Girls Who Lie

by Eva Bjorg AEgisdóttir

  Ingunn hoisted Davíð onto the chair beside her and clipped him into a harness before handing him a biscuit. Only then did she finally take a seat herself, pour the coffee and draw a deep breath.

  ‘Right,’ she said. ‘You wanted to ask about Maríanna, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes. You’ve probably heard that her remains turned up at the weekend.’ As he said it, Sævar glanced at the little boy.

  ‘He doesn’t understand,’ Ingunn said, and she was probably right. Little Davíð was murmuring something to his polar bear, and feeding it and himself in turn.

  ‘It now appears to be a criminal matter,’ Elma said, realising how formal she sounded. ‘I mean … Maríanna was murdered, so we’re investigating the whole thing again and trying to discover what happened.’

  Ingunn nodded. ‘I knew she’d never kill herself.’

  Elma regarded her in surprise, then leafed back through her notebook. ‘But … I understand Maríanna sometimes talked about wanting to die. You said that last spring when we were investigating her disappearance.’

  ‘Yes, sure, but that was a long time ago. She could be a bit up and down – she had good days and bad days, you know? But the week before she vanished she was in a really good mood. She was so excited about Sölvi.’

  ‘How did you two get to know each other?’

  ‘By coincidence. Maríanna moved here five years ago, and we met at the swimming pool. I was there with my brats and when one of my older boys fell over, I had to get out and go and get it seen to. She offered to keep an eye on the other boys for me and after that we became friends.’

  ‘Do you know why she moved to Borgarnes?’ Maríanna hadn’t had any family in the town or any other links to it that the police had been able to discover.

  ‘Er … no, not exactly. She’d lived in Sandgerði before that, then moved to Reykjavík the year Hekla was born. But I don’t think she ever liked living in the big city.’

  ‘I see,’ Elma said. ‘Then why didn’t she just move back to Sandgerði?’

  Ingunn shrugged. ‘No idea. All I know is that when her mother died – what … five years ago? – she came to live here. She didn’t have any contact with her dad, so I’m guessing she just wanted a fresh start, but I didn’t interrogate her about it. I got the feeling that something happened to make her family leave Sandgerði. Something to do with her pregnancy, maybe. I mean, she was only fifteen. But that’s only a guess. Anyway, it felt like it was a long time since she’d last been depressed, so there were no problems like that. Well … of course she had problems, but nothing she couldn’t handle, you know?’

  Elma nodded. ‘Did Maríanna never say anything about Hekla’s father?’

  ‘No … only that the boy hadn’t been ready for fatherhood. I got the impression he was some kid her own age. But then, you know, boys always get away with it, but girls are left holding the baby – their lives changed forever, while you can’t see the fathers for dust.’ Ingunn shook her head. ‘Look, maybe I didn’t make it clear enough back in the spring, but the more I thought about it, the more convinced I was that Maríanna couldn’t have disappeared deliberately.’ The younger boy began to wail. There were no more Cheerios left on the table and he was stretching out his arms towards the biscuits.

  ‘What makes you so sure?’ Ingunn hadn’t said a word about these suspicions when Elma spoke to her on the phone during the original inquiry.

  ‘Oh, because of Hekla. Maríanna would never have abandoned her like that.’

  Elma took a sip of coffee and tried not to wrinkle her nose. It was like dishwater. ‘How was their relationship?’

  Ingunn shot a glance at the little boy, who was still straining towards the biscuits, in spite of the harness. ‘Well, there had been some problems with Hekla, but nothing serious. Just typical teenage stuff. She wanted to go out in the evenings and to school parties in Akranes. Apparently she had friends in the town because of the family she used to visit there. Maríanna also suspected she had a boyfriend.’

  ‘Right. Her support family.’ Elma had to raise her voice to be heard over the baby’s screams.

  Ingunn gave in and handed him a biscuit. The screams stopped immediately and he beamed from ear to ear. ‘Yeah, the support family.’

  ‘Didn’t Maríanna get on with them?’

  Ingunn sipped her coffee, narrowing her eyes at Elma. ‘Why? You don’t think they had anything to do with it?’

  ‘Is that something you find likely?’

