He studied her, not speaking, trying to work out whether the person sitting in front of him was a murderer or just a concerned publisher and friend.
Unable to come to a conclusion, he rose to his feet.
‘Let’s leave it there for now, Rut. We’ll talk again tomorrow.’
1977
Hulda was exhausted when she finally got there.
The fishing lodge – her destination – was a smart, modern building where she was due to stay for the next few days. Her assignment was straightforward enough, though not necessarily straightforward in practice: to guard the Prince of Wales, who was visiting for the salmon fishing.
Hulda hadn’t actively chosen this assignment, but neither had she declined it when she was asked to assist. The atmosphere at work was tense these days in relation to her future in the service and, in the circumstances, she couldn’t afford to refuse any jobs. A new national Criminal Investigation Department had been set up to take over all the relevant cases, but Hulda still hadn’t been transferred there. No real reasons had been put forward to explain this state of affairs, but she knew that the answer was simple: she had a lot of enemies in the police, male colleagues who didn’t believe a woman should be given a major role in investigations. It was, and would remain, aboys’ club. But she had no intention of being passed over like this and was fighting tooth and nail for her position, without going so far as to disobey orders or do anything that could justify her dismissal. Fortunately, though, she also had friends within the police; she wasn’t alone in her battle, and she remained convinced that sooner or later she would get that position in CID.
Given this background, she hadn’t made any objections when she heard that she was to be deployed to the east of Iceland for several days. Little Dimma had stayed behind at home with Jón, of course. She was three years old and Hulda had never been away from her for so long before. It would be a wrench, and the idea filled her with misgiving. Of course, she didn’t doubt for a minute that Jón was up to the job of looking after her, but for some reason she found it terribly hard to let Dimma out of her sight. The little girl had no idea her mother was going away as Hulda cuddled her with tears in her eyes before asking Jón to take good care of her. There was a phone at the fishing lodge, according to the information she had been given, and whenever she got the chance she promised she would ring home.
Their married life mostly continued as usual, though she and Jón had been arguing more often recently about Hulda’s choice of profession. Jón was insisting that her superiors’ decision to block Hulda’s promotion should give her pause to think carefully about her situation. Did she really want to spend her entire working life in an environment where she would never be fully accepted? Not to mention the low salary and challenging hours.Jón’s business was doing well and, in his opinion, his wife shouldn’t have to go out to work while Dimma was still so young. It would make more sense for Hulda to put off looking for a job until later, then find something where her talents would be properly appreciated, as he put it. This friction at home was having a bad effect on Hulda. Perhaps a few days’ break from Jón would do her good – and him too. Dimma would thrive in her father’s company, although of course Hulda would miss her unbearably.
When she entered the fishing lodge where the prince was to stay, she was met by a tall, middle-aged man.
‘Hulda? Are you Hulda?’ he asked. It was hardly a bold guess on his part, as she was the only policewoman there.
‘Yes,’ she replied.
‘There was a phone call for you earlier.’
She was instantly sure that Jón must have called and knew he would only have done so if something had happened. Her heart lurched painfully in her chest and she took a few more steps into the room, then drew a deep breath and tried to control the quiver in her voice as she asked: ‘Who was it?’
‘Some woman from Reykjavík. Elísabet, her name was. She left a phone number.’
Hulda didn’t immediately recognize the name. It must be connected to work.
‘Could I borrow the phone?’ she asked.
‘Be my guest.’
‘I’m sorry to bother you, Hulda. Only, your colleagues said I could reach you at this number. Actually, they saidyou were on another job now, but I implied that it was quite urgent, although, well…’
The connection was poor and Hulda couldn’t place the voice.
‘I’m sorry, but who is this, please?’
‘Elísabet Karlsdóttir. We met last summer. I was married to Hinrik, who died…’
This told Hulda everything she needed to know. She pictured the woman sitting in her lonely little kitchen on Kaplaskjólsvegur. Hulda’s inquiries hadn’t delivered any results and she had later heard that Einar Másson had been released on parole. Presumably he was walking free now. Could he have knocked on the widow’s door? Told her something, even…
For a second Hulda thought she might have found the key that would guarantee her a place in CID. If she could solve a major case like this, surely no one could stand in her way?
‘Oh, yes, right. Nice to hear from you, Elísabet. Sorry, but the connection is absolutely terrible. I’m in the east, deep in the countryside,’ she said, without elaborating. ‘I understand Einar has been released. Has he tried to contact you?’
‘That’s exactly why I’m ringing. Although I know there’s nothing you can do, nothing anyone can do, I just needed to talk to somebody. I hope you can understand that.’
‘Of course.’ Hulda felt for the woman, whose loneliness was almost palpable over the crackling phone line. Again, Elísabet’s plight made Hulda frighteninglyaware of the fragility of life. It reminded her that she must do everything in her power to look after Jón and Dimma and hold them close. She couldn’t be alone like this poor woman, couldn’t even contemplate such a tragic fate.
‘He’s dead.’
‘Hinrik?’
‘Einar. Einar’s dead.’
