shall we evaluate the situation after that?’
‘Still, it looks more likely now, doesn’t it, that she’s all right?’ There was a light in Rut’s eyes, he thought, a faint gleam of hope. Yet in spite of that he had to keep an open mind about the possibility that she wasn’t telling him the whole truth. After all, she had twice withheld important information from him, not by lying exactly, but by failing to tell him the whole story.
Was it conceivable that she had been responsible for the death of her friend and that this whole situation was a play put on for his benefit?
