It was late by the time Elma got back to the office. Since her phone hadn’t rung all day, she assumed no one had missed her.
‘So, what did the dentist have to say?’ Sævar asked when she came in.
‘What?’ Elma replied, having completely forgotten the lie she had told earlier.
‘Weren’t you at the dentist’s?’
‘Oh, yes, right…’ Elma said. ‘To be honest, I didn’t really have a dental appointment.’
‘Aha, I suspected as much. You were away so long I’d begun to wonder if you’d had all your teeth pulled out. So, what have you been up to, then?’
‘I went to see Vilborg.’
‘Really?’
‘And Ása.’
Sævar’s brows drew together in a frown.
Elma took a deep breath. ‘I had to talk to her. You see, I suspect that Sara was being sexually abused as well. And I have a hunch that she wasn’t alone when she vanished.’
‘Surely you didn’t say that to Ása?’ Sævar asked, horrified.
‘No, of course not,’ Elma hastened to assure him. ‘It’s just that I suspect Elísabet and Sara were victims of the same man. Vilborg too, possibly. I believe Elísabet came back to Akranes because she wanted to report him. And I think she met the man – the mysterious photographer.’
‘And you reckon you know who he was?’
Elma nodded. ‘Think about it for a moment, Sævar. We’ve got Sara, Elísabet and Vilborg. Vilborg was raped at Hendrik and Ása’s place. Hendrik owned the house that Elísabet’s mother rented, and Sara was his daughter.’
‘You don’t seriously believe he’d be capable of … I mean, sexual abuse is one thing, but to murder someone just to shut them up…?’
‘From what I’ve heard, Hendrik is very concerned about his reputation in town,’ Elma said.
Sævar flung himself back in his chair, running a hand through his dark hair. ‘Bloody hell, Elma. If you’re right…’
‘Of course, I can’t be sure,’ Elma said. ‘But you have to admit that it doesn’t look good for him.’
Sævar groaned. Outside the office they heard Begga’s infectious laughter followed by Kári’s guffaw. The coffee Elma had fetched before sitting down with Sævar had gone cold and she still couldn’t shake off the chill that had entered her bones during her walk at Krókalón.
In one swift movement, Sævar swung round to his computer and began tapping away on the keyboard. After a short interval, he looked back at Elma.
‘There are two cars registered in Hendrik and Ása’s names. A jeep and a family car. Shall we check if they’re both parked in their drive?’
‘Yes, let’s.’ Elma smiled at him gratefully. ‘But there’s another person I’d like to talk to as well: one of the gang who were always visiting Elísabet’s mother, Halla. Do you know Rúnar Geirsson, alias Rabbi?’
Sævar nodded. ‘He’s an old friend of the law. But we haven’t had any dealings with him for several years so I’m guessing that means he’s finally managed to turn over a new leaf. Temporarily, at least.’
Elma had a bad conscience where Hörður was concerned. She hadn’t informed him of what she’d been up to over the last few days and was worried about how he’d react when she came clean. She knew he would never have given her the green light to go and talk to Ása. All she could hope was that by the time Hörður found out, they would have got hold of some hard evidence; some clue that would connect Hendrik to Elísabet’s death.
‘You said earlier that you didn’t believe Sara was alone when she went out on the raft. Why’s that?’ Sævar asked.
‘Because, according to Ása, Sara was terrified of water, and had been ever since she was tiny. I’m not saying anyone forced her onto the raft but I do find it unlikely that she was alone,’ Elma said. ‘I’ve examined the case files and I have to say that the whole thing looks pretty suspicious to me. The idea that the girl would have simply climbed onto the raft at the water’s edge and drifted out to sea; sure, she was only nine, but she must have known how dangerous it was.’
‘It can happen so quickly,’ Sævar pointed out. ‘The currents are hard to predict and the waves can be powerful. Perhaps she miscalculated.’ He slowed down and turned into Ása and Hendrik’s road. Their house appeared to be empty. There was no car in the drive and all the lights were off.
‘Could they have gone somewhere in separate cars?’ Elma found that she was whispering, though she didn’t really know why; no one could hear them as they were still sitting in the police car.
