The Girl Who Died

by Ragnar Jónasson

  ‘I decide when this conversation is finished,’ he said flatly. ‘Sit down, Una.’

  Instead of meekly obeying, she stood her ground, though she had no intention of getting into a physical struggle with this man if she could possibly avoid it. Her mind was racing. She suspected that he might actually be prepared to lock her in here to convince her not to ring the police. He must be confident that he could get away with it: his word against hers. He wielded the power in the village; he had the locals on his side. With a sudden sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, she wondered if he could have done something like this before? Or gone further, even? Was there a specific reason why he didn’t want the police brought in?

  ‘I’ve already made the call,’ she said in a low voice. She had the feeling that this might just save her.

  ‘You’ve made the call?’ He sounded shocked. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘To the police. An officer’s coming here tomorrow, to ask around about Patrekur.’

  ‘You’re not serious?’

  ‘I swear it – I rang earlier. I grabbed the chance while Salka was out. Visiting you.’

  ‘What did you tell them?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Of course it damn well matters.’ Spinning round, he opened the door and stormed out.

  Una hurried out of the room after him, then hesitated a moment before following him upstairs, relieved that he didn’t look round or speak to her.

  When she reached the top, she saw that he was waiting in the hall, but there was nothing in his body language to suggest that he meant to prevent her from leaving this time.

  ‘It was nice of you to visit, Una,’ he said in his deep voice. ‘You must drop by more often.’

  She gave him a look. Then, without a word, she opened the front door and fled back to Salka’s house, never once glancing over her shoulder. Although she knew there was no one behind her, she felt as if there were eyes watching her from every side.

  Never had she felt so alone, so frightened or so utterly defenceless.

  XXV

  Lullaby, my little Thrá,

  may you sweetly sleep.

  The voice was pure, low and hypnotic. It seemed to come from all directions at once. Una could feel the notes spreading through her body as if icy water were flowing through her veins, and sensed the words filtering in, seeping through her dream into her unconscious.

  Lullaby …

  Then she saw her.

  The girl was standing there, staring at Una, in the same white dress as always, her eyes empty, her face pale, a vision in black and white, her lips moving in time to the words, only ever the one verse, never more; then her eyes closed and she stood quite still, as if watching Una through her eyelids, as if waiting for something, and Una waited too, listening to the silence. The girl didn’t move, just remained perfectly still, waiting, her eyes closed, her face expressionless.

  Then without warning her lids flicked open to reveal bloodshot eyes, and suddenly everything was red, and Una flinched as if someone had shaken her and sat bolt upright in bed, wide awake, confused about where the nightmare ended and reality began, unable to understand anything any more …

  She had a splitting headache. At first she couldn’t remember why, then she realized the wine was to blame. Better to blame the wine than herself. She’d had to open a bottle when she came home from Guffi’s, shaking like a leaf, in desperate need of something to calm her nerves. The wine had done its job. She had almost finished the bottle before, succumbing to drowsiness, she had crawled into bed.

  It was still night, she could tell by the silence, and she needed a few more hours’ sleep before tackling the coming day. Although the girl had vanished, her image lingered, unnervingly vivid, and her song went on echoing in Una’s head. She wondered why she was still sleeping up here, still putting herself through this hell. Why hadn’t she moved out? Was it because she sensed that, in spite of everything, the girl didn’t mean her any harm? Even if that were true, there was no hope of getting back to sleep with her nerves jangling like this. Perhaps one little glass of wine would help take the edge off her fear.

  She groped on her bedside table but couldn’t feel the bottle. Then she remembered that she had left it in her kitchen.

  Una got out of bed, her eyes adjusting to the darkness, and walked slowly through to the other room, relieved that the song had fallen silent.

  She was brought up short by the sound of breaking glass just as she reached the doorway and, fumbling for the light switch on the wall, pressed it. The living room leapt into view and she was met by the sight of the bottle lying smashed on the floor, the wine forming a dark pool among the broken glass, surrounded by splash marks that looked disturbingly like blood. The bottle had been on the kitchen table, only an arm’s length from where Una was standing. And there was nobody else in the flat, no one who could have knocked the bottle on to the floor, before quickly making their exit.

