Sævar nodded thoughtfully. ‘That would explain the date of Maríanna’s note. Hekla could have put out an old message from her mother to confuse us.’
Elma propped her elbows on the table and went over the sequence of events as she understood it. ‘So, Maríanna goes to Akranes in search of Hekla, finds her with Agnar and something happens … there’s a struggle that ends in Maríanna’s death. Agnar goes to work; Hekla waits in the flat or goes to see her friends, and after he’s finished work they drive to Grábrók together. They hide the body in the lava field, then return home.’
Hörður took a sip of tea. ‘Until we have any proof, that’s pure speculation. We have to find some proper evidence; something to link her directly to the murder.’
‘But Hekla’s the only person with a real motive,’ Sævar pointed out. ‘And she lied to us. Why lie if she has nothing bad on her conscience?’
‘I got a phone call yesterday,’ Elma said, ‘from a woman called Bryndís. You remember, Sævar – the mother of Elín, Maríanna’s neighbour in Borgarnes?’ Sævar nodded and Elma continued: ‘I asked her about her son-in-law, Unnar, who lived upstairs from Maríanna, and whether they might have been … more than just friends.’
‘And?’
Elma shrugged. ‘She didn’t know. Though she did say he’d cheated on his wife before. Not with Maríanna but with another woman.’
‘So he could have done it again. Is that something we should look into?’
‘We could talk to him,’ Elma suggested. ‘Though Bryndís wasn’t actually ringing about him.’
‘Oh?’ Hörður put his teaspoon down on the table.
‘No. She mentioned Anton, Maríanna’s brother. Said something about accusations against him that Maríanna had dismissed as rubbish. Bryndís didn’t know any more than that, so it’s not much to go on.’
‘He killed himself, didn’t he?’ Sævar asked.
‘Yes,’ Elma said. ‘If I understood her right, the accusations may have been the reason for his suicide.’
‘It doesn’t always require a reason,’ Sævar pointed out.
Elma knew that better than anyone but determinedly pushed the thought away. ‘Anyway, the subject made Maríanna incredibly angry. I don’t know, maybe Bryndís was just trying to be helpful and the incident didn’t have any bearing, but it wouldn’t hurt to talk to Maríanna’s father again. We haven’t spoken to him in person since the spring.’
Neither Sævar nor Hörður commented on this suggestion, and Elma could tell they found her idea far-fetched.
‘It’s not such a bad idea to speak to Maríanna’s father again,’ Hörður said eventually. ‘They hadn’t had any contact in recent years, but he may be able to tell us something anyway. And, for all we know, Hekla may be in touch with her grandfather.’
‘What do we do now, then?’ Sævar asked.
Hörður drew a deep breath. ‘The only thing we’ve got of any substance is the fact that Hekla lied, and, as you point out, Agnar’s alibi is hardly watertight. He could have acted as an accomplice. So the next step is to bring Hekla in to give a statement.’
‘Great. Let’s do it. But don’t forget to call the Child Protection Agency and ask them to send a chaperone.’ Sævar started gathering his belongings together.
Hörður glanced at his watch. ‘See if she can come in after lunch today. Give her foster-parents a call.’
Nine Years Old
Funny how quickly everything can change. All these years it’s just been the two of us. We’ve been living in our own little soap bubble, in a neighbourhood where nobody knows who I was or what I did. It was all so long ago that when I look back, I can barely recognise the person I was before she was born. That girl who was so full of anger, but also of shame. I rarely think about the past or the fact that I haven’t seen my parents for years. They ring from time to time, and they’ve offered to pay our airfares to go out and see them, but I declined immediately. As far as I’m concerned, they might as well be dead.
Of course, there have been times when I’ve unexpectedly run into someone from my former life. It’s always unsettling, like a kick in the gut. Part of me longs to scream at those people; to tell them I’ve changed and that they’re wrong, but luckily I’m mostly indifferent these days. I’ve even amused myself by looking straight through them, when I’ve felt them staring and can tell that they’ve recognised me.
