The Girl Who Died

by Ragnar Jónasson

  ‘Never mind, it was still a pleasure to meet you both,’ Hjalti said. ‘It breaks up the week, you know.’

  ‘It was nice to meet you too,’ Salka replied politely. ‘Won’t you have another cup?’

  ‘I think I’d better leave it at that,’ he said. ‘Best get back in good time.’ Then, as an afterthought, he added: ‘It would certainly have made things interesting for us if the blessed man had turned up here before he vanished, but I’m guessing the truth is simpler. He’s quite an ugly customer, from what I’ve heard, who’s been mixing in some bad company over the years.’

  ‘Well,’ Salka said, rising to her feet to signal that the visit was over.

  Hjalti followed suit.

  Only Una remained sitting there, left numb by the conversation. She didn’t feel anything except an insidious craving for just one quick drink.

  XXVIII

  Una had gone straight upstairs after Hjalti left. She had barely exchanged a word with Salka, but then it appeared that neither of them had any desire for further conversation.

  Una was feeling shell-shocked. She couldn’t understand what had happened or why Salka had lied like that. What’s more, the conversation had undermined her confidence to such an extent that she was no longer even sure that she was right about the man being Patrekur.

  She suspected that Salka wanted to avoid talking because she was guilty about the lies she had told. At least, Una hoped that she had a scrap of conscience left.

  She didn’t feel she could go on teaching, not now. In fact, she could hardly see how she could stay on in the village now that everyone had turned against her; even Salka, who had been responsible for getting her the job here. It would probably be better if she just headed back to Reykjavík, resigned herself to being unemployed for a while, and moved in with her mother. She could try to make ends meet in the short term with the rent she was earning on her flat. It would be an admission of defeat, but she supposed that was unavoidable in the circumstances.

  Right now she couldn’t care less about that wretched Patrekur. She had only tried to do the right thing, as her father had taught her, but it had backfired on her. She no longer gave a damn why the man had come to Skálar or why he had gone missing. People were forever going missing.

  Hannes and Hilmar haunted her nightmares every night, their lifeless bodies lying side by side in a fissure in the lava-field. She didn’t know where, but her dream always conformed more or less to the scenario the police had described for her. It wasn’t something she could remember and, despite her confession, she wasn’t at all convinced that she had been present at the scene.

  And now she had been charged, along with a couple of other people, with murder.

  The days in court passed by in a blur. She didn’t experience any guilt or regret, but nor did she have the feeling she was innocent. The police officers’ description had been too persuasive for that.

  She tried to detach herself from what was happening, as a way of preserving her sanity.

  She had even stopped missing Hannes, for the most part, having long ago reconciled herself to the knowledge that he was gone. Besides, if she had been involved in his murder, she had no right to miss him. Her time with him seemed hazy now, as if it had been a dream. If only it had never happened, she thought; if only they had never met and he had never vanished. He and his mate Hilmar.

  She had regular meetings with her lawyer, at which he assured her that she had a good chance of being found innocent. The police had no evidence to base their case on, apart from her confession.

  There was a certain comfort in this thought, though she could hardly imagine what the newspaper coverage must have been like. Even if she was found innocent, to the public she would always be guilty. Was there any way out of this?

  Subconsciously, she knew she would be found guilty of the murders. She stood no chance against the system … against the police, the judges. She was nobody, a nonentity who could conveniently be sacrificed to tie up the case in a simple, tidy manner.

  So it didn’t really matter any more whether she had been involved in murdering the two men or not. No one was on her side. She was alone, and when you’re alone in the world, concepts like guilt or innocence cease to have any meaning.

  XXIX

  Una was woken by the phone. The jangling resounded around the whole house, as usual. She glanced automatically at the clock, saw that it was midday and realized she must have dozed off on the sofa. Well, she had needed the rest.

  The phone kept up its peremptory ringing and it occurred to her to run downstairs and answer, but she knew – or believed – that Salka was home and she didn’t want to jump in ahead of her. Quite apart from which, she had absolutely no desire to bump into her after what had happened.

