‘Or maybe we ought to start by going out to the airport and I’ll see if I can get into the passenger lists,’ Sveinn said quickly. There was no mistaking his eagerness to escape any discussion of eating habits or fitness. ‘We can go out there and see if the poor girl made it back south. I don’t recall seeing her taking a flight,’ he said with a sidelong glance at his wife. ‘But I’m only human.’
‘She could have taken a coach to Reykjavík,’ Matthildur suggested.
‘If I can’t get into the passenger lists, then we’ll check any other possibilities,’ Sveinn said and got to his feet. ‘We can stop off for a chat at the police station as well. So when we get back, we’ll be hungry enough for dessert. Don’t worry about the dishes. We’ll deal with those later.’
‘There’s no need to trouble the police,’ Guðgeir said quickly, reluctant to involve his colleagues with something so vague. That wouldn’t do him any favours. Sveinn appeared to understand his position.
‘I’ll talk to them,’ he said slipping into his coat.
‘Fine,’ Guðgeir said. ‘Otherwise we ought to keep quiet about this, keep it to ourselves for the moment, at any rate. Rumours can travel fast.’
At the airport Sveinn started by going through the arrivals at the end of February.
‘Here she is. Sajee Gunawardena. That has to be her,’ he said after searching through the list. He hardly looked up as he continued to click the mouse. ‘I’m looking to see if Sajee Gunawa.. Gunawar-something took a flight south.’
He hunched over the computer, but his search returned no results. There were no unusual names to be seen on the list until well into March, and none that were even close to Sajee’s name.
‘And the coach?’ Guðgeir asked.
‘I’ll check,’ Sveinn said, reaching for the phone and punching in a number. A few moments later he had confirmation that nobody of that name had travelled by coach to Reykjavík.
Sveinn went back to the 27th February passenger list and they read out Sajee’s name, as if to convince themselves that there could be no similar name that could have slipped past them. They sat in silence, engrossed in the computer screen.
‘Thormóður from Hostel by the Sea was on the same flight,’ Sveinn said. ‘You remember? That’s where I took her.’
Guðgeir nodded.
‘You’re sure she was able to stay there?’
‘I’m fairly sure of it. She came out again and waved to me. She had the man’s card, and come to think of it, I don’t recall having seen that one before,’ he said, reaching for a plastic rack on the desk. ‘No. Nothing like that here.’
‘I had a meal at the café a while ago and was chatting to Linda. You know her?’
‘Yes, sure.’
‘Linda said she had seen Thormóður at the Ólís filling station with a woman who could be Sajee, and that they had been on the way up to the Lagoon,’ Guðgeir said.
‘How can she be sure who it was?’ Sveinn asked.
‘Her appearance was striking,’ Guðgeir replied. ‘Her mouth, and her hair. And that day there was exceptionally bad weather and very few people about.’
‘Understood.’
‘Since we’re checking this out, it wouldn’t do any harm to give Thormóður a call and ask him about all this,’ Guðgeir said, and Sveinn needed no encouragement. The familiar tingle ran through him as he listened to the conversation. This was something that called for further investigation.
‘That’s weird,’ Sveinn said as he put the phone down. ‘The man says he’s never seen this woman in his life and acted as if he had no idea what I was taking about. Said I was losing my marbles when I asked about the flight.’
27
Practically the only sound that carried to her was the fox and she wondered if the animal got better treatment from Ísak than she did. The fox was able to run and breathe the fresh spring air while she suffocated in this hole. The huge American car that had been Ísak’s father’s was over the pit. Sometimes she could hear the radio playing while Ísak pottered in the barn and she once heard him in a conversation with Thormóður.
That had been while she still had the energy to shout out and batter the door. Ísak had told Thormóður that he would have to sort out the problem. Thormóður had snapped back that Ísak acted like a spoilt boy, and why should he have to clear up the unholy mess Selma had created?
Their argument had echoed through the barn and Ísak yelled back at Thormóður. Then she heard a car start up outside.
