Authors: Arnaldur Indridason
The girl beckoned, then vanished into the night. Elinborg stepped away from the window, dressed hurriedly, and went out, closing the door quietly behind her so as not to disturb her hosts who were asleep on the upper floor. She could see very little. She walked around to the back of the house where her bedroom window was but saw no sign of the blue parka. She dared not call out. The girl’s behaviour seemed to indicate that she wanted to avoid being seen, at all costs. She was clearly nervous about having anything to do with Elinborg, the detective from the city.
Elinborg was about to abandon her search and return to her room when she noticed a movement on the road. The street lighting was sparse. She went closer and saw that the girl was waiting for her. Elinborg hurried towards her, only for her to take to her heels. The girl ran a short distance, then stopped again and looked back. Elinborg halted. She was not going to play chase a second time. The girl edged closer and Elinborg approached her, but the girl once again backed away and moved farther off. Finally Elinborg realised that she wanted her to follow, but at a discreet distance. She did as the girl wished, trailing her at a leisurely pace.
It was cold. A biting northerly wind cut sharply through her clothes, with ever-increasing force. The woman and the girl walked on with the wind in their faces. Elinborg grimaced and clutched her coat more tightly around her. They walked along by the sea, past the cluster of houses above the harbour which formed the centre of the village, and on northwards. Elinborg wondered how far they were going and where the girl was leading her.
They had moved away from the seashore now. Elinborg strode along the road which ran out of the village, past a large building which she assumed must be the community centre. A single light bulb was burning over the entrance. She heard the roar of a nearby river in the dark and then they crossed a bridge. She kept losing sight of the girl. It was a moonlit night. Elinborg was so cold that she started to shiver: the wind had risen still more and it was now blowing a gale.
All at once she spotted a ray of light on the road ahead. The girl had stopped at the side of the road and switched on a torch.
‘Is this really necessary?’ said Elinborg breathlessly. ‘Can’t you just say what you want to say? It’s the middle of the night, and I’m freezing.’
Without so much as looking at Elinborg, the girl hurried down off the road towards the sea. Elinborg followed. In the dark she reached a waist-high stone wall and followed it around to a gate, which the girl opened. It squeaked a little.
‘Where are we?’ asked Elinborg. ‘Where are you taking me?’
She soon found out. They followed a narrow path past a large tree. In the glow of the torch Elinborg made out concrete steps leading up to a building - she could not tell what it was. The girl turned to the right and up a shallow slope. In the torchlight Elinborg saw a white cross, and in the next flash of light a slab of cut stone that had subsided into the ground. She could see an inscription.
‘Is this a churchyard?’ whispered Elinborg.
The girl made no answer but walked on until she came to a simple white wooden cross. In the centre was a plaque with an inscription in small letters, and on the grave itself lay a bunch of fresh-looking flowers.
‘Whose grave is this?’ asked Elinborg, trying to decipher the inscription in the wavering beam of the torch.
‘It was her birthday the other day,’ the girl murmured.
Elinborg gazed at the grave marker. The torch went out. She heard footsteps fading into the distance, and realised that she had been left alone in the churchyard.
30
It took Elinborg a long time to get to sleep, and after a few hours’ rest she got up early. Overnight the wind had dropped, and a light snow was falling. She did not know whether she would see the girl again, nor why she had taken her down to the churchyard. Elinborg had managed to read the inscription on the grave marker: it was a woman’s name. She thought about the woman who lay in the grave, the flowers someone had recently placed there, the story buried in the earth, an enigma.
She stayed in her room all morning, making phone calls to Reykjavik and preparing herself for the day. It was early afternoon when she strolled down to the restaurant. Although the lunchtime rush was over, some customers still lingered. Lauga had someone helping her in the kitchen. Elinborg ordered bacon and egg and a coffee. She felt that the other diners were looking at her askance, as if she were an intruder, but she pretended not to notice. She took her time, lingered over her lunch, and had a second cup of coffee while she observed her surroundings.
Lauga took Elinborg’s empty plate, and wiped the table top. ‘When do you think you’ll be going back to the city?’ she asked.
‘That depends,’ said Elinborg. ‘The village does have certain things to offer, even though nothing ever happens here.’