  But the kitchen window was open and air was blowing in, so it was possible the wind had swept the bottle off the table. Had it been standing that close to the edge? Una couldn’t remember. Perhaps she had created a draught when she opened the bedroom door … She racked her brain for a rational explanation. The bottle couldn’t have fallen on the floor for no reason, immediately after she’d had another nightmare about the girl who had died. The coincidence was too great.

  XXVI

  Next morning Una cancelled her classes. She had surfaced just before eight, to find herself curled up on the little sofa in the living room. Her headache was still there, though it had faded to a dull throbbing, but she had neither the willpower nor the energy to get up. She had crawled downstairs and rung Kolbrún’s house, hoping to goodness that Kolbeinn wouldn’t answer. Her wish was granted, as it was Inga who picked up the phone. Una explained that she was ill and couldn’t teach today and Inga’s reaction was cool, as it was to most things. Una was sure rumours would now start doing the rounds about how she’d started missing work because of her drinking. Well, so be it.

  The situation could hardly get any worse. None of the villagers trusted her and she didn’t trust any of them, feeling that they had ganged up on her. She asked herself if there was any point in continuing to take part in this deception and pretend she could do her job under these conditions; if she could carry on teaching one pupil. Was it worth it? It wasn’t as if she even liked the child …

  Una had returned to the sofa after speaking to Inga and managed to get a bit more sleep. Now a grey dawn was breaking outside, but Una had no particular desire to get up. All she really wanted was to ring Thór, but she wasn’t even sure she could trust him any more. It crossed her mind to call Sara for a chat. But that would mean not only dragging herself off the sofa but going downstairs and taking the risk of bumping into Salka. Really, she couldn’t go on like this; the situation was becoming intolerable. And to top it all, she’d finished all her wine again.

  XXVII

  Una was woken by the noise of the knocker. Someone had brought it crashing down on the door. She must have dozed off again on the sofa. She leapt up in a panic. As the fog of sleep cleared, she realized it must be the policeman, as no one else visited them. It wouldn’t do to miss him.

  She pulled on her dressing gown over her nightie and raced downstairs into the hall, only to find that Salka had got there first and opened the door. The man standing on the step was probably in his thirties, thickset and broad-faced, with slightly thinning hair that didn’t suit him, but his smile when he saw Una suggested that he was a nice guy.

  ‘Are you Una, by any chance?’ he asked, his voice deeper than she had expected.

  ‘Yes, that’s me.’

  ‘Hello, pleased to meet you.’ He held out his hand and she approached and shook it. ‘My name’s Hjalti and I’m with the Thórshöfn police. Sorry it’s taken me a while to get here. I got a call from Reykjavík yesterday evening, asking me to check on something out here. I was going to come first thing
, but, you know how it is – time flies, and all that.’ He smiled again. ‘You always have to prioritize and, to be honest, you can’t always drop everything and jump to it every time that lot in Reykjavík call you up. I’m sure you understand.’

  Una didn’t know whether she was supposed to answer this, but Salka saved her the trouble: ‘Oh, yes, I do.’

  ‘It’s ages since I was last over this way,’ Hjalti continued. ‘Shameful, I know, but it’s just so rare that I have any business in these parts. I don’t ever remember any crimes happening in Skálar, at least not since I joined the police. It’s a peaceful spot, isn’t it?’ He was still standing on the doorstep.

  ‘Very peaceful,’ Salka replied, ‘and that’s the way we like to keep it. Won’t you come in?’

  ‘Thought you’d never ask!’ he joked, and stepped into the hall.

  ‘Let’s go into the sitting room. Would you like a coffee?’

  ‘I never say no to an offer like that.’

  ‘Una, could you help me with the cups?’

  Una obeyed, and they left the visitor alone in the sitting room. Una fetched the cups from the cupboard and waited while Salka put on the coffee. She avoided catching Salka’s eye and neither of them said a word.