  Ingunn shrugged. ‘It did cross my mind but it seemed so … well, far-fetched. I know Maríanna wasn’t too keen on them, but the few times I met them they both seemed really nice. At least the woman did – Bergrún.’

  ‘Why wasn’t Maríanna keen on them?’

  ‘I suppose it must have been because of Hekla. I know Bergrún made no secret of the fact that she wanted Hekla to spend more time with them. All her time, preferably. And I think Hekla would have preferred to live with them, which can’t have been much fun for Maríanna.’

  Elma nodded. That fitted with what she’d heard before.

  ‘So you didn’t believe she could have deliberately done a disappearing act – because of Hekla,’ Sævar recapped. ‘Do you have any theories about what did happen, then? Could there have been someone who had it in for her, for example? Was she in some kind of trouble?’

  ‘Um, I don’t know…’ Ingunn seemed to hesitate before going on: ‘I just … I thought she seemed in a specially good mood the week she vanished and I assumed it was because of Sölvi.’

  ‘Do you know Sölvi?’

  ‘Yes, very well,’ Ingunn said. ‘He’s my husband’s best mate. We set them up. Or, you know, if the relationship hadn’t ended before it began…’

  Elma put down her coffee mug. ‘To be honest, we have very little to go on in our investigation into what happened to Maríanna, so we’d be grateful for any information. Even minor details could be important, so if there’s anything you know…’

  ‘I don’t. I can’t think of anyone who would have wanted to harm Maríanna. I mean, she wasn’t the type to get into quarrels with people. She always avoided any sort of conflict.’

  Elma nodded again. ‘So you can’t think of anyone?’

  ‘No, but…’ Ingunn looked down at her mug, then up again. ‘But Bergrún had been ringing her nonstop all week and it was driving Maríanna mad. It was something to do with her wanting to have Hekla to stay, although it wasn’t their weekend. I’m not saying she had anything to do with it, but it’s the only thing I can think of. I mean, she was the only person Maríanna quarrelled with, apart from Hekla.’

  Sölvi, who had obviously just woken up, received them in a vest and checked pyjama bottoms. All the curtains were drawn and his flat smelt of stale air and sleep.

  ‘I work up at Tangi,’ he said, and Elma knew he was referring to Grundartangi, the big ferro-silicon plant in Hvalfjörður. ‘I was on night shift.’

  They were shown into a tidy living room, to which Sölvi had obviously tried to add some homely touches. Elma took a seat on a dark-grey chaise-end sofa and studied the paintings on the walls. They were all abstracts, which looked as if the paint had been spattered randomly onto the canvas.

  They explained why they were there, and Sölvi repeated what Elma had already read in the files. He had got to know Maríanna through Ingunn and chatted to her online for a while before they decided to go on a date. He’d only actually met her once before the fateful day. A few days earlier, they had gone to Kaffi Kyrrð in Borgarnes and, after chatting there, had agreed to meet up again later in the week.

  ‘I didn’t really know her, though,’ Sölvi said. ‘I mean, we didn’t chat about anything very personal; it was just small talk. I told her stories about my travels, because I’ve been all over the world. When you’re single and don’t have any kids, there’s nothing else to do.’ He smiled, then continued. ‘I got the impression Maríanna wanted to travel but couldn’t because of the girl. What was her name ag
ain?’

  ‘Hekla,’ Sævar said.

  ‘That’s it. I asked her about Hekla’s dad, but all she said was that he wasn’t part of their lives. Maybe she didn’t even know herself who he was.’

  To Elma’s ears, this sounded a little judgemental. If Maríanna had got pregnant at fifteen, she was unlikely to have slept with that many people. Elma thought it more likely that Hekla’s father had been unwilling to acknowledge the child. Perhaps he had only been a kid too, as Ingunn had suspected, or else had been someone older who had a family – a wife and children. If so, that would have made Maríanna the victim of abuse too.

  ‘What happened the day you were supposed to meet?’ Sævar asked. ‘When were you last in contact?’

