‘Did they say anything about… your father?’ he asked, conscious of how delicate a subject this was.
‘Could we open a window?’ Kristín asked abruptly.
‘Sure.’ Helgi rose to his feet and let in some fresh air. The soothingly monotonous sound of the rain carried into the room, bringing with it a strange sense of peace.
‘They don’t know,’ Kristín said after a moment. ‘Haven’t a clue. Elín didn’t tell them, and I doubt I’ll ever find out now. Except maybe through a DNA test, I suppose. But I don’t even know where to start looking.’ She leaned forward, burying her face in her hands. ‘I just feel completely lost. Like Elín.’
‘Should we maybe listen to the recording now?’ Helgi asked. His thoughts were racing. He would have a lot of decisions to make after this conversation was over. Like whether to reveal Elín’s secret to her friends. Unless they were already aware of the existence of a child? And who the hell was Kristín’s father? Two men immediately sprang to mind: Thor and Baldur the lawyer. The list ofpossibilities might be much longer, though. Chances were it was someone Helgi had never heard of.
‘She went to Ísafjördur,’ Kristín said, as if she hadn’t heard his question. ‘She referred to the fact in our interview. She was there for just over a year, teaching at the school. So I must have been born there: the timing appears to be right.’
Rut had told Helgi about Elín’s sojourn in the West Fjords, about her disappearing act. She had gone to Ísafjördur – to have a baby, as Helgi now knew. After all, she had been unmarried and times had been different then, but, even so, Helgi found it hard to understand why she had decided to go into hiding and conceal her pregnancy like that. Certainly, none of her friends had said a word to him about Elín being pregnant while at university. Perhaps she hadn’t let on to a soul.
One riddle had been solved, but this had only resulted in another.
It seemed that Elín’s life was like that: one big conundrum.
‘I’ve never been there,’ Kristín said. ‘To Ísafjördur. Elín asked me if I had, all the time aware that I’d been born and spent my first weeks of life there. It was clever of her to invite me to take that interview with her. It’s so obvious that she wanted to get to know me, don’t you think?’
‘Yes,’ Helgi said consolingly. ‘Quite obvious. She gets to meet you and tell you her life story, then puts you in her will. I’m guessing she must have thought about you a lot. And still does. Hopefully.’
Kristín smiled.
‘Shall we listen to it?’
She reached for her bag and took out a battered cassette player.
‘Luckily, it still works. But I need to make a copy, to be on the safe side.’
‘We can do that for you,’ Helgi said gently. He had no intention of letting her take the recording off the premises, especially if there was something on it that could shed light on Elín’s whereabouts.
‘Yes, maybe. Obviously, I need to have a copy of the interview.’ After a moment, she added: ‘And if she’s dead, I’ll have to publish it, as she asked. I can’t let her down.’
Helgi hadn’t thought that far. No doubt he could withhold the recording if necessary, in spite of any objections Kristín might make, but he could hardly prevent the interview from appearing in the press, sooner or later. But maybe that wouldn’t hurt.
‘Here it is.’
She pressed a button and turned up the volume. The hissing of the tape was in perfect harmony with the noise of the rain outside.
2005
[hissing]
Hang on, I’m not sure it’s working. OK, I think it is. Thanks for getting in touch, Elín. I often find it best to dive straight in at the deep end. The first question I’ve got written here is as follows: why crime novels?
Why, indeed.
[pause]
Let me just check it’s definitely recording.
[hissing]
2012
Tuesday, 6 November
Helgi was transported back to the days at his parents’ house in Akureyri, when he used to sit beside an open window, the rain falling outside, listening to a detective serial on the radio. Only now he was listening to the voice of the missing author.