‘Looks like it,’ Sævar said. ‘Unless one or both cars are in the garage, of course.’
‘Let’s leave ours here,’ Elma suggested.
The shrubs in the garden were too low to hide behind, which made Elma grateful for the darkness. She remembered Ása saying how much she missed the garden at their old place. Here, it would be many years before the trees attained any sort of height. Elma walked resolutely towards the front door, pretending not to notice Sævar’s expression, and knocked. She was sure there was nobody home, and when no one answered, she went round to the garage. The door was locked and the windows were so high up that she couldn’t reach them to peer inside.
‘Sævar,’ she called in a low voice, beckoning him over.
‘I’m not going to lift you up if that’s what you think,’ Sævar said. He scanned their surroundings nervously.
‘No one will see,’ Elma said confidently. ‘Quick, give me a leg up. I just need to check if the car’s in there.’
Sævar sighed, but gave in and bent down with his fingers clasped so Elma could step on his hands. ‘Hurry up then. I’ve no idea how we’re going to explain this if we’re spotted.’
Elma slipped off one shoe and placed her foot in Sævar’s big, warm palms. Then she hauled herself up to the window and tried to peer inside. ‘I can hardly see a thing – it’s too dark. There’s a car in there but I can’t see the front.’
She got down and slipped her shoe back on.
Sævar straightened up. ‘Then let’s get out of here,’ he said, heading off smartly with Elma on his heels. He flinched when a car drove past and Elma laughed.
‘You’re not much of an adrenaline junkie, are you?’ she teased.
‘Well, I am a police officer,’ Sævar retorted. ‘I’d have thought that made me quite enough of an adrenaline junkie.’
‘In Akranes?’
‘There’s been plenty going on since you arrived,’ Sævar said in his defence.
‘True, though I wouldn’t exactly call this business as usual for Akranes CID.’
It wasn’t yet 5.00 p.m., so they decided to postpone their visit to Rúnar until they could be sure of catching him at home, rather than disturbing him at work. Elma lay back in the car seat, feeling suddenly tired. Soothing music was playing on the radio and she closed her eyes for a minute.
‘I don’t know what it is about this car,’ she said, yawning, ‘but I feel sleepy the minute I recline my seat.’
‘Shall we stretch our legs?’ Sævar suggested. The car stopped and Elma opened her eyes to discover that they were at Breiðin. She hadn’t noticed that Sævar had been driving out towards the point.
‘A breath of sea air will soon revive you.’ The way he smiled at her made Elma feel warm inside. Her thoughts flew inadvertently to the young man who lived opposite her. Recently she had taken to dashing in and out of her flat in an effort to avoid bumping into him.
They walked past a pallet on which the opening times of the new lighthouse had been written in black marker pen in both English and Icelandic. It had recently become a popular tourist spot and the picture attached to the pallet showed the new plan for the area. When Elma was a child, the point had been untouched and beautiful in spite of its flaws: no tourists, nothing but sea, birds and the two lighthouses.
‘These days it’s better to visit in the winter,’ Sævar remarked, as if reading her mind. ‘When there’s hardly anyone about.’
‘But it’s
so dark at this time of year. Only five hours of daylight if you’re lucky.’
‘The darkness can be beautiful too,’ Sævar said. ‘I like the short days and long nights – they don’t bother me. What drives me nuts is when the sun starts shining round the clock.’
‘I agree,’ said Elma. ‘Most people love it, but I hate trying to go to sleep in broad daylight. Having said that, I miss the sun. I wouldn’t mind breaking the winter up a bit and going on holiday somewhere warm.’
They sat down on a bench by the new lighthouse and gazed out to sea. The lights of Reykjavík were twinkling across the bay. Elma lost herself for a while in the pleasure of watching the waves and breathing in the salty air. It was such a lovely, tranquil spot that it was almost impossible to believe that something terrible had happened there. Yet Elísabet’s body had been found only a few metres away. Elma pictured again the dark hair spread out over the rocks, the puffy face and swollen eyes. The eyes that had once belonged to the lovely little girl in the photos.