  Once the coffee was ready, they went back in with it.

  ‘This is good and strong,’ Hjalti commented. Apparently, he was in no hurry to get down to business. Perhaps he needed to revive himself after the drive.

  ‘Salka, wasn’t it your daughter who …?’

  Salka nodded, her face tightening.

  ‘My heartfelt condolences. It was terrible, terrible news.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Salka said.

  ‘Were you both born and brought up here?’ he asked, after a few moments when nobody spoke.

  ‘Not in my case.’ This time it was Una who answered first. ‘I’m from Reykjavík and got a job here over the winter. I’m a teacher. Salka has more claim to be from here.’

  Salka nodded. ‘This is my home, my house. And this is where I intend to stay.’ She sounded defiant.

  Hjalti sipped his coffee. ‘Thanks very much for the hospitality. It’s a lovely house too, very handsome.’ He smiled. ‘It’s good to get out of Thórshöfn once in a while, even in the middle of winter. But maybe I should get down to business – this bad business of the man who’s gone missing, Patrekur … Patrekur …’

  Una chipped in: ‘Patrekur Kristjánsson.’

  ‘That’s the one. I don’t know much about the case, to tell the truth; I was just asked to deal with this. They didn’t give me much background. To be honest, I can’t understand what on earth could have brought him out here.’

  ‘Nor can I,’ Una said.

  ‘Yes, it was you who rang, I gather. Did you say you’d met him?’

  ‘We both met him,’ Una said firmly.

  ‘And you’re sure it was the same man?’

  ‘Yes, positive. I saw the photo of him in Morgunbladid. It’s the same man, definitely –’

  ‘It …’ Salka interrupted, then hesitated. Una turned to look at her.

  ‘It wasn’t him,’ Salka said, after a brief pause.

  Una felt as if she’d been kicked in the teeth. She couldn’t believe her ears: Salka couldn’t have said that.

  ‘I beg your pardon? Are you saying it wasn’t him?’ Hjalti asked, evidently almost as astonished as Una was. ‘It wasn’t Patrekur?’

  ‘No. We were both here when he knocked on the door, late in the evening. He was an Icelander, looking for somewhere to stay. He didn’t introduce himself.’

  ‘What do you mean, Salka?’ Una cried. ‘You’ve got to be joking?’

  Hjalti stood up and laid a hand on Una’s shoulder. ‘Let’s just take it easy. We’ll get to the bottom of this. Maybe you both experienced it differently. I expect you’ve seen the photo, Salka?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Did the men look alike?’

  ‘You mean you believe her?’ Una asked, trying with an effort to compose herself. Salka had betrayed her; that’s all there was to it.

  ‘We’ll see. There must be a simple explanation for this,’ Hjalti said in a steadying voice. ‘Salka, did the two men look alike?’

  Una glared at Salka. Was she going to keep on lying?

  Salka didn’t immediately answer. There was a charged atmosphere in the small sitting room.

  ‘No, actually,’ she said at last. ‘Not in the slightest. They looked nothing like each other. I just can’t understand why Una’s so obsessed with the idea. I’ve tried to make her see sense and I thought she was coming round, but it seems she went and rang the police after all. I’m … I’m only sorry you’ve had to drive all the way out here.’

  Una was stunned. She didn’t know how to react.

  ‘Are you absolutely sure about that?’ Hjalti asked Salka.

  ‘Yes. I spoke to him and got a good look at him. I don’t know where Una got this idea. I can’t imagine … though, actually … Of course, it’s been difficult for her. Being so isolated here, you understand? It’s a bit of a shock to the system after Reykjavík.’

  Hjalti smiled. ‘You can say that again. I lived in Reykjavík for several years. Thórshöfn and the city are worlds apart, so I can just imagine what a big change it would be to move here to Skálar.’

  Una couldn’t speak.

  ‘It’s all been a bit of a strain,’ Salka went on, lowering her voice. ‘She’s also … well, she also claims the house is haunted.’

  ‘It is haunted!’ Una intervened desperately, realizing as she did so that this was doing nothing to help her cause.

