Two weeks after the accident I get a phone call. Most of the companies I applied to sent back formal rejection letters, thanking me for my interest but, unfortunately, blah, blah, blah. I destroyed the letters immediately and felt worthless. I had only gone to two interviews, one for a job as a dental assistant, the other for a position with a large media company. Neither of them had got back to me, but now there’s a man from the media company on the phone.
‘We wanted to know if you’d be interested in coming for an interview,’ he says and I put down the jumper I’ve been folding.
‘An interview?’
‘Yes. You applied for the position of journalist but we’ve already filled the post. Now we’re looking for someone for a different position.’
‘What kind of job?’ I expect him to say cleaning or answering the phone, so I can hardly speak when he explains that he’s looking for someone to read the news.
‘Read the news?’ I repeat, dazed.
‘A newsreader. You know, on television,’ he says. ‘We were struck by you when you came in to interview for the journalist post, so we’d like to get you back in for a screen test, if possible. Would you be able to come to the studio tomorrow?’
‘I’ll be there.’
‘Great, then I’ll put you in for two o’clock, Viktoría Margrét.’
‘Margrét,’ I say. ‘Just Margrét.’
Tuesday
Elma wrapped the thick cardigan around herself and moved her chair closer to the radiator in the meeting room. The cardigan was like a big blanket that came down to below the knee. In this cold she wouldn’t have minded turning up in woollen socks and tracksuit bottoms as well, but apparently that wasn’t an option. Though now that she came to think about it, there were no rules for how detectives were supposed to dress, so perhaps she should see what she could get away with. Mainly for the look on Sævar’s face. Not that he exactly made an effort to dress up in the mornings. He habitually wore a T-shirt and jeans. And sometimes a hoodie, as a concession to the temperature.
‘Cold?’ Sævar asked when he came in.
‘Freezing,’ Elma replied. ‘I even feel cold just looking at you in that T-shirt.’
‘Could be a vitamin deficiency.’ Sævar sat down, stretched out his legs and crossed them.
‘What?’
‘You being cold. It could be a lack of some vitamin.’ He adopted a knowledgeable expression. ‘What would you say your diet was like? Do you eat enough cauliflower?’
Elma shook her head. ‘Perhaps if my arms were as hairy as yours, I’d wear T-shirts more often.’
‘That’s why I’m growing it,’ Sævar said, proudly stroking his furry forearms.
‘Jumpers work well too,’ Elma said, hurriedly changing the subject before Sævar had a chance to boast any more about his pelt. ‘I find it unbelievable that Margrét didn’t realise sooner who Maríanna was. Tinna’s almost certainly Anton’s daughter, so she’s bound to have kept an eye on his family.’
The previous day they had stopped short of asking if Tinna was Anton’s daughter. The question had seemed inappropriate when Margrét was visibly suffering from raking up the past. But the timing fitted, and Tinna had not been given a patronymic, according to Icelandic custom, but took her second name, Hansen, from her mother.
‘Not necessarily,’ Sævar objected. ‘Tinna’s father could have been some other bloke she slept with.’
Elma put down the photo of Anton. ‘Tinna has a certain look of her mother, but she takes much more obviously after her father.’
Sævar leant forwards. ‘You think? But then you know how bad I am at faces.’
Elma looked up the article on her phone and handed it to Sævar, zooming in on the picture of Tinna, aged ten.
He gave a low whistle. ‘OK, I take it back. They’re very alike.’
‘Maybe it’s harder to see it now because Tinna dyes her hair blonde, but in that photo it’s very striking.’
‘She’s changed as she’s grown up.’ Sævar passed the phone back to Elma. ‘But if what Margrét told us was true, I can understand why she wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with his family.’
‘Absolutely. I can’t imagine going through an ordeal like that and then not being believed.’
‘It’s not unheard of.’
‘What?’
‘For girls to lie.’
‘I know,’ Elma conceded reluctantly. She couldn’t deny that it was true. ‘But it happens very, very rarely. I mean, it’s hell having to go through the whole legal process, and I don’t think anyone in their right mind would—’ She broke off when Sævar raised his hand.
‘In their right mind. Exactly. But what if Margrét isn’t in her right mind? I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there’s something about her that…’
‘What do you mean?’
‘There’s just something about her that doesn’t quite ring true…’
‘Maybe her aura?’
‘Her aura?’ Sævar frowned.
Elma laughed. ‘Oh, apparently Margrét’s grandmother used to read people’s auras. I saw it in some newspaper interview.’
‘No, definitely not her aura. It’s more like a sort of in-built sensor that I’ve got.’ Sævar grinned. ‘But I bet you Maríanna knew who Margrét was. It’s not like she hides herself away. She’s beamed into our sitting rooms every evening. What can it have been like for Maríanna to realise that Hekla and Tinna were friends?’
‘And cousins. She must have suspected that if she saw pictures of Tinna,’ Elma said. ‘OK, so, if Margrét murdered Maríanna, she would have had to use Maríanna’s car to drive up to Grábrók, then taken a bus back to Akranes. Do you think the bus drivers might be able to recognise her? Seven months later?’