For the last nine years the world has revolved around the two of us, but now, all of a sudden, we’ve been joined by a third. And a fourth. The family I always used to imagine – the two children, a boy and a girl, and the loving partner – has become a reality. At weekends we wake with our limbs entangled under the duvet, and make love before the kids get up. Our days consist of trips to the swimming pool, walks, visits to the ice-cream van and laughter. We cook supper together, watch films chosen by the kids, and everything is … easy. So incredibly easy.
As the summer wears on, we talk about putting my flat on the market since we hardly ever use it. The only problem is that Hafliði’s place is too small, and I can’t see my daughter being willing to share a room with Stefán. So we scroll through property websites in the evenings, allowing ourselves to dream.
Hafliði has captured her heart as well as mine. Her eyes light up when she smiles at him, and she constantly wants to be near him. Sometimes he turns up the music in the sitting room and dances, as unselfconsciously as his son danced the evening we first met. It makes her laugh. I had no idea she could dance like a mad thing or laugh until she was out of breath. Of course, she’s odd – there’s no change there – but Hafliði treats her as if she’s great. He takes an interest in everything she does and will spend entire evenings watching documentaries with her. She talks nonstop when Hafliði asks her about one of her interests, and would rather sit with us than go to her room. Sometimes I feel as if she and Hafliði belong to a secret club from which I’m excluded. They take hold of their necklaces with the H pendants, as if these form an unbreakable bond between them, and exchange knowing grins across the dinner table. It’s sweet really, and of course I’m grateful to Hafliði for everything he’s done, but there are times when I feel I should be the one exchanging secretive glances with my lover, not my daughter.
While I’m delighted that they get on so well together, it’s possible to take things too far. She asks him to read to her every evening, wants to sit beside him while we watch TV and talks about him constantly when he’s not there. It’s like she has a crush on him in her innocent, childlike way, and Hafliði indulges her. Encourages her, even.
He has a talent for making people feel special. He never tires of telling me how beautiful I am, dashes out to the shop if I so much as mention that I have a craving for sugar, and asks me endless questions about myself. I tell him about my parents, what it was like growing up in a small town, and how difficult it was to have a child on my own when I was so young. I even shed a few tears when I talk about it, like a pathetic woman who longs for nothing more than to be rescued. He seems eager to take on this role. It feels as if he wants to know every inch of my body and soul. I find myself thinking I could reveal all my secrets, but that’s dangerous, and I have to remind myself to be careful. It’s too early to tell him everything, and it may never be the right time. But, until then, I’m happy to let him into our little soap bubble and just hope that nothing will happen to burst it.
‘Come in.’ Elma held the door open for Hekla. She smiled at Bergrún, who had taken a seat outside in the corridor, then closed the door. Bergrún looked uneasy as she sat there with her bag on her lap, watching Hekla disappear into the interview room. Elma could understand how she felt and had explained everything in great detail, introduced her to the representative of the Child Protection Agency, who would be sitting at Hekla’s side during the interview, and assured her that everything would be fine. Fifteen-year-olds didn’t need a parent present while they were giving a statement, but the law did require parents or guardians to be notified.
A lawyer had been asked to join them, though Hekla wasn’t officially a suspect, since that might change during the course of the interview.
Sævar recited the formalities into the recording device on the table in front of them before saying: ‘The reason we wanted you to come in today is that there are some points we need to get clear. So, could you repeat for us everything that happened on the Friday your mother disappeared?’
Hekla’s eyes flickered towards the door as if she was afraid Bergrún could hear. ‘I went home after swimming,’ she muttered, so quietly they had to crane towards her to hear.
‘And what did you do at home?’
‘Nothing special.’
‘Didn’t you order a pizza in the evening?’ Elma smiled.
Hekla nodded.
‘Because your mother left you some money and this envelope?’ Elma placed the envelope with Maríanna’s message on the table.
‘Mmm,’ Hekla confirmed.
‘All right,’ Elma said. ‘And the next day, what did you do then?’