‘No, I suppose not,’ said Lauga. ‘I hear you were out all night.’
‘Really?’
‘Rumour around the village,’ explained Lauga. ‘There are plenty of rumours here. You shouldn’t believe everything you’re told in a place like this. I hope you’re not going to put your faith in rumour.’
‘No, I have no intention of doing so,’ said Elinborg. ‘Is it likely to snow today, do you know?’ she asked, glancing out of the window. She did not like the look of the overcast sky.
‘That’s what the forecast says,’ replied Lauga. ‘There’s likely to be a storm this evening and tonight.’
Elinborg stood up. She was the only customer remaining.
‘It does no one any good to go stirring up the past,’ Lauga went on. ‘It’s all over and done with.’
‘Speaking of the past,’ said Elinborg, ‘you must have known a girl called Adalheidur who lived in the village? She died two years ago.’
Lauga hesitated. ‘I know who she was, yes,’ she said at last.
‘What did she die of?’
‘What did she die of?’ parroted Lauga. ‘I’m not going to talk about that.’
‘Why not?’
‘I just don’t want to.’
‘Can you help me find any of her friends, or family? Someone I could talk to?’
‘I can’t help you with that. I run this restaurant. That’s my job. It’s not my job to tell stories to strangers.’
‘Thank you,’ said Elinborg. She walked to the door and opened it. Lauga was standing in the middle of the restaurant, watching her go, as if she had more to say.
‘You would be doing us all a favour if you just went home to Reykjavik and never came back,’ said Lauga.
‘Who exactly would I be doing a favour by doing that?’
‘All of us,’ answered Lauga. ‘There’s nothing for you here.’
‘We’ll see,’ said Elinborg. ‘Thanks for the meal. You’re an excellent cook.’
On her way back to the churchyard Elinborg decided to make one house call. She went up the steps of Runolfur’s mother’s home and rang the doorbell. She heard a faint ringing from indoors and the door opened. Kristjana remembered her at once and asked her in.
‘Why are you back?’ she asked, sitting in the same chair as before. ‘What do you want here?’
‘I’m looking for answers,’ replied Elinborg.
‘I don’t know that you’ll find any, not here,’ commented Kristjana. ‘This is a rotten place. Such a rotten place. I’d have left long ago if only I’d had the guts.’
‘Isn’t this a good place to live?’
‘A good place to live?’ asked Kristjana. She wiped her lips with a tissue, then set about twisting it in her fingers. ‘Don’t go listening to people’s lies.’
‘What would people be lying about?’ Elinborg recalled what Lauga had said about listening to rumours.
‘Everything,’ replied Kristjana. ‘There are a lot of scum living here, let me tell you. Scum who love to slander respectable people. Have you been hearing things about me? I’m sure they’re drooling over the stories about my poor Runolfur. They enjoy that. But don’t you go believing everything they say.’
‘I’ve only just got here,’ replied Elinborg. Kristjana’s manner was different, more aggressive than at their first meeting. Elinborg did not intend to discuss Kristjana’s husband’s death since she did not know whether the woman was aware of the true nature of the events.
There was, however, another matter that she wanted to ask her about. Elinborg considered her best approach, then plunged in: ‘The only thing I’ve heard,’ she said, ‘is that he had a strict upbringing. That you were pretty strict with your son.’
‘Strict? With Runolfur? Ha! What bloody nonsense. That lad needed a firm hand. Who told you that?’
‘I don’t remember,’ said Elinborg.
‘Strict with Runolfur! Of course they would say that - those scum, bringing up their brats to be hooligans. Hooligans! They broke one of my windows just the other day. No one will admit to it. I reckoned I knew who’d done it, and I got in touch with their parents but they wouldn’t listen. People have got no respect for their elders these days.’
‘So
were
you strict with him?’ asked Elinborg.
Kristjana glanced sharply at her. ‘Are you blaming me for what he was?’
‘I don’t know what he was,’ replied Elinborg. ‘Maybe you can tell me.’
Kristjana sat in silence, wiped her mouth with her tissue, and went on twisting it in her hands. ‘Don’t believe everything you’re told in the village,’ she said. ‘Have you found his killer?’