  The noise stopped abruptly mid-ring. No doubt Salka had picked up.

  Una wondered who it could be. Salka didn’t get many phone calls. Someone from the village, perhaps? Were they planning another meeting from which Una would be excluded …?

  She was startled to hear a knock at her door.

  ‘Una?’ The door opened and Salka put her head round. ‘Were you asleep? Sorry. There’s someone on the phone, asking for you.’

  ‘What? For me?’ Una sat up, rubbing her eyes, and realized how tired she was. She could happily have gone on sleeping.

  ‘Yes, some woman.’

  ‘OK, thanks, I’m just coming.’

  Salka disappeared.

  Una hurried downstairs and into the hall.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Una? Hi. Did I wake you this time?’ It was Sara at the other end of the line.

  ‘What? Oh, no, not at all. But there’s only one phone in the house and I was upstairs.’

  ‘Aha. I’ll see for myself when I come and visit.’

  Yeah, right. Una refrained from asking exactly when this visit was supposed to take place, not least because she wasn’t sure how much longer she would be able to stick it out there herself.

  ‘What’s up?’ she asked sleepily, not really in the mood for a chat, though she realized it would probably do her good to talk to someone who didn’t live in the village.

  ‘Oh, I just wanted to let you know that I looked it up for you, that business of the girl who died.’

  Una perked up a little and her tiredness temporarily receded.

  ‘Oh? Did you find something?’

  ‘Yes, just in Our Century, you know, at Mum and Dad’s house. I didn’t have to search long, but I think I’ve seen enough.’ She paused: ‘Unless you need to write a whole essay about it.’

  ‘Oh no, nothing like that. So what happened?’

  ‘From what I read, it sounds like quite a gruesome story. The girl drank poison.’

  ‘She drank poison?’ Una whispered.

  ‘Yes, can you imagine? She was only young.’

  ‘Was it an accident?’

  ‘Nobody knew, as far as I can tell. Which makes it all the more horrible, if you ask me – wondering if someone poisoned her deliberately. You never know what living in such an isolated spot can do to people. But you’d know more about that than me.’

  Una was shaken by the story. It wasn’t what she had been expecting at all. And Salka hadn’t bothered to tell her, though she must know about it.

  ‘Well, what do you think?’ Sara repeated, when Una didn’t answer.

  ‘I’m speechless,’ Una replied. ‘I wasn’t prepared for that at all. It sounds pretty gruesome, as you said. The poor child must have suffered terribly.’ She was fairly sure of that after her years studying medicine. ‘What kind of poison was it?’

  Not that this was the most important aspect.

  ‘Rat poison, according to the book. I should think people in the countryside would have needed to have it to hand in those days.’

  ‘When you read about the incident, how did it strike you?’ Una asked. ‘Did you feel there was any suggestion that she might have been murdered?’

  ‘Hard to say, but, yes, maybe.
’

  No wonder the poor girl can’t find any peace, Una thought to herself.

  ‘Does this help you at all?’ Sara asked.

  ‘Yes, thank you. It was important for me to know. It’ll help me learn to understand this place a bit better.’

  ‘How are you coping?’ Sara asked unexpectedly.

  Una hesitated. She wanted to lie to avoid any further discussion, and say that it was an absolute dream, that it was fantastic living in the heart of nature, in such a tranquil spot. That would be the easiest answer.

  ‘Actually, it’s pretty grim,’ she said instead. ‘I don’t get on with the locals and I don’t think they like me. It’s a weird place. There’s a lot of sadness. And too many secrets. To tell the truth, I’m not sure I’ll last the whole winter here.’

  This time it was Sara’s turn to be silent for a while before replying. ‘Oh God, I … I wasn’t expecting that. I thought you were happy there.’

  ‘Not any more. I probably never was.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s not your fault, Sara.’

