Outrage (18 page)

‘No, no, of course. I just thought of asking, because I know him slightly. Edvard lives in Reykjavik. He used to commute by car. He was quite young then. He has a friend named Runolfur. Do you remember Lilja ever saying anything about them?’

‘Runolfur? Is he a friend of yours too?’

‘No,’ answered Elinborg, realising that she had got herself into an awkward position. She could not bring herself to tell Hallgerdur the truth, or explain her suspicion - really no more than a hunch - that a link might exist between Lilja and a suspected rapist in Reykjavik. She did not want to add to the woman’s distress any more than necessary, especially since she had so little to go on, but she wanted to float the names in case Hallgerdur had any relevant knowledge.

‘Why are you asking about Lilja now, and why are you asking about those men?’ asked Hallgerdur. ‘Is there new evidence you don’t want to tell me about? What are you after?’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Elinborg. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have brought up any names. They have nothing to do with Lilja’s disappearance.’

‘I don’t know them.’

‘No, I didn’t expect you to.’

‘Runolfur? Isn’t that the name of that man who was murdered in Reykjavik?’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘Is that him? The one you’re asking about?’

Elinborg hesitated. ‘Edvard knew Runolfur,’ she said.

‘Knew Runolfur? Is that why you’re here? Is this Runolfur involved with my daughter’s case?’

‘No,’ replied Elinborg. ‘Nothing new has come to light. All we know is that Edvard and Runolfur were friends.’

‘I don’t know them - I’ve never heard those names.’

‘No, I didn’t expect so.’

‘What’s their connection with Lilja, then?’

‘Nothing.’

‘But didn’t you come here to ask about them?’

‘I just wanted to find out if you might recognise the names. That was all.’

‘It’s good to know that Lilja’s case isn’t forgotten.’

‘We do our best.’ Elinborg hurriedly changed the subject, asking Lilja’s mother more about their daily routine and assuring her that the police were receptive to information, even after so many years. Elinborg sat with her for some time, and when she took her leave dusk was falling. Hallgerdur came out to the car with her and stood in the sharp northerly wind, apparently not noticing it.

‘Have you lost anyone close to you in this way?’ she asked Elinborg.

‘No, not in the same way, if you mean …’

‘It’s as if time stands still, and it can’t start again until we know what happened.’

‘Of course it’s a terrible experience.’

‘The tragedy is that it never ends. We can’t say goodbye to her, because we don’t know anything,’ said Hallgerdur, smiling faintly and with her arms crossed across her chest. ‘When Lilja vanished, a part of us went with her which we will never get back.’

She ran a hand through her hair. ‘Maybe we lost ourselves.’

The bakery where Aslaug worked was quiet. A bell hung against the door, and it jangled harshly when Elinborg called in on her way out of town. The northerly wind was rising and Elinborg found herself almost physically blown inside the shop. Inside she was met with the comforting aroma of freshly baked bread. A young woman wearing an apron was handing change to a customer. She closed the till and smiled at Elinborg.

‘Do you have any ciabatta?’ asked Elinborg.

The woman scanned the shelves. ‘Yes, we’ve got two left.’

‘I’ll take them, and a sliced wholemeal loaf, please.’

The assistant put the ciabatta in a bag and placed the wholemeal loaf on the counter. They were alone in the shop.

‘Here you are,’ said the young woman.

Elinborg handed over her credit card. ‘I gather that you were a good friend of Lilja?’ said Elinborg. ‘You’re Aslaug, aren’t you?’

The woman looked at her. She did not appear surprised. ‘Yes,’ she replied, tapping her name badge with a finger. ‘My name is Aslaug. Did you know Lilja?’

‘No, I’m from the Reykjavik police, just passing through. I met some colleagues here and we got talking about Lilja and how she vanished. They said you were her best friend.’

‘Yes,’ said Aslaug. ‘I was. We were … she was such a nice girl. So you were talking about us?’

‘Lilja’s disappearance came up in conversation,’ answered Elinborg as Aslaug passed back her card. ‘Lilja was planning to stay over with you, wasn’t she?’

‘Yes, that was what she said to her mum. I thought she’d changed her mind and gone to see her grandparents. She often did. I didn’t think any more of it. I’d spoken to her that morning - we were thinking of going to the cinema in the evening, and then back to my place. We were planning a trip to Denmark. Just the two of us. Then … then it happened.’