  Sölvi scratched his head. ‘Haven’t I already answered all these questions?’ He searched their faces, then, receiving no answer, went on: ‘Like I said, we decided to meet up that Friday because I was due to finish a stint of shift work. I finished on a night shift and slept until midday. We were planning to go out to dinner at a fancy restaurant, so I sent her a text at lunchtime. She replied, saying she was looking forward to the evening and asking what time I was going to pick her up. I asked if six was OK but she didn’t answer. Then, yes, as the day went on, I did ring her, just to check what time she was expecting me.’ He took a deep breath then let it out. ‘Her phone was switched off.’

  Elma dropped her eyes to her notebook. ‘You rang just after three?’

  ‘What? Yeah, right. Something like that.’

  ‘Why so early?’ Sævar asked. ‘You weren’t meeting until that evening.’

  ‘I just found it strange that she hadn’t answered my text, so I decided to try calling her.’

  ‘You drove past her flat too, didn’t you?’

  ‘Er, yes.’

  ‘And knocked on her door?’

  ‘No, I just drove past. I couldn’t see any movement. All the lights were off and there was nobody home.’ He smiled bitterly. ‘Anyway, I just thought, Fuck it. She’s obviously gone out. I drove past again that evening anyway and all the lights were still off.’

  ‘But this was in May, when it wouldn’t have got dark until late,’ Elma said. ‘So how could you see if the lights were off?’

  ‘I don’t know – maybe it was a bit later. Maybe it was night by then. I’m not sure.’ He laughed, only to break off abruptly when they didn’t join in. ‘I wasn’t going to let some girl make a fool of me again. I was pissed off, to be honest. I’d reserved a table and everything. Bought a new shirt the day before that cost an arm and a leg. It was a bit shitty of her not to let me know, don’t you think?’ He directed his question to Elma, as if it was her job to explain why women were so inconsiderate.

  Elma met his eye. ‘Well, there was a good reason for that.’

  Elma couldn’t contain herself once she was back in the car. ‘What a prick! What the hell did she see in him?’ Apart from his biceps, Sölvi didn’t seem to have much to offer.

  ‘Bit pushy,’ Sævar agreed. He had got in the driver’s side this time and started the car.

  ‘A bit?’ Elma snorted. ‘When she doesn’t reply to his text, he rings her, and when she doesn’t answer the phone, he turns up outside her house. I don’t know about you, but I find that more than a bit pushy.’

  Sævar shrugged. ‘The passionate type, maybe? Won’t give up straight away but is determined to chase after love?’

  ‘No, Sævar, that’s not passionate; it’s bordering on stalkerish.’ She knew Sævar was teasing but she couldn’t help taking offence.

  ‘Well, maybe,’ Sævar conceded. ‘But the evidence suggests Maríanna was in Akranes sometime between two and three, and he rang a number of times after that. Would he have done that if she was with him?’

  ‘Maybe,’ Elma said. ‘Maybe it was deliberate, to cover his tracks.’

  ‘We could check whether Sölvi’s phone was picked up by a mast near Akranes at the time in question.’

  ‘Men like him really piss me off. It’s like they think they’re entitled. Entitled to receive attention from girls. If they don’t respond, they’re bitches or worse.’ Elma would have like to clap Sölvi in irons purely for being obnoxious.

  ‘But isn’t it a basic courtesy to tell someone if you don’t want anything to do with them?’ Sævar countered. ‘I can understand why he was pissed off. But you’re right – of course he should have just shrugged it off, not turned up outside her flat and kept phoning her like an idiot.’

  ‘Mmm,’ said Elma. Another aspect of the conversation was troubling her. ‘Sævar, Hekla was home all evening the day Maríanna vanished, wasn’t she?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then why were all the lights off?’

  ‘Good question … But, like you said, the sun sets late in May, so he wouldn’t necessarily have been able to see if anyone was home or not. And if it was late when he drove past the second time, she might have gone to bed.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Elma said, then added, after a pause: ‘But it doesn’t fit with the descriptions we’ve had of Hekla. Wasn’t she supposed to be the rebellious teenager who ran off to Akranes whenever she got a chance? Surely Hekla wouldn’t have meekly stayed at home on a Friday evening when there was no one there to keep an eye on her? It would have been the perfect chance for her to slip out. Especially if she had a boyfriend in Akranes.’