‘I…’ Hekla cleared her throat. ‘I woke up and … and I don’t remember exactly what I did. Maríanna wasn’t back, so I tried to call her. Her phone … it was turned off, so I rang Bergrún.’
‘What time was this?’
‘Maybe five.’
‘Great.’ Elma glanced down at her notebook. ‘So you rang Bergrún, and she came and collected you. Did it take her long to get there?’
‘No, only half an hour or something.’ When no one said anything, Hekla carried on: ‘She wanted to call the police because…’
‘Because it wasn’t the first time Maríanna had disappeared,’ Elma finished.
Hekla nodded.
Elma took a deep breath, then said: ‘The thing is, Hekla, we had a chat with a boy called Agnar yesterday. Do you know him?’
Hekla lowered her eyes. ‘Yes.’
‘Could you speak up a bit?’ Elma made an effort to keep her voice friendly.
‘Yes,’ Hekla repeated. ‘Yes, I know him.’
‘He said you were his girlfriend. That you’d been together for a year. Is that right?’
‘Maybe.’
‘You aren’t sure?’
‘Yes, but it wasn’t, like, a whole year. And we’re not together anymore.’
‘No, he told us you’d broken up,’ Elma said. ‘But a year is quite a long time when you’re fifteen. At least, I remember it used to seem like forever when I was that age.’ Her smile drew no response from Hekla. ‘The thing is, he told us something else too. He said you’d asked him to come and pick you up from Borgarnes on the Friday your mother went missing. But that when he said he couldn’t come straight away, you decided to manage on your own and caught a bus to Akranes instead. That’s not what you told us.’
The black nail varnish looked new, but Hekla immediately started cropping at it. Elma wondered if the only reason she put it on was so she could pick it all off again.
‘I … er, I…’ Hekla raised her eyes to the representative from children’s services, who had been silently observing. The woman gave her an encouraging smile, and Hekla continued, a little breathlessly: ‘I was going to tell you but then … then I didn’t. And it didn’t matter anyway, and then such a long time passed and…’ She bit her lip. ‘I just didn’t want you to think I was making it up because … you know, because…’
‘It’s all right, dear, it’s OK.’ The woman from children’s services laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
‘Hekla, it’s extremely important that you tell us the truth. We have to get the facts straight so we can work out what happened to your mother,’ Elma said. ‘You want that, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Hekla replied in a small voice.
‘Right, then let’s try again. When did you go to Akranes on Friday, the fourth of May?’
‘I took the bus at two.’
‘So you never went to your swimming lesson?’
‘Yes, but I just … I went to the toilet and then I left. He never notices.’ Presumably she meant the swimming instructor.
‘So you didn’t go home,’ Elma said. ‘Do you think your mother could have spotted you waiting at the bus stop?’
‘I don’t know.’ Hekla sniffed. ‘She kept ringing and ringing, but I was so angry. I didn’t want to talk to her because she was being so unfair, not letting me go to the tournament. I just couldn’t stand her.’ At this point, her voice wobbled and she burst into tears. It took her a moment or two to compose herself.
‘We all have fights with our parents, Hekla,’ Elma said. ‘It’s perfectly normal. OK, you went over to Akranes. What did you do there?’
‘I went to see a friend,’ Hekla said in a low voice. ‘I was round at hers for a bit. I wanted to go and see Bergrún and Fannar but I knew that was the first place Maríanna would look. I didn’t really know what to do. I just didn’t want to be at home.’
‘Can anyone confirm that you were at your friend’s house?’
‘Yes, Tinna,’ Hekla said. ‘And Tinna’s mum; she was there too.’
‘What time did you get home?’
‘I didn’t stay that long. I promise I’m telling the truth now. I was feeling bad and decided to go home because there was nothing I could do and I knew … I just knew Maríanna would ring Bergrún and come looking for me.’
‘So you took the bus home?’
‘Yes, at around, like, six. I was home before seven and I really did order a pizza.’
‘And you didn’t see your mother at any point?’