‘It was as if she disappeared into thin air,’ said Elinborg.

‘It was just so unbelievable,’ said Aslaug. ‘So ridiculous. So ridiculous that it could happen. I just know she didn’t kill herself. She must have had some freak accident and … She often used to go down to the seashore. All I can imagine is that maybe she slipped and fell, and was knocked unconscious, then drowned when the tide came in - or something like that.’

‘You’re sure it couldn’t have been suicide?’

‘Absolutely not. That’s a daft suggestion. She was trying to find a birthday present for her grandad. She mentioned it to me that morning, and she was seen in a sports shop that sells riding equipment. Her grandad loves horses. That was the last sighting. Then she disappeared. And nobody has any idea what happened to her.’

‘But apparently the shop didn’t have what she wanted?’ said Elinborg, who had read the witness statements.

‘No.’

‘And that’s the end of the trail.’

‘As I say, it doesn’t make any sense. I never thought to get in touch when I didn’t hear from her that evening. We hadn’t made any firm plans, and she often went out to the farm without telling anyone beforehand. I just assumed she’d gone there.’

The bell rang and a new customer entered. Aslaug sold him a Danish pastry and some rolls. Another customer arrived, and Elinborg waited patiently.

‘How have her parents been coping?’ she asked when they were alone again.

‘They’re up and down,’ said Aslaug. ‘It put a great strain on their marriage. Hallgerdur became very religious and joined a fundamentalist church. Lilja’s dad, Aki, is quite different. He just doesn’t mention it.’

‘You were at school together, weren’t you?’

‘For as long as we could remember.’

‘And at the comprehensive college too?’

‘Yes.’

‘Was she happy there?’

‘Yes, very much so. We both were. She was brilliant at maths. Physics and the other sciences were her favourite subjects. I was more on the languages side. We had even considered going to Denmark to study. That would have been …’

‘Apparently she also talked about going to America.’

‘Yes, she wanted to try living abroad.’

The door opened once more. Aslaug served four customers before Elinborg could ask her about Edvard. She was grateful to Aslaug for not talking about Lilja when other people were in the shop. ‘Did she have any favourite teacher?’ she asked. ‘At the college?’

‘No, not that I know of,’ said Aslaug. ‘They were all really nice.’

‘Do you remember a teacher called Edvard? He taught science subjects, I think.’

‘Yes, I do. He left ages ago. He never taught me. He taught Lilja, though, I’m sure of that.’

‘Did she ever talk about him?’

‘No, not that I can remember.’

‘Yet you recall him clearly?’

‘Yes. He once gave me a lift into town.’

‘Town? Do you mean the town centre here?’

Aslaug smiled for the first time during their conversation. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Edvard lived in Reykjavik, and he once offered me a lift there. To Reykjavik.’

‘Recently?’

‘No, no. It was years ago, when he was teaching here. It must have been before Lilja vanished, because I remember telling her. He was very nice. Why do you ask?’

‘Then what? Did he drop you off when you got to Reykjavik?’

‘Yes, I was waiting for the bus when he stopped and offered me a lift. I was going shopping in Reykjavik and he drove me to the Kringlan mall.’

‘Did he often give people lifts?’

‘I don’t know,’ Aslaug replied. ‘But he was very friendly. Invited me to come round, if I wanted.’

‘Come round to his home?’

‘Yes. What is it? Why are you asking about him?’

‘And did you go round?’

‘No.’

‘Did he ever give Lilja a lift?’

‘I don’t know.’

The door opened to admit another customer, followed by yet another, and before long the bakery was crowded. Elinborg picked up her loaves, called goodbye to Aslaug and left the bakery with the noise of the shop bell ringing in her ears.

Elinborg drove back to Reykjavik, arriving at the Asian food shop just before it closed. Johanna was not there and the shop was being minded by a girl who said she sometimes covered for her. Elinborg did not recall seeing her there before. She explained that she knew Johanna well, and had hoped to speak to her. The young woman, Johanna’s twenty-five-year-old niece, was friendly and helpful. She had been helping Johanna out with the shop more and more over the past year, she said, as her aunt’s health had been declining. The cause was not clear - probably exhaustion, she observed frankly, adding that her aunt worked too hard and did not take proper care of herself. Elinborg had the impression that it had been a slow day in the shop, and the girl was pleased to have someone to talk to.