  ‘I feel partly to blame … I mean, I was the one who showed you the advertisement.’

  ‘But it was my decision to take the job. I wasn’t happy in Reyk-javík either and I needed a change of scene. I just chose the wrong place.’

  ‘Of course, it’s terribly far away. You know I’ll come and visit you as soon as I can.’

  ‘There’s no rush.’

  ‘No, I’m serious … I’m going to check what the weather forecast is like for the next few days and see if I might be able to make a quick trip up to see you either next weekend or the weekend after. It all depends on the weather and the state of the roads.’

  ‘That would be great, if I’m still here then.’

  ‘Have you got room for me?’

  ‘More than enough. I’ve got a whole flat to myself.’ Thinking of the ghost, Una qualified this: ‘Sort of.’

  ‘What happened about that man who disappeared?’ Sara asked. ‘I heard on the news that he’s still missing. Did the picture help at all?’

  ‘No. It seems it may not have been him after all.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  ‘By the way …’ Una suddenly recalled a remark the policeman had made. ‘Someone mentioned that the man – Patrekur – was mixed up in bad company. Has there been anything about that in the news? Was he some sort of criminal?’

  ‘Yes, hadn’t you heard? There was a front-page article about him at the weekend in Helgarpósturinn.’

  ‘The papers get here late and irregularly,’ Una said. ‘If at all.’

  ‘It was quite a dramatic story. He was a suspect in the Hannes and Hilmar murders, before the trio confessed. Apparently, he was high on the police’s list. I had no idea and don’t remember his name being released at the time.’

  ‘And now he’s vanished too.’

  ‘Exactly. Of course, it’s mostly just the press being sensationalist, but the journalist was suggesting there might be a link between the cases. That the person who bumped off Hannes and Hilmar might have been responsible for Patrekur’s disappearance too. In which case, the trio who are in prison can’t be guilty.’

  ‘There were always stories doing the rounds, claiming they weren’t necessarily responsible,’ Una pointed out.

  ‘So I’ve heard.’ After a brief silence, Sara continued: ‘So, in other words, you don’t think Patrekur was in Skálar after all?’ The article in the paper had obviously aroused Sara’s interest in the mystery.

  ‘I doubt it. It’s hard to tell from the picture.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose. It would have been a good story, though. You could have sent it to the papers. Perhaps even got a reward for the tip-off.’

  ‘Yes, well, I’ll bear that in mind.’ It occurred to Una that this was still an option.

  ‘Anyway, I’ll be in touch, Una,’ Sara said, sounding unusually affectionate. ‘Look after yourself. And if you’re unhappy there, just come back to town. There’s no reason to hang on in a miserable situation.’

  ‘Thanks. Either way, hopefully we’ll see each other soon,’ Una said. ‘If you do come, could you bring me some bottles of red wine?’

  ‘You bet.’

  After they had rung off, Una peered into the dining room. Salka was sitting very still at the table, her head bowed.

  Now might be as good an opportunity as any to sit down with her and have a talk; try to get at the truth for a change.

  The verdict hadn’t come as a surprise to her.

  She was now a convicted murderer.

  It wasn’t as big a shock as she had thought it would be. She had mentally prepared herself for the news. According to her defence council, the case would now go to the Supreme Court and they would have a better chance there. She wasn’t sure how realistic this was, but then she had long ago given up the fight.

  Maybe she had been there and taken part in killing Hannes and Hilmar. Or maybe she was innocent and the other members of the group were guilty. They had all been convicted and given prison sentences of varying lengths.

  She herself had got the full sixteen years.

  She avoided calculating how old she would be when she got out. Her lawyer had tried to keep her spirits up by saying that the Supreme Court verdict would be more lenient and that in any case she wouldn’t have to serve the whole sentence. Eight years max. And she had already spent nearly a year in custody. ‘So, of course, they’ll take that off,’ her lawyer had said, with a forced smile.

  It was easy to look on the bright side when it wasn’t you who was going to be locked up for years.