28
The Hostel by the Sea was an old workshop that had been partly renovated. A wooden portico that had been built around the door was out of character for the district, as were the two big tubs, intended for flowers. Guðgeir sat in the security company’s car and watched from a distance as a muscular man stacked things in the back of a Land Rover. First there was a box that looked to be some kind of kitchen appliance, then a black plastic bag that looked heavy, followed by a large backpack.
Guðgeir thought that this was providing a backpacker with some exceptional service, and waited for the backpack’s owner to appear. But no other person appeared and the man, who Guðgeir assumed had to be Thormóður, occupied himself with the contents of the car’s boot before locking it and going back inside.
When there had been no sign of him for ten minutes, Guðgeir set out to look for him. The narrow entrance hall was overstuffed with junk and furniture. The man stood at an old, renovated desk that served as the reception, where he tapped with two fingers at a computer keyboard. He looked to be around middle age, unremarkable and neatly turned out in a white shirt under an expensive outdoor sweater. His fair hair had had been clippered close at the sides, leaving a thick mop on top.
A lobster-pink heap occupied a space in the middle of the floor. It appeared to be intended as a place to sit, although anyone using it would struggle to stand up with any dignity. A couple of chairs and little table stood against a wall, scattered with leaflets detailing relaxation opportunities in Eastern Iceland. A magnificent set of reindeer antlers had been fixed to the wall, next to a framed print of the Vatnajökull ice cap taken on a bright summer’s day.
A narrow corridor led from the entrance hall to numbered rooms on either side. There looked to be no more than five or six. The end of the corridor opened out into a space guests and a long window providing a view over the harbour. This looked to be a place for taking meals while also taking in the scenery, with a small fridge and an electric hob on the table.
‘Good morning,’ Guðgeir said and the man returned his greeting. ‘Cool place. Just the retro feel that my wife’s so fond of,’ Guðgeir said cheerfully as he introduced himself.
Describing the place as cool was maybe an exaggeration. He could see that it wouldn’t take much to make it more attractive for travellers, but he needed to make a connection with the man, and that had been the first thing that had entered his head.
‘Sure,’ the man said with a clear lack of interest.
‘I like to see old stuff being given a new life,’ Guðgeir said, glancing around the crowded reception area.
‘Can I help you?’ the man asked.
‘Yes. I’m…’ Guðgeir said and suddenly had the feeling of no longer being what he had been. This role-playing felt uncomfortable.
‘You’re looking for a room?’ the man asked and there was a touch of an accent in his voice.
‘No, not exactly,’ he said and paused, deciding how to pursue this. ‘I’m looking for a woman who came here to Höfn this winter. She’s dark, Asian.’
The man looked at him suspiciously.
‘There are so many people who pass through here,’ he said with a sarcastic laugh. ‘Do you think I remember every single dark-haired woman? I run a hostel and there are guests of all shapes, sizes and colours.’
‘Her name’s Sajee Gunawardena and she’s from Sri Lanka,’ Guðgeir said, nodding towards the computer. ‘Couldn’t you..?’
‘Who are you?’
�
��You’re Thormóður, aren’t you?’ Guðgeir said, replying with a question of his own.
The man raised an eyebrow and nodded slowly.
‘Sveinn out at the airport said he brought this woman here on the twenty-seventh of February,’ Guðgeir said.
‘Right. He was asking something like that a day or two ago. I don’t remember anything like that,’ Thormóður mumbled, his attention on the screen.
‘Sveinn is very sure.’
Thormóður glanced at him uninterestedly, pushing his hair back from his forehead. Guðgeir noticed the red birthmark that ran from the roots of his hair like an icicle. His hair dropped back forward as he hunched again over the computer.
‘So what’s the problem?’ Thormóður asked as his fingers tapped rapidly at the keyboard.
‘We’re wondering if you might know what happened to her,’ Guðgeir said.
‘Who?’
‘Sajee. The woman from Sri Lanka.’
‘Why?’
‘Sveinn is concerned about her,’ Guðgeir said, changing tack. ‘She came to Höfn due to some misunderstanding, as far as we can make out. As far as he was aware, she was practically penniless. He said she was certain she would be able to stay here, otherwise he wouldn’t have left her at your place.’