She was positive that Magnea knew more than she was admitting. And there was no doubt in her mind that something had happened to Elísabet when she was a child. Someone had taken that picture.
She mentally reviewed the family. There were Hendrik and Ása, in whose house the atmosphere of grief seemed almost palpable – unless the feeling emanated solely from Ása, who still seemed so weighed down with sorrow. Although Elma had only ever seen Hendrik from a distance, he had an aura of self-confidence, just like his son. Bjarni obviously found it easy to adapt his manners to the circumstances. After all, even she had been charmed by him originally. Finally, there was Tómas, the black sheep of the family. Elma knew little about him, apart from the fact that he hadn’t hesitated to beat his girlfriend to a pulp and seemed to live off his brother’s success.
Elma was roused from these thoughts by the feeling of Sævar’s warm hand touching hers where it was resting on the bench. At first, she wasn’t sure if the touch had been accidental. But Sævar didn’t move his hand. She went on staring straight ahead, relishing the warmth that radiated from him. They sat there like that for a while, until Sævar eventually withdrew his hand and got up.
‘Shall we make a move?’ he asked. ‘You must be cold.’
Elma nodded, though she felt as if the ice inside her had melted away as she sat there beside him.
They drove in silence. Elma longed to say something but didn’t know what. Several times she opened her mouth, only to close it again because the words wouldn’t come. She felt acutely aware of Sævar’s presence beside her. It was hard to stop herself gazing at him, at his hand on the gearstick; hard to suppress her longing to reach out and touch it. But by the time they parked in front of a dreary-looking block of flats, the moment had passed and it was too late to say anything.
‘He should be home by now,’ Sævar said, peering up at the building.
The white paint was dirty and flaking here and there, while the garden, encircled by an old fence, contained nothing but a slide and a sandpit full of withered grass and nettles. They went into the lobby and found Rúnar’s name on the bell. A hoarse voice answered and, after they had explained who they were, buzzed them in.
Rúnar, or Rabbi as he was known, was a scrawny figure with a face deeply lined from years of substance abuse. He still stank of the rubbish he had just finished removing from the town’s bins but it didn’t seem to bother him. His flat stank too – of cigarettes and of something rank that Elma couldn’t identify. They followed him into the living room, where he invited them to take a seat on a battered leather sofa that looked as if it was about to fall apart. There wasn’t much else in the room, only a coffee table covered in junk and a TV on a small shelving unit. The floor was littered with books, magazines and electrical cables, but the walls were bare apart from a small cross hanging over the sofa.
When they asked Rúnar if he remembered Halla, his eyes grew distant and rested on the wall as he was talking. ‘Those were the days.’ He smiled reminiscently. ‘That was when I was just having fun, you know, before I got into the hard stuff. Before everything went to pot and it took over my entire life. I had a job in those days. I used to go out on the trawlers for tours lasting several weeks, so I had plenty of time to let my hair down when I was back on shore.’
‘Do you remember Halla’s little girl?’ Elma asked. She was perched on the edge of the sofa, trying to touch as little as possible. ‘Her name was Elísabet.’
Rúnar nodded and coughed. Rubbing his fingers together, he lowered his eyes unseeingly to the dark-brown parquet.
‘Do you remember her being there?’ Elma continued, when Rúnar didn’t say anything. ‘While you lot were partying, she was probably in her room upstairs. Didn’t you ever see her? Didn’t she come down sometimes?’
‘Yes, sure. I saw her but I don’t remember … I couldn’t say how often.’
‘Did you ever speak to her? Did you go up to her room?’ Sævar’s eyes were boring into Rúnar’s face.
Rúnar looked up, confused. ‘What the … what do you mean? Are you accusing me of something?’
‘Do you know if anyone else went up to her room while you lot were partying?’ Elma asked.
Rúnar’s mouth twisted in a grimace and he shook his head. His eyes darted to the window, then back to them.
‘Are you sure?’
Rúnar didn’t answer. He fished a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it without opening a window. The poky flat was soon filled with smoke.