‘No, I’m afraid we haven’t,’ said Elinborg.
‘Some people were arrested - I saw it on the news.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Did you come here to tell me that?’
‘No, actually I didn’t. I want to ask you if you think anyone from around here might have hurt your son.’
‘You asked me that last time - whether he had any enemies here. I don’t think so. But if he really was the monster you seem to think, then I can’t be sure.’
‘I asked you about women in his life as well,’ said Elinborg cautiously.
‘Yes, well, I don’t know anything about any women,’ Kristjana replied.
‘There’s one woman I’d like to ask you about. She lived here. Her name was Adalheidur.’
‘Adalheidur?’
‘Yes.’
‘I remember her, but I didn’t know her personally. Her brother runs the garage.’
‘The garage?’
‘Yes.’
‘You mean she was Valdimar’s sister?’
‘That’s right. Or half-sister, really. Their mother was nothing but a tart - she used to go with all the seamen back in the old days. They had some name for her, I don’t remember what it was. Something rude. She had those two brats - out of wedlock, of course. Two little bastards. And she drank, too. Died young - relatively young, but burnt out. She was a good worker, though. I used to work with her in the fish factory - a hard-working lass.’
‘Did your son know her? Did he know Adalheidur?’
‘Runolfur? Well, they were about the same age - they were at school together. I only ever saw her when she came to the factory with her mum - always with a runny nose. She wasn’t a healthy kid, rather weak and feeble.’
‘Did Runolfur have a relationship with her?’
‘What do you mean - a
relationship
?’
Elinborg hesitated. ‘Were they more than just acquaintances? Was there … was there some other relationship between them?’
‘No, nothing like that. Why do you ask? Runolfur never brought girls here.’
‘Did he know any other girls in the village?’
‘No, not really.’
‘I gather that Adalheidur died a couple of years ago?’
‘She topped herself,’ said Kristjana blankly, running her fingers through her grey hair. Elinborg wondered if she had been dark-haired when she was young. With her brown eyes, it was not unlikely.
‘Who? Adalheidur?’
‘Yes. They found her on the shore, down below the churchyard,’ said Kristjana tonelessly. ‘She’d drowned herself in the sea.’
‘She killed herself?’
‘Yes, certainly looked that way.’
‘Do you know why?’
‘Why? Why the girl did herself in? No idea. I suppose she was unhappy, poor thing. Must have been unhappy, since she did it.’
31
In daylight Elinborg was able to form a clearer sense of the location of the churchyard, which lay to the north of the village, next to the sea. It was enclosed by a low stone wall that was sorely in need of repair and had even collapsed in places, and was partially obscured by the tall, withered winter grass. A picturesque little wooden church, painted white and with a red roof, stood at the end of the churchyard.
The small gate was ajar.
Elinborg found the cross she was looking for easily. Around her were low, mossy gravestones, lying flat on the cold ground, their inscriptions worn and indecipherable, while other stones stood upright amidst the grass, resisting the elements. In among the old memorial stones were simple wooden crosses, like the one that marked Adalheidur’s resting place.
The cross was quite without ornament, identified only with a plain black plaque bearing Adalheidur’s name, the dates of her birth and death, and the inscription
Rest in Peace
. Elinborg noticed that Adalheidur’s birthday was the date on which Runolfur had been killed.
She raised her eyes. The sky was overcast, but it was a windless day and the sea was mirror-smooth. She looked out along the fjord towards the ocean, to the distant horizon, and felt a sense of peace within herself. The spell was broken by the shrill call of a redwing, which perched briefly on the church tower before flying off into the mountains.
Elinborg realised that she was no longer alone. She glanced up towards the road, and saw the girl in the blue down parka standing there watching her. They stood there for some time without speaking, looking at each other, before the girl set off down towards the churchyard and clambered over the wall.
‘It’s pretty here,’ said Elinborg.
‘Yes,’ the girl agreed. ‘It’s the prettiest place in the village.’
‘They certainly knew what they were doing when they chose this spot for the churchyard,’ said Elinborg. ‘By the way, thanks very much for leaving me here alone last night,’ she added.
‘I’m sorry,’ said the girl. ‘I didn’t know what to do. I still don’t know what I’m doing. When you came back here …’