He decided against mentioning that he had been through the passenger lists, as that could put Sveinn in an awkward position.
‘And why are you poking your nose into all this?’ Thormóður asked. ‘There are foreigners on the move everywhere. They get lost here and there, but they always seem to turn up sooner or later.’
‘I don’t recall seeing tourists here before the middle of March,’ Guðgeir said. ‘So you must have some recollection of this woman.’
‘Are you a cop, or something?’ Thormóður demanded in obvious irritation. ‘I don’t recall this at all.’
‘I… Well, no. Not exactly. I'm just asking a few questions,’ Guðgeir said, to Thormóður’s clear relief.
‘Look, I run a company and I work long hours. We’re overbooked and surely you can appreciate that I don’t have every minor detail at my fingertips. I’m rushed off my feet the whole time here,’ he said, as if asking a child to grasp something beyond its understanding.
‘Yes, but this was the end of February,’ Guðgeir repeated. ‘The woman came to Höfn in the belief that there was a job waiting for her, which turned out to not be the case. She needed somewhere to stay and according to Sveinn, she stayed here in your hostel.’
Thormóður glared at him.
‘Listen, I don’t remember everything. Back in the day I wasn’t all together, if you know what I mean. Memory plays tricks. Understand?’
He grinned, winked, as if asking for his colourful past to be excused.
The door opened, and a young woman with short black hair, a wool scarf around her neck and a backpack on one shoulder appeared. Thormóður waited until she had gone along the corridor before continuing. Guðgeir made no reply, making it clear that this excuse wasn’t one he was prepared to accept.
‘I’m in no hurry,’ he said. ‘I’m sure it’ll all come back to you, but you ought to take a look in that computer of yours.’
‘What?’
‘Don’t you register all your guests?’
‘Sure I do, but take it easy…’ Thormóður said, as if registering guests was an unnecessary formality. ‘You said the twenty-seventh of February?’
‘That’s right, and her name’s Sajee, with two Es at the end.’
‘Nothing that day and nothing the day after,’ Thormóður said, finally appearing to show some interest. Guðgeir noticed a gleam of sweat on his forehead, quickly wiped away with the back of his hand, exposing a birthmark.
‘Aren’t you supposed to register all guests? For the overnight tax?’ Guðgeir asked. He wanted to step around the sideboard and take a look at the screen for himself.
‘Well, of course. But not if I don’t charge people,’ Thormóður said with a laugh that indicated Guðgeir’s question has been an exceptionally stupid one.
‘You do that often?’
‘Do what?’
‘Let people stay in your hostel for free,’ Guðgeir said.
Thormóður scratched the back of his neck as he looked slightly awkward, clearly looking for a way out.
‘You’re right!’ he said with unexpected emphasis. ‘A tiny woman with a lot of hair. She was here one night and then left, flew back south again as far as I know. I let her stay so she’d be able to afford the flight.’
‘Is that so?’ Guðgeir said, his voice laden with doubt.
‘Yep. Sure,’ Thormóður said. ‘What’s the problem, anyway? Has she gone missing, or broken in somewhere? Hey, don’t you work for Hornafjörður Security? I’m sure I’ve seen you about.’
‘Yes, that’s me. And no, she’s not suspected of having committed any crime. I’m just asking around about her.’
‘Small-town life makes you curious,’ Thormóður said, visibly more relaxed. ‘And more susceptible to gossip. It must be as boring as hell being a security guard in a place where nothing ever happens.’ He laughed, clearly relieved that he had managed to turn the conversation around, but continued in the same vein. ‘I think someone told me you had a shock and lost your job in some scandal or other. Did you have a nervous breakdown, or what?’
‘So you didn’t drive this woman up to the Lagoon during the winter? There’s an individual who reported having seen you,’ Guðgeir said, staying cool. It would need something more than that kind of talk to upset him and the man’s impertinence disgusted him.