‘Ordinarily that would be a bit of a long shot,’ Sævar said. ‘But with Margrét’s face being so well known, there’s a chance someone might have recognised her.’
‘It was a Friday, though. Shouldn’t Margrét have been at work at that time?’
‘We could ring her employers and check.’ Sævar got to his feet.
The December sun, which suddenly lit up the office, was no more than a cruel illusion. It was still snowy and freezing cold outside. But Elma closed her eyes and warmed her face briefly in its rays, able to forget for a few seconds the long, dark winter months that still lay ahead.
When Sævar rang the TV company Margrét worked for, they told him they would need to see a warrant before they released any information about her absences. Meanwhile, Elma had sent photos of Margrét to the firm responsible for transport between Borgarnes, Bifröst and Akranes, and asked the managers to get in touch with the drivers who had been working the day Maríanna vanished.
It was lunchtime by then and she ate a flatcake topped with smoked lamb, ignoring the beseeching looks from Birta, who was keeping her feet warm under the desk. As she ate, she clicked idly through websites advertising hotels in warmer climes. She imagined basking on a sunlounger by a pool with a colourful cocktail in her hand. No, a beer; an ice-cold beer. With her head full of these images, she was in an unusually good mood when a knock came at the door.
‘Come in,’ she called and smiled as Sævar put his head round. For an instant she pictured him in the turquoise waters of the pool on the screen in front of her, grabbing her round the waist and pulling her towards him…
‘Any news?’
She snapped back to the present. ‘They’re going to call me if anyone remembers seeing Margrét. But I was thinking, maybe we should look her up on the system. If Margrét really did go to the police about those threatening letters, it should show up there.’
‘I’ll ask Hörður to check LÖKE,’ Sævar said, referring to the police information system. He lingered in the doorway. ‘You looking at holidays abroad?’
‘Yes, I…’ Elma glanced back at the swimming pool and palm trees. ‘A girl can dream.’
‘Of course.’ Sævar smiled. ‘You should go for it. Let me know and I’
ll come with you.’
Elma blushed and closed the page. ‘Maybe I will.’
They sat down side by side at the conference table. Hörður had printed out the results from LÖKE.
‘Margrét’s name came up in connection with two separate cases,’ he said. ‘The first dates from twelve years ago. She fell down the stairs at a nightclub in Reykjavík and claimed she’d been pushed. Since she suffered from concussion and a broken shoulder, there was a brief inquiry. But she couldn’t identify the person who pushed her and there were no security cameras covering the area where she fell, so nothing more came of it.’
‘Isn’t it more likely that she just tripped over?’ Sævar said. ‘Because she’d had too much to drink?’
‘Of course,’ Hörður said. ‘But she also presented the police with letters she’d received in the days before her accident. There were copies of them attached to the report. These here.’
He indicated a printout with copies of the letters. They all appeared perfectly innocent. One was a christening card, though admittedly that was a little strange as Tinna had been three years old at the time. It had a picture of a pink cradle on the front and a message inside that would have seemed harmless had the sender been someone Margrét knew: Congratulations on your little girl. Now I know where you live, I might pay you a visit. But Elma could see why it would seem menacing if the sender was unknown. Especially after what Margrét had been through.
‘The second incident her name crops up in connection with dates from five years ago and was a lot more serious.’ Hörður laid the printout of a police report on the table. ‘A man by the name of Hafliði Björnsson was seriously injured when a flowerpot fell on his head. He lived on the ground floor of an eight-storey block, and the flowerpot was believed to have fallen from one of the balconies near the top. As Margrét lived on the seventh floor, she was among the suspects. A neighbour also reported that Margrét and Hafliði had quarrelled the previous weekend, and that they’d been having a relationship. However, Margrét’s employer confirmed that she’d been at work when the accident happened. They never managed to establish exactly where the flowerpot had fallen from. A ninety-year-old woman lived on the sixth floor, and one theory was that she could have accidentally knocked it over, though she swore she hadn’t.’
‘Is he still alive?’
‘Hafliði? Yes, I expect so,’ Hörður said. ‘But who knows what kind of a state he’s in.’
The incident didn’t sound as if it could have any connection to Maríanna’s case. It appeared to have been nothing more than a terrible accident. Margrét had been cleared of all suspicion, but the timing was odd, all the same. They’d quarrelled, then a few days later he’d had an accident.
‘Probably no need to look into it any further, then,’ Sævar said, disappointed.
‘There’s something about the timing of both incidents that rings a bell,’ Elma said.
‘What timing?’ Sævar asked.
‘The first incident was when Hekla was three years old, wasn’t it?’ Elma pulled over the file and did some mental arithmetic. ‘And the second happened when she was ten.’
Sævar looked puzzled.
‘I’ve got it,’ Elma exclaimed. ‘Both coincide with Maríanna going AWOL. Hekla was taken away from her when she was three, then again when she was ten. It can hardly be a coincidence, can it?’
‘But Maríanna’s name doesn’t come up in either case,’ Sævar protested. ‘We’ve already checked if her ID number brings up any results on LÖKE, and it doesn’t.’