Hekla shook her head.
‘OK.’ Elma glanced at Sævar and saw from his expression that he wasn’t entirely convinced.
‘I didn’t think it would matter,’ Hekla continued. ‘Maríanna was going out to meet that man, and I thought she wouldn’t notice I’d gone. Then I got home, but she never came back, so I called Bergrún. I was just scared that if I said I’d gone to Akranes, Maríanna would be cross and maybe Bergrún too. I didn’t mean to lie. Or, you know, I didn’t plan to. I just … it just came out, and then I couldn’t take it back. Because if I did, everyone would think I was lying.’
‘All right, Hekla,’ Elma said, closing her notebook. She studied the girl for a while. Her reactions seemed genuine, and Elma could understand how a lie like that could escalate, especially if Hekla believed her mother would be angry.
‘I think we’re done for the moment,’ she said. ‘Maybe one more thing.’ She pointed at the envelope on the table with the message from Maríanna. ‘The bill in the envelope is from last year. Did your mother really leave that note for you?’
‘Yes,’ Hekla said. ‘It was on the table, I promise.’
‘What do you think she was apologising for?’
Hekla leant back in her chair. ‘I think she was feeling guilty about the football tournament. We had a fight the evening before, and she’d gone to work by the time I woke up. I didn’t see the envelope until I got home, so I don’t know if she left it there in the morning or later. If I’d seen it that morning, I might not have been so angry and gone to Akranes, and then … then she’d be alive.’ Hekla’s head drooped.
She looked so small sitting there that Elma felt an impulse to give her a hug. She wanted to tell Hekla that it wasn’t her fault and it would have made no difference if she hadn’t sneaked off to Akranes. But the truth was that it had probably made all the difference.
‘Why do you think she always refers to her mother as Maríanna?’ Sævar asked, after Hekla and Bergrún had left. ‘She never says “Mum”, just “Maríanna”.’
‘I don’t suppose she felt Maríanna was much of a mother,’ Elma replied. ‘I don’t know. But I’ve heard other examples of children deciding to call their parents by their proper names. For a number of different reasons.’
‘Do you think she calls Bergrún “Mum”?’
‘Well, I … I don’t know. Maybe.’
Sævar shrugged. ‘I can believe she’d see her as more of a mother than Maríanna eve
r was. Given everything that happened.’
‘Yes, it would be perfectly understandable.’
‘Do you think she’s telling the truth?’
‘Yes,’ Elma said, after a moment’s reflection. ‘Yes, I do.’ She stood up and stretched, then went over to the window and looked out. The street outside was busy; a group of girls, who had clearly finished school for the day, were standing around in front of the boxy blocks of flats. They looked as if they were discussing something important. Eventually, three of them went into the same apartment block, while the other two walked off in different directions. She turned back to Sævar.
‘Would you mind ringing Maríanna’s neighbour? He was called Unnar, wasn’t he? Judging by what Bryndís told us, it might not be such a bad idea to check if he knew Maríanna better than he ought to have done.’
Sævar nodded. ‘Sure, will do. But I very much doubt he’d admit to anything like that over the phone.’
‘No, I suppose not.’
‘And we didn’t find any messages between them.’
‘No, but they lived in the same house. They probably wouldn’t have needed to send each other texts or emails.’
‘Handy,’ Sævar commented.
Elma immediately felt herself blushing, though she had no idea if he meant to insinuate anything. But she had to admit that this perfectly described the arrangement she had with Jakob: handy.
Dagný greeted Elma with a beaming smile. The terraced house where she and Viðar lived was compact but cosy, with oak parquet on the floor and oak fittings. The Buddha statues Dagný collected were tastefully lined up on shelves all over the house, and one wall in the sitting room was painted royal blue, matching the velvet cushions on the pale-coloured sofa.
‘Where is everyone?’ Elma asked as she sat down on the sofa.
‘Viðar took the boys to the playground,’ Dagný said. ‘Can I offer you something?’
Girls Who Lie Page 19