‘How the hell should I remember if I gave someone a lift or not?’ The question had obviously left Thormóður rattled, as he fell silent, apparently trying to figure out what tack to take next, before he burst out angrily. ‘How nosy can you be? I’m always giving people lifts here and there. The place is constantly busy and and I’m pretty flexible. Now, I don’t have time for this,’ he said, fidgeting impatiently. He stooped and lifted a box of leaflets that he placed on the sideboard.
‘Were you busy during the winter, what with the weather as bad as it was?’
There was an undertone of doubt in Guðgeir’s voice as he leaned forward over the sideboard.
‘I’m always busy, and you must be as bored as hell. I have better things to be doing, and you’ll have to find somewhere else to stick your nose because I have more than enough on my plate,’ Thormóður said, a stiffly artificial smile on his face as he started to arrange the leaflets into stacks. But Guðgeir wasn’t inclined to give up.
‘This woman has a cleft palate, so she’s pretty conspicuous.’
Thormóður sighed, rolled his eyes and his memory suddenly improved.
‘Listen, I remember now. I gave her a lift out to the airport. She took a flight south.’
‘Quite sure? Guðgeir asked.
‘A hundred per cent,’ Thormóður said with a clap of his hands. ‘End of story.’
‘When was that?’ Guðgeir asked. His feeling for what had become of Sajee was getting stronger by the minute.
‘The next day. Or the day after that,’Thormóður said. ‘I don’t recall if she was here for one night or two. Look, I fucked my head years ago and my memory’s shot. Drugs and all sorts, like I told you. Anyway, I drove her out to the airport, and if she didn’t get the flight, then I’ve no idea where she could have gone and it’s not my business to keep tabs on everyone who washes up out here.’
‘No, of course not,’ Guðgeir said, his tone ice cold as he drummed his fingers on a stack of leaflets. ‘Sorry to have troubled you, and I can see you’re busy,’ he said and sensed Thormóður relax. ‘Since I’m here, could I take a look round? I have some guests coming soon and there isn’t room for them at my place…’
Thormóður cut him off short.
‘No. That’s not possible. We’re booked up solid.’
29
Guðgeir rested the back of his head against the windowsill
as he sat on the sofa in his rented flat with his phone in his hand, his attention flitting between the number on the screen and the sofa’s colourful upholstery. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully before taking his decision, and tapped the screen. Særós answered almost instantly.
‘Haven’t heard from you for a while,’ she said. ‘How are you doing out there at the edge of the world?’
‘Struggling along,’ Guðgeir said, standing up. He looked out of the window and saw Sveinn and Matthildur walk out to the car. ‘There’s not long to go, and I don’t know what happens in June. The inquiry panel will have to reach a decision soon. It’s the waiting that wears you down. To be honest, I’ve had enough.’
‘We miss you at the station and we all hope it goes the right way,’ Særós said, and her words gave him a warm glow deep inside. There were occasions when he had the feeling that his blameless thirty-year police career meant nothing. All that made no difference when everything could be wrecked by a single error of judgement. Admittedly, it had been a big one.
‘And you? How are you getting on?’ Guðgeir asked, imagining his office with Særós, dark-haired and sharp-eyed, in his chair and the week’s fitness plan pinned to the wall behind her. Her hair always looked as if she had just stepped out of a salon, regardless of whether she ran, swam, cycled or pursued some other sport, which she did every single day. The shirt under her fitted jacket would be carefully pressed and she had a taste for elegant clothes that never showed a crease or a stain. Særós’s appearance would make anyone think that she had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth but that wasn’t the case; far from it. Her childhood home had been plagued with alcoholism and neglect, of both physical and mental varieties. She had taken charge of her younger siblings from a young age, and more often than not had also looked after their parents. None of this was common knowledge, and Guðgeir had often heard suspects and even colleagues grumble about Særós purely on the basis of her looks.
‘Just fine! I’m relieved that Easter’s over because that weekend’s crazy, like it always is,’ she said. ‘There are cases piling up…’ She dropped her voice. ‘Plenty of interesting stuff going on, as you can imagine. A shooting in Grafarvogur, the body in the Nordic House bin, and dope everywhere…’
The Fox Page 14