Hulda wasn’t sure she’d heard right.
‘Is Einar Másson dead?’ she asked, inadvertently raising her voice. ‘Hadn’t he recently got out of prison?’
‘Yes, but he only lasted two weeks. I hear he drank himself to death. I just wanted to know if he maybe told you something before…’
‘I’m sorry, Elísabet. He had nothing to say.’And he won’t say anything now…
‘Oh, well, I was afraid of that. Then it’s all over, Hulda. I’ll never get justice now. Sorry, of course it’s not your fault – of course it’s not your fault. I won’t disturb you any longer.’
‘You’re not disturbing me. I’m so sorry about this, Elísabet. I wish I could help you.’
‘Thanks for returning my call, Hulda.’
TUESDAY
2012
Tuesday, 6 November
Helgi was woken by the rain; it was still tipping it down out there. The curtains were open in the bedroom and the rain rattled on the glass, streaming down into the dark winter morning. At this time of year, it was always a long wait for daylight.
He turned over, intending to wake Aníta, only to discover that she had gone.
She did this from time to time when she stayed over, slipping away without a word, generally because she needed to go home to get ready for work. Yesterday evening they had finally had a proper conversation about her moving in with him, and planned for it to happen before Christmas, if possible.
Now that they had made the decision, Helgi couldn’t wait to have Aníta living with him in the little flat. Her presence made him so ridiculously happy. Even a dismal rainy day like today couldn’t rob him of the feeling. Heeased himself out of bed, still groggy with sleep, but already looking forward to this evening. He just had to be patient. Maybe he should start the day by going for a run in the rain; brave the weather rather than cowering under the covers.
Getting back to the warm flat after his run, drenched with rain and sweat, had felt so good, with the endorphins pumping through his body and the prospect of a hot shower to look forward to. It was a different story later that morning, when Helgi dashed the short distance from his car to the police station. Despite sprinting, he was wet through by the time he reached the entrance.
His coat and trousers were sodden, and so was his shirt where his coat hadn’t protected him. The atmosphere among his colleagues seemed rather subdued too, he thought, as if the heavy clouds had dragged everyone down with them. He had brought Elín’s – or Marteinn’s – manuscript with him, still in its plastic bag, and was intending to ask Forensics to examine it for potential evidence before he got down to reading it.
‘There’s a woman waiting to see you, Helgi,’ one of his colleagues said.
‘Sorry?’
‘She’s in the interview room.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘Can’t remember.’
Helgi dropped by his office and hung up his coat. There would be a puddle on the floor by the end of the day. He put down his bag too and took out a whodunnit,Brat Farrarby Josephine Tey. To his relief, it hadn’t got wet. It was yet another story that centred on a missing-persons case. A young boy vanishes and many years later a stranger turns up, claiming to be him in order to get his hands on the family fortune.
He was fully expecting to find Rut waiting for him. Perhaps she had remembered something else that she had ‘forgotten’ to tell him.
Alternatively, she could have come in to confess belatedly to a crime.
The police were planning to issue a press release about Elín’s disappearance later in the week in order to appeal to the public for information. Someone had to have seen or heard something. Helgi was dreading the media frenzy: he would be under siege from reporters.
But, with any luck, Rut was about to change the course of the investigation.
He opened the door to the interview room, where, to his astonishment, he saw not Rut but Kristín Unnur from the radio.
She was sitting at the table, looking rather downcast, but raised her eyes for a moment when Helgi entered.
‘Hi,’ she said in a low voice.
‘Kristín, I wasn’t expecting you.’ Helgi took a seat opposite her.