  Sævar abruptly pulled over, and Elma glanced at him, her eyebrows raised.

  ‘We’ll have another chat with Hekla when we get back to Akranes,’ he said. ‘But shouldn’t we look in on Maríanna’s old neighbours again before we leave Borgarnes? They might have noticed if Hekla was home or not that evening.’

  Twenty Months

  ‘She should be saying a few words by now.’ The nurse wears a horribly insinuating expression as she says this. ‘Are you sure she hasn’t said a single word? Not even “mama” or “dada”?’

  I shake my head slowly, wondering if I should lie, just to be spared all these questions and that penetrating gaze. ‘Perhaps I just didn’t understand,’ I say, smiling. ‘I mean, she’s tried to imitate animals and that sort of thing. Or, at least, that’s what the childminder says.’

  ‘But not at home?’

  I shake my head, biting my lower lip. It’s a long time since I last tried to look at a book with her. The moment I sat down on the floor and took her in my arms, she started flinging herself around, grabbing at my hair and trying to bite me. It was all I could do to stop her banging her head on the floor, and in the end I gave up and turned on the television. She seemed contented with that.

  The nurse makes a note, and I crane my neck but can’t read her writing upside down.

  ‘Has she started walking?’

  ‘No, but she crawls all over the place.’ That’s not actually true. Mostly she just sits there, focusing intently on the TV or on the only toys that seem to interest her – the green plastic soldiers given to us by the woman next door. An old woman, who said her grandchildren were too big to play with them now. I don’t suppose they’re intended for toddlers, but at least she’s quiet as long as she’s chewing them, so I leave her to it when we’re at home.

  ‘Can she stand up with support?’

  ‘Not as far as I know…’ It’s starting to feel like an interrogation.

  The nurse looks at the girl. ‘Right, shall we see how big you are and how much you weigh?’ she says, smiling at her. Of course she doesn’t receive so much as a flicker of a response. My daughter stares at her watchfully with her grey eyes, and I just hope the nurse doesn’t get too close because, if she does, the girl will probably hit her. She doesn’t like it when strangers come too near.

  The nurse tells me to undress her and lay her on the changing mat. I sigh under my breath, anticipating a struggle. She starts screaming as soon as I unzip her anorak.

  ‘There, there, darling,’ I say soothingly, as she grabs hold of my hair and yanks hard.

  ‘Is someone in a bad mood?’ the n
urse says, as if she’s seen it all before. But I’m pretty sure she’s not used to children like this.

  Once the weighing and measuring are over, all I want to do is cry. Not because she’s way above average height and weight but because she behaved like a wild thing. Her screams have subsided into sobs, and she’s sitting on my lap, her eyes red and swollen. It’s no good trying to cuddle her because she’d be sure to sink her teeth into my cheek or pull my hair again. So I sit her on my knee, careful to keep a little distance between us. The nurse doesn’t say anything. If she finds our relationship abnormal, she doesn’t betray the fact.

  Somehow I’ve got my daughter dressed again, but she’s not wearing a jumper under her anorak and I’m fairly sure her trousers are on back to front. I want to run out of the room before the nurse can tell me what an unfit mother I am. Perhaps she’ll suggest that the child should be taken away from me and put in a home. The thought isn’t that bad, and for a moment I have a vision of my life before she arrived, when I didn’t have to be responsible for anyone but myself.

  ‘Right,’ the nurse begins, forcing out a smile. ‘I’d like to take another look at her. There could be some obstacle that’s preventing her from achieving her normal developmental curve, so there are a few things we need to rule out. And of course there are exercises you can do at home to help her.’

  ‘I see,’ I say. I listen to her talk, smiling and nodding, trying to act like a mother who actually gives a shit about what she’s saying.

  The girl is still shaking when I put her in her car seat but she’s so exhausted that she sits unmoving while I do up the harness. I get into the front, pick up the jumper that’s lying on the passenger seat and put it over my mouth before screaming as loud as I can. I want to hit something, preferably that interfering nurse who looked at me with those judgemental eyes. I think about my parents and so-called friends, all those people who are not here to catch me. Because I feel as if I’m falling. As if I’m in freefall, about to hit the ground hard.