‘OK, I’ll call you later this afternoon or this evening – I don’t know how long I’ll be.’
They said goodbye.
Helgi was still holding his phone. He started to punch in the first digits of Bergthóra’s number, then had second thoughts and shoved the phone back in his pocket. He wanted to ring her and give her a piece of his mind, tell her that behaviour like that was totally out of order. Vent his anger.
But of course that wasn’t the right way to handle the situation. It took him a while to realize that this kind of reaction was exactly what Bergthóra was after. She had gone round to see Aníta in order to get his attention, to make him pick up the phone and call her. Well, it wasn’t going to work. He had broken off all communication with Bergthóra and he was determined to stick to that decision. Knowing what she was like, he was fairly sure she would only pull that stunt once. Life was like a game of chess sometimes: it was best to plan a few moves ahead. To his regret, he had allowed Bergthóra to dominate the game for far too long; allowed her to go on the attack in the fullest sense of the word, but, thank God, he’d taken control before things could end in disaster.
Common sense would always win out in the end.
There was nothing to be afraid of.
2012
Thursday, 1 November
‘Thanks for coming in, Helgi. I need a good pair of hands to take care of this business and I trust you one hundred per cent for the job. I’ve already taken the first steps on your behalf; I had checks made to see whether she’s left the country and apparently she hasn’t. I’ve asked her bank to keep an eye on her accounts too, though her publisher tells me that she mainly uses cash. That’s consistent with the small number of transactions on her cards every month. I’ve also asked for copies of her bank statements, and her account manager is working on that as we speak.’
To outward appearances, Magnús radiated good-humoured matiness, but Helgi wasn’t always sure how much faith to put in this facade. He couldn’t tell how sincere his boss was. Or, indeed, how good he actually was at his job. People could rise to high positions in spite of limited talents. It was the old story.
‘Thanks,’ he replied guardedly. He couldn’t shake off the feeling that his amiable boss was leading him into a trap, assigning him a case that could prove both challenging and problematic, given that Elín was a well-known public figure.
No doubt he was being unnecessarily cynical, but he reflected that this was hardly surprising given that it was his job to be suspicious of people.
‘Yes, I feel confident now,’ Magnús continued, ‘knowing that the best man in the department is leading the search for Elín.’
This excessive praise bordered on mockery, but Helgi pretended not to notice. He was aware that he had done himself proud during the few months he had been working here since taking over the office of Hulda Hermannsdóttir, a woman he had never met. She had vanished, like Elín, and there was still no news of her fate.
People disappear all the time, Magnús had said that summer, when the search for Hulda was called off. As if the disappearance of a police officer was nothing to make a fuss about. Perhaps his reaction could be explained partly by the fact that the poor woman had been pretty much alone in the world.
‘Does she have a family?’ Helgi asked, thinking about Hulda.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Elín.’
‘Oh, Elín. No, I don’t think so. From what I can gather, she lives alone. And – get this – she doesn’t even use amobile phone. It seems she’s old-fashioned like that. She was supposed to meet a friend on, er, Tuesday, I think it was. Then she failed to turn up to lunch with another friend yesterday. It’s Thursday today, isn’t it? So no one’s heard from her for two days, at least. Her publisher’s doing her nut.’
‘Shouldn’t I go and see her… publisher, then?’
‘Exactly, yes. That’s the plan. Her name’s Rut; she’s expecting you. She wants to meet you at her home, considering the circumstances.’ Magnús slapped Helgi vigorously on the shoulder. ‘This is a big case, Helgi, my boy. But it’ll be in good hands with you.’
‘Yes, sure. People disappear all the time… though…’
‘Hm? Yes, right,’ Magnús answered vaguely, and walked unhurriedly away.
1976
Hulda Hermannsdóttir always felt there was a brightness around her little daughter.
She was sitting in the bedroom, on a light April night, watching Dimma sleep. The child was peaceful now, but when she woke up she would be bursting with energy. All Hulda and Jón’s time was devoted to keeping an eye on her, but then that was to be expected as parents of a two-year-old.
They shared the chores, as far as possible.
Jón was busy with his investments and Hulda had just gone back to work part-time for the police. They had solved the problem of who would care for Dimma during the day by finding a childminder, an older woman who lived in a basement flat on Miklabraut. She had far more experience in looking after and bringing up children than Hulda and Jón, yet, in spite of this, Hulda never felt happy when she had to leave her daughter with the woman.
Her worries were groundless, of course; it was just thather bond with her little daughter was so strong. Making sure Dimma was safe was the only thing that mattered.
Hulda would have liked to take a longer maternity leave, but Jón had encouraged her to go back to work, and her old boss was still in his post and keen for her to return as well.