‘If you’re often here, maybe you can help me,’ said Elinborg. ‘I’ve discussed it with Johanna. She knows I’m with the police, and I’ve told her I’m trying to trace a young woman, with dark hair, who may be a customer of yours. She probably buys tandoori spices, could have bought a tandoori pot.’

The girl was deep in thought.

‘She might have been wearing a shawl,’ said Elinborg. ‘I can show it to you but I haven’t got it with me now.’

‘A shawl?’ the girl asked. ‘Wasn’t Johanna able to help you?’

‘She was going to look into it for me.’

‘I’ve only sold one tandoori pot this autumn,’ said the girl. ‘And it wasn’t to a young woman with a shawl. It was to a man.’

‘So you don’t remember any regular customer - a dark-haired woman? Who’s interested in Indian cookery, or any kind of Asian food, spices? Maybe she’s been to the Far East?’

The girl shook her head. ‘I wish I could be more help,’ she said.

‘Of course. This man who bought the tandoori pot, was he alone? Do you remember?’

‘He was. There was no girl with him. I remember him particularly because I helped him take the pot out to his car.’

‘Yes?’

‘He didn’t want to be a nuisance, but I assured him it was no problem.’

‘He needed assistance, did he?’

‘He walked with a limp,’ the girl explained. ‘There was something wrong with his leg. He was very nice, and awfully grateful.’

19

The family had done well for themselves. The husband, Elinborg had learned, was a qualified economist and a head of department at the Ministry of Agriculture. The wife worked in a bank. They lived in a townhouse in a prosperous district of the city, furnished with leather sofas, an oak dining table, and new-looking kitchen fittings. The floors were parquet, and on the walls hung two fine oil paintings and a number of drawings. Photographs of the family at different ages: three children, from infancy to college graduation. Glancing casually around, Elinborg took all this in as she was shown into the living room.

She had decided to make this visit alone. She did not want to make the man uncomfortable. Johanna’s assistant at the shop had dug out the credit-card slip for the tandoori pot that he had bought in the late summer. He had written his name clearly and firmly on the receipt: this was no illegible scribble, like so many credit-card signatures. This man’s signature was neat, controlled, confidence-inspiring.

In trying to trace him, Elinborg had first spoken to two men of the same name, both of them mystified to be contacted by the police. At her third attempt she had struck lucky. The man asked whether she wanted him to come to the station, but she allowed him to meet her on his own territory and she had the impression that he was relieved. She had told him she was a police officer, looking for witnesses in the Thingholt murder case. ‘A man was seen near the scene of the crime, with some kind of support on his leg - as if he had a broken leg, or an injury or disability,’ she had said.

‘Oh?’

‘He had a brace on one leg. We’ve been trying to identify him, and we’re wondering if you’re the right man.’

He was silent. Then he said he was aware of the case, and he recalled that he had been in Thingholt at about that time. ‘What … how can I help you?’ He was uncertain how to address a police officer. This was evidently a new experience for him.

‘We’re trying to find witnesses, but there are very few,’ explained Elinborg. ‘I’d just like to speak to you, to find out if you noticed anything unusual when you were in Thingholt.’

‘By all means come round,’ the man answered courteously. ‘But I don’t know that I can contribute anything.’

‘No, no, of course. That remains to be seen,’ said Elinborg.

And now she was sitting with him in his living room. His wife was not yet back from work. The children had all left home now, he told Elinborg, unprompted.

‘This is just a routine enquiry,’ announced Elinborg. ‘I hope I’m not intruding.’

‘You said there weren’t many witnesses,’ he answered. Konrad was sixtyish, not tall but sturdily built, with a head of thick greying hair, cropped short, and a broad face with laughter lines around the mouth. He had powerful shoulders and big hands. He walked slowly, because he had a brace on one leg. Elinborg recalled Petrina’s fantastical description: to the old lady, buzzing with radiomagnetism at her window, the metal rod on the brace might well resemble an aerial. Konrad was wearing a comfortable pair of tracksuit bottoms zipped open over the calves. They flapped as he walked, revealing the brace.

‘Have you been trying to reach me at work?’ asked Konrad.

‘No, I only rang here,’ answered Elinborg.