‘She was found dead several days ago,’ Elma said. ‘Murdered.’
‘I heard about it. Saw her picture in the papers,’ Rúnar said. ‘But you don’t think it could have had anything to do with that, do you?’
‘To do with what?’ Sævar leant forwards, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on Rúnar. ‘To do with what, Rabbi?’
Rúnar was obviously having trouble sitting still. He took several deep drags of his cigarette and blew them to one side, as if that would prevent the smoke from reaching Elma and Sævar. Elma noticed that beads of sweat had begun to break out on his forehead.
‘Will you promise it won’t go any further?’ he said at last. ‘You didn’t hear it from me.’
‘I’m afraid we can’t promise that. But if you knowingly conceal information that could be important, that would be a crime and you could go to jail.’
Rúnar heaved a sigh, stubbed out his cigarette and wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his jumper.
‘Oh, well, it’s not like I have much to lose,’ he said. ‘Anyway, I doubt it’s relevant. She was the woman found by the lighthouse, wasn’t she? I thought I recognised her. You don’t forget a face like that. Such a pretty little girl.’ He was silent a moment before resuming. ‘The thing is, I just don’t know. It’s not like I have any proof of my suspicions – of what we all suspected – but the fact is he often went up to see her. He used to come round while we were partying and go upstairs. We couldn’t hear anything because the music was so loud. I don’t know how long he spent up there, or what he got up to. It’s hard to keep track of time when you’re having fun. Well, it used to be…’ His smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘But we all knew he went up there. Halla knew too, but she didn’t do anything about it. I reckon she told herself there was no harm in it. That he wasn’t hurting her…’
‘Who was it? Was it Hendrik who went up to her room?’
‘Eh? Hendrik?’ Rabbi gaped at them both in astonishment and shook his head vehemently. ‘God, no, it was Tommi – Tómas, Hendrik’s brother. And if he finds out I told you, I’ll get a much worse beating than his old lady. You have to promise not to let on that it was me. Please, I’m begging you.’
The house struck Hendrik as unusually quiet when he got home from his day on the golf course. He didn’t often come back to an empty house and didn’t particularly like it. Ása was usually sitting there knitting those infernal baby clothes that they would finally have a use for. Though now that he stopped to think about it, she’d
been behaving oddly for several days. Ever since she came home from hospital she’d been sitting around empty-handed, and he kept catching her staring out of the window, though at what he couldn’t tell. Perhaps at something that no one else could see.
He walked around the house, trying to spot any clues as to where she could have gone. The alarm hadn’t been switched on, so she couldn’t have gone far. Her handbag was in its place, hanging from the radiator in the hall, but he couldn’t see her shoes. Maybe she was in the garden. In summer, when Ása wasn’t inside knitting, she was usually to be found outside, pottering in the garden. He went over to the sitting-room window and looked out at the rather bleak view of brown grass and bare branches. Thinking he spotted a movement, he peered towards the bushes. It was probably yet another bloody cat. He couldn’t stand the creatures – always slinking around and popping up when you least expected them. They gave him the creeps.
The kitchen tap was dripping. Hendrik tried to turn it off more tightly, but the drops kept on coming, falling with loud smacks onto the shiny steel. Hearing a sudden creak from the parquet floor behind him, he jerked round his head. But there was no one there; he was alone in the house. So why did he have the feeling that someone was watching him? He scanned his surroundings for anything untoward, but everything was in its place. Nothing had been disturbed. He cleared his throat and coughed loudly, only to break off abruptly when he thought he heard a rustle from the sitting room. He walked noiselessly back down the hallway, his nerves taut. His heart was beating so fast he could feel his head throbbing and his breathing was laboured and shallow.
There was no one in the sitting room. What a fool he was. He felt stupid for letting his imagination run away with him like that. Burglaries weren’t unheard of in Akranes, but he doubted thieves would be about at this time of day. Still, it was a fact that the townspeople could no longer leave their doors unlocked. Several had learnt the hard way, which was why he’d had an alarm installed.
The Creak on the Stairs Page 27