  ‘A beautiful house like this, haunted?’ Hjalti asked, looking at Una with his eyebrows raised, and she could see from his expression that he didn’t believe her. That he felt sorry for her.

  She wondered whether to withdraw her claim, but that might make matters worse. ‘Well … well, I don’t know … A girl died in the house more than half a century ago and people say she haunts the place. I think I’ve sensed her up in the attic – in the flat up there. Which is where I live.’

  Hjalti studied her, frowning slightly. ‘And what form does it take? The haunting?’

  ‘There’s this lullaby she sometimes sings in the night, and I’ve heard the piano playing too … and I’ve seen her, or at least I think I have … And then last night, a wine bottle broke for no reason and …’ None of this sounded very convincing when she said it out loud.

  Salka glanced at Una, then back at Hjalti. She smiled indulgently as if to say: Be gentle with her; she’s not in a good way.

  ‘I’ve heard stories like that before,’ Hjalti said. ‘And a broken bottle, you say?’

  He caught Salka’s eye, then turned his gaze back to Una.

  ‘What kind of wine?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘What kind of wine? White? Red? Something stronger?’

  ‘Just red wine.’

  ‘Of course, it can help to wile away the long winter nights when you’re on your own. Drink a fair bit, do you, Una?’

  ‘No, only the occasional glass,’ she replied, suddenly feeling as if she was in the middle of an interrogation, suspected of committing a crime. ‘Just every now and then.’ She didn’t dare lie outright, though she tried to make the situation sound better than it was.

  ‘Sometimes have a drop to drink in the evenings, do you, Una? A nightcap before you go to bed? Before you see the girl?’

  ‘Sometimes, yes, but definitely not always. I’ve seen her when I haven’t been drinking as well,’ she insisted, trying to remember if this was true. But she couldn’t be entirely sure. She hadn’t connected the two things until now. After all, she’d often had a drink when living in Reykjavík and had never seen a ghost or heard creepy lullabies in the night. But could there be an element of truth in it? Had the alcohol made her see things that weren’t there? She felt a sudden twinge of doubt.

  ‘What about when the man knocked on the door, Una? Had you been drinking then?’<
br />
  ‘I don’t remember,’ she said, which was true. She genuinely couldn’t recall. Perhaps that was a sign that her drinking wasn’t as under control as she liked to think.

  ‘So, a man came round,’ Hjalti said kindly. Una thought again what a nice person he seemed, despite the unpleasantness of the situation. ‘And you both saw him. He was looking for somewhere to stay.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Una.

  ‘I see. And neither of you knew him. Then a photo of Patrekur appeared in the papers and you believed you recognized him, Una. Is it possible that you just wanted it to be the same man, to liven things up a bit? Could that be what happened, Una?’

  Una felt sure it wasn’t possible, and yet a seed of doubt had been sown in her mind. Surely she had seen Patrekur? Why wasn’t Salka backing her up? She wondered if she could really have started imagining things, unhinged by the isolation.

  A silence had fallen. Hjalti waited patiently, apparently in no hurry for her answer. She had to say something, and preferably something that they could all agree on. Was it possible that she hadn’t heard any lullaby? Could the man she met have been different from the one in the newspaper?

  ‘Una, could that be what happened?’ Hjalti repeated, without the faintest hint of accusation in his voice. As if they were just old friends having a chat.

  ‘Er, yes, maybe,’ she faltered, not knowing what to think any more.

  ‘I see,’ Hjalti said. ‘That would shed some light on the matter – provide us with a natural explanation for the whole thing.’ He smiled good-naturedly. ‘The most obvious explanation is often the right one, in my experience. There’s no reason to complicate things unnecessarily.’

  Una nodded, then immediately regretted it, and regretted the fact she’d said yes to Hjalti’s question. Of course she was sure. Of course she’d seen Patrekur. She couldn’t have got so badly confused about something as important as that, could she? The doubts came crowding in again. She couldn’t bring herself to contradict Salka outright, though she gave her an accusing look. Salka averted her gaze.