  By now she had got into a routine of sorts in prison and she tried to take it one day at a time. She wouldn’t start counting down the days yet, not until there was a shorter time left.

  And, of course, there was always the Supreme Court.

  XXX

  ‘Salka?’

  She jerked her head round. Evidently, she hadn’t heard Una enter the dining room.

  ‘Yes?’ She spoke quietly, looking in Una’s direction without meeting her eye.

  ‘Salka, can I talk to you? Shall I make us some coffee?’

  ‘I don’t want any coffee, thanks. Not now.’

  Una sat down at the table facing her.

  There was a deathly hush in the old house.

  Salka lowered her eyes, staring at the table as if it held the answers to all the world’s riddles.

  ‘I’ve been reading about Thrá,’ Una said, tweaking the truth a little.

  Salka raised her eyes. ‘Have you? Why?’

  ‘I know you don’t want me sticking my nose in, but I hope you’ll forgive me. I was just curious because I feel kind of invested in what happens here.’

  ‘No need to apologize, Una,’ Salka replied dully.

  ‘I read that she’d … well, that she’d drunk poison.’

  ‘Thrá?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose you could put it like that. I was told the story made it into the papers at the time. It was horrific, of course. Utterly horrific.’ Her voice had grown a little stronger, but her tone was sombre.

  ‘Do they know what actually happened?’

  Salka didn’t answer.

  ‘Was it an accident?’

  Salka met and held Una’s gaze. ‘It wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t a bloody accident,’ she said, with sudden vehemence.

  After a long pause, Una asked: ‘What happened?’

  ‘Thrá was my mother’s sister, did I tell you that?’

  Una shook her head, though she should have guessed.

  ‘My mother’s older sister. Born in 1920. My mother was two when it happened. Naturally, she couldn’t remember anything herself, but she learned the whole story later. Like I did. People knew what had happened. I first heard the story when I was older. My mother never talked about it.’

  Una waited patiently, wanting to give Salka space to tell the tale since it was obviously a painful subject.


  ‘It was rat poison, bloody horrible stuff. The little girl drank it mixed into her milk. No one ever knew why my grandmother did it. There just … there just wasn’t any explanation …’

  ‘Your grandmother ? She poisoned her own daughter?’

  Salka nodded, with such sadness in her eyes that it was as if she were describing recent events, not something that had happened nearly sixty years ago.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Una asked.

  ‘Yes, I believe she admitted it when they questioned her. She claimed she couldn’t stop herself, but she didn’t know why she’d done it. She was just seized by a fit of madness.’

  ‘Was she convicted for it?’ Una asked. Sara hadn’t mentioned any details like this after reading the summary in Our Century. But surely the woman couldn’t have got away with her crime?

  ‘No, she wasn’t convicted. Because the police were never informed. The village stood by my grandmother and hushed it up.’

  ‘Stood by your grandmother? What about the child? Did no one stand up for her?’ Una was stunned.

  ‘Apparently not.’

  ‘Was she allowed to raise your mother after that?’

  ‘Yes. It’s quite incredible when you think about it, but that’s how it was. I suppose the locals didn’t want the village to get a bad reputation. Just like now. There are so many things that can’t be talked about.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘People look out for each other.’

  Una seized this opportunity to up the pressure: ‘What are you all keeping from me, Salka?’

  Salka was silent, but now at least she was prepared to meet Una’s gaze.

  ‘There is something, isn’t there?’ Una insisted.

  ‘I wasn’t going to tell you about my grandmother. Not everyone knows – not outside the village. She died at a ripe old age and went on living in this house right up until near the end.’

  ‘That’s shocking, Salka. I can hardly believe it.’

  ‘I stopped coming to see her after I learned what she’d done. I couldn’t look her in the eye any more. I didn’t come back here for years, not until I inherited the house. Then I felt it was time. My family has such strong roots in Skálar, and I was happy here, until … you know …’ Grief had banished every other emotion from her face.