‘Yes, but … Maríanna was in a mess at the time, probably on drugs. Maybe she looked Margrét up and threatened her – in revenge for her brother.’
‘It’s possible,’ Sævar conceded.
‘That would certainly give Margrét a reason to be afraid of Maríanna. Maybe even to kill her.’ Elma paused for a drink of water.
‘They must have got quite a shock when they encountered each other after all that had happened,’ Hörður said thoughtfully.
‘Yes, I bet. Maríanna would have recognised Margrét again, no question,’ Elma said. ‘If it was Maríanna who sent the threatening letters, she must have known where Margrét lived. Kept tabs on her all these years. But it may have taken Margrét a while to work out who Maríanna was.’
Sævar moved a little closer as he pored over the copy of the letter. Elma was so used to his smell that she had almost ceased to notice it, but now that his body was so near, it filled her senses. She had a close-up view of his five-o’clock shadow, his dark hair and thick eyebrows. When Hörður cleared his throat, Sævar moved away again and Elma sat there, fighting the betraying flush that mottled her cheeks, and concentrated on staring down at the table.
What was she thinking? Elma opened one desk drawer after another and went through them mindlessly, unable to remember what she was looking for. She had decided months ago to regard Sævar as a friend and nothing more. What if it didn’t work out and they were forced to continue working together? She inadvertently slammed the last drawer shut, making herself and Birta jump. Seeing the dog’s anxious eyes, she scratched her ears apologetically.
As they were sitting having supper at her parents’ house the evening before, it had occurred to her that Sævar had no one to spend Christmas with. There was only him and his brother, and Maggi usually preferred to spend his time in the community home. Apparently he had a girlfriend there. Sævar had plenty of mates, but from what he said it sounded as if they were like her friends, preoccupied with their families most of the time. Unlike her, he didn’t have any parents to invite him round to supper in the evening or to make sure he had enough to occupy him at the weekend. She knew he was lonely, but it wasn’t her job to see that he had company over Christmas, or indeed on any other day. Besides, he probably wouldn’t want her interfering in his life.
Elma rotated her chair to face the window and picked up her phone. Want to come round this evening? she texted Jakob. If you like, came the instant reply. Elma thought she detected a hint of hurt behind his words, if it was possible to read anything into such a short message. She hadn’t been in touch much over the last few days. In fact, she hadn’t contacted him since he’d suggested going on a date. She rubbed her temple and was grateful when the phone started vibrating on her desk, signalling an incoming call. She snatched it up.
It was a man who worked for the bus company. ‘I spoke to a driver who was working that day,’ he told her. ‘He’s here with me now. Would you prefer to talk to him directly?’
There was a rustling, then another voice spoke.
‘Of course I remember her,’ the driver said. ‘It’s not every day I get a famous face on my bus. There’s no denying she’s a good-looking woman.’
Elma felt the adrenaline pumping through her veins and all her thoughts were instantly focused on the case again. ‘Are you absolutely sure it was her and that this was on Friday, the fourth of May?’
‘Positive. It was my last shift before my summer holiday, and I clearly remember her getting on the bus.’
‘What time was this?’
He was quick to answer. ‘I set off at 20.56. On the dot.’
‘Thank you,’ Elma said. ‘Is it OK to call you back if it turns out we need more information?’
‘No problem,’ the driver said. ‘It must have been her daughter with her. At least I think so, though they didn’t look very like each other.’
‘Margrét wasn’t alone then?’
‘No, she got on with a teenage girl. I just assumed they were mother and daughter.’
Hekla leapt into action the moment the ball landed at her feet. Before her opponents had a chance to react, she was past them. She heard shouts and cries all around her, saw out of the corner of her eye that the defenders were heading her way, but she was too quick. In front of her there was only the goalkeeper, who had come forwards to stand with arms and legs spread, ready to defend the goal. When there were only a few metres left between them, she put her to
e under the ball and flipped it up, then watched as it sailed into the goal, hearing the cheers behind her.
After the training session ended, Hekla was still out of breath, her face split by a broad grin that she couldn’t wipe off. Catching sight of her reflection in the changing-room mirror, she hardly recognised herself. Her cheeks were red, her hair wild and her eyes glittering. The yellow shirt suited her, and she wished that training sessions went on longer and happened more often. She didn’t want to stop. Just wanted to play until she dropped and couldn’t get up again.
‘Hekla, aren’t you going to have a shower?’ Tinna had already changed out of her kit and was standing in front of her in her underwear.
‘Yes,’ Hekla replied. She sat down on the bench, quickly pulled off her yellow-and-black football strip, wrapped herself in her towel and went to have a wash. Showers were the worst thing about training.
When she was ready, she waited for Tinna while her friend put on her mascara and combed her hair. Tinna had suddenly become very distant and seemed to want to spend more time with Dísa than her. Could she read Hekla’s mind? Hekla had suffered in silence, aware that her feelings probably weren’t returned. She knew what she was now. Knew why she had always felt as if what she did with Agnar was wrong. She’d tried to persuade her body, to force a response from it when he kissed her, but it had been useless. Tinna might not be the same, though. Hekla simply couldn’t tell from her expression what she was thinking.
Girls Who Lie Page 26
