Elín was dead.
That wasn’t so unexpected, but he hadn’t imagined he would have to escort Lovísa to the police station to be arrested.
It was clear now that Kristín would never have a chance to get to know her mother.
Yet he thought there was one small bright spot in the gloom – in all this rain – and that was that Elín’s body would be found. Meaning that it would be possible to draw a line under the case and then her daughter would get her inheritance.
‘Can I take a few essentials with me?’ Lovísa asked, sounding like a frail old woman now.
‘I’m afraid not. We need to get going.’
She smiled wearily and followed him out into the deluge.
He felt grateful that the day was drawing to a close.
1978
Christmas was coming, and Hulda’s mind was almost entirely taken up with preparations for the imminent festivities.
It was Saturday and she had the day off, so she was walking along Laugavegur with Dimma. The little girl was four now and strutted along as though she owned the pavement, in between resting her weary legs in the pushchair. This was the life Hulda had wished for. She had realized that long ago and tried regularly to remind herself of the fact: a peaceful home life with her daughter and Jón.
Sometimes achieving happiness didn’t have to be complicated, though of course she knew it was a privilege to enjoy the financial security that Jón’s property business ensured them. They didn’t have to watch every króna and were never broke when the end of the month came round, unlike so many of her colleagues in the police.
She smiled as she watched Dimma.
The weather wasn’t actually that seasonal; it had started raining, but the excitement in the little girl’s face conveyedmore Christmas spirit than any snow. Hulda was so proud of Dimma. She was quite proud of herself too, as earlier that year she had finally managed to secure a job in CID. It had been a real uphill struggle and she had suffered a few setbacks on the way but, in the end, they hadn’t been able to pass her over. She knew she was both perceptive and efficient, the equal of any of the men. It was lonely at times being the only woman in that environment, but she had long ago made up her mind not to let it affect her. She turned up to work every day with a smile on her face and wasn’t going to let the hostility of her colleagues put her off her stride. She was determined to work her way up until one day she took charge of CID. It might be a lofty goal, but she was confident that she would succeed. All it required was ambition and tenacity.
At this moment, though, her goal was a more mundane one: to find a suitable Christmas present for Jón. It wouldn’t be easy. He was always buying himself the latest gadgets, like a colour TV, for example. She would have liked to give him a book, though he only really read paperwork and contracts. But he had shown an interest in the latest thriller by Desmond Bagley, so Hulda had bought a copy for him. Jón had been a bit out of sorts in recent weeks, uncommunicative and curt with her, but she assumed the mood would pass.
In spite of looking forward to Christmas, she felt rather flat, as she often did at this time of year. Perhaps it was the December rain that had brought on her despondent mood, or perhaps it was that she felt the absence of her father more acutely as Christmas drew near. It was oddthat she should feel this way, given that she had never actually met him. He was a shadowy figure in her life, yet paradoxically the idea of him seemed all-encompassing and warm. She often wondered how he spent his days and what it would have been like to grow up with him and celebrate Christmas with him. He was American and had been a member of the US garrison at the Keflavík Air Base, but she knew nothing else about him as her mother wouldn’t reveal any more. No doubt he was still alive, somewhere on the other side of the Atlantic, preparing to spend the holiday with his family and friends.
She mustn’t let these thoughts spoil her mood; the most important thing was to enjoy the holiday with her own little family. Dimma couldn’t wait for Christmas, to put her shoes in the window every night for the thirteen Yule Lads to fill with presents in the run-up to the twenty-fourth, and all the other traditional festive trappings. With any luck the weather would improve too; what Hulda wouldn’t give for some proper snow.
Sometimes, though, she suspected that her regrets about not knowing her father had more to do with an underlying fear of loneliness. She’d been assailed by an overpowering sense of dread during her visit to Elísabet, the widow of the man Einar Másson had killed: a dread of losing Dimma and Jón and being alone in the world again, as she had been during her first years in the infants’ home – years she couldn’t remember but which had left an indelible impression on her mind. Nothing could be worse than being left behind, alone and defenceless, with no one to turn to… That was why she always triedto make sure she had company when she went on her mountain hikes in the highlands. She couldn’t bear the idea that no one had been there to take care of her during her first years and that the same could be true at the end of her life.
She made an effort to banish these thoughts as she and Dimma made their slow way down Laugavegur. The little girl was now asking for a ride in the pushchair. That was easily granted. Hulda carefully lowered Dimma into her seat and did up her harness.
She had a decent amount of leave over the holiday, though of course not a long period of consecutive days off since new members of CID couldn’t expect this privilege. But hopefully it would allow her plenty of time to relax with her favourite people, read a book, watch something entertaining on TV and eat holiday food.
At that point the rain started coming down so heavily that Hulda was forced to take refuge in Adam, the gentlemen’s outfitters. She hadn’t planned on going in there, but it occurred to her she could maybe use the opportunity to buy Jón a scarf.
As she hurried through the doors, the world seemed to turn black for a moment, as though the clouds had swallowed her up as the heavens opened, and all she could think was:we all die alone.
2012
Tuesday, 6 November
Helgi had arranged to meet Rut at her publishing house.
She had invited him to her home in Laugardalur, but he didn’t want to risk bumping into Thor. That whole story would have to wait for a more appropriate time.
He had no choice but to fill Rut in briefly on the outcome of the case. On the other hand, it wasn’t essential for her to know that the journalist who had taken the fateful interview was Elín’s daughter.
It was getting on for evening by now and all Helgi wanted was to go home, cook supper, then wait for Aníta to get back.
‘Thanks for agreeing to see me,’ he said to Rut. They were sitting in her office, surrounded by unpublished manuscripts. There was no one else at work this late in the afternoon.
‘My pleasure,’ she said, but he could detect a tremorin her voice, as though she sensed that there had been a development and that the news was not good.
