‘Thesis?’
The man clearly hadn’t understood, so she decided to try another tack. Maybe it would be worth hinting at market research? No, research or a thesis would be better.
‘It doesn’t matter. Research…’ she began, and abandoned Plan B for honesty. ‘I’m looking for people from Sri Lanka to talk to.’
The man grinned, and then laughed.
‘No problem. I’m from Sri Lanka.’
‘Really?’ Særós looked around, and saw that there was fortunately no queue behind her. An older couple who seemed to have decided to make do with sandwiches from the self-service counter took a detour around the hot food counter and headed for the checkout. ‘You’re from there? That’s fantastic. Do you know a woman called Sajee? There can’t be many in Iceland, surely? I mean, from Sri Lanka?’
The man didn’t reply straight away, but handed her the plate with a quizzical look on his face. He seemed to be wondering if Særós was who she claimed to be.
‘Her name’s Sajee Gunawardena,’ she said, taking care to pronounce the name as clearly as she could.
‘What did you say?’ he asked, and Særós tried again.
He laughed, and repeated the name, the stresses on different syllables so that it sounded completely different.
‘Well…’ he said, wiping up pools of sauce that had fallen to the steel table. It looked like he was playing for a little time as he didn’t reply right away.
‘I’ve been told that Sajee is the person who can tell me so much,’ Særós said, certain that she was sounding ridiculous, but there was nothing else for it as she could hardly wave her warrant card in the man’s face. ‘Or a woman called Hirumi? Do you know her? They’re related.’
‘Hirumi?’ the man echoed, and Særós had to recognise that her pronunciation was certainly askew. She thought of writing the name down, but realised that she would write it just as she said it, which would hardly help. ‘I’m probably not saying it properly,’ she said apologetically. ‘Hirumi is a few years older. But Sajee is young, like you.’
‘I know Sajee,’ the man said. The name sounded so different the way the man said it. ‘He does too,’ he added, nodding towards a slim man who pushed a trolley as he cleared tables.
‘Do you know where I can find her?’ she asked, trying to hide her eagerness.
‘My wife tries to call her all the time, but her phone’s switched off. Maybe Sajee has gone to be married.’
‘Gone to Sri Lanka?’
‘Maybe,’ the man replied. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Did she work here?’ Særós asked.
‘Sajee can’t work here,’ he replied and it was clear he wasn’t inclined to explain why.
‘All right. But Hirumi? Do you know where she is?’
‘Hirumi is home in Sri Lanka,’ the man said, his agitation growing as in a couple of minutes a queue for food had formed behind her. ‘Talk to him,’ he said, pointing at the man with the trolley.
‘Thank you,’ Særós said, taking her tray. As she paid, she watched the man clearing and wiping tables. He was a young guy, who worked well and quickly. She carried her tray over to him.
‘Can I sit here?’ She asked. ‘Are you finished?’
‘Better there,’ he said, waving at the clean, empty tables all around.
‘Of course,’ Særós said. ‘Could I have a word with you?’
He paused and looked at her uncertainly. She realised that he was expecting her to complain that the place hadn’t been cleaned properly.
‘You’re doing a good job. What’s your name?’
‘Amal,’ he said shortly. ‘Can I get you anything? There’s salt, pepper, sauces. It’s all there,’ he said, ready to fetch whatever she needed.
‘No, no. Amal, my name is Særós and I’m looking for a woman called Sajee. I just want to ask you about her. He… The guy…’ said, nodding towards the man at the counter now filling a plate with Swedish meatballs. ‘He said you know Sajee.’
She watched his expression and this time she knew she had pronounced the name correctly.
‘I know her,’ he said. ‘Sajee went away.’
‘Away?’ Særós repeated. ‘Do you know where?’
‘No. Just away. My wife has been calling her and so has Nuwan’s wife,’ Amal said, jerking his head in his colleague’s direction. ‘Sajee has turned off her phone. Maybe Hirumi took her home to Sri Lanka.’
‘Do you know where I can find Hirumi?’
He shook his head and she could see he was becoming increasingly suspicious.
‘Do you know where Sajee lived in Iceland?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘On Snorrabraut. We have been there but the women said that Sajee had gone away on an aeroplane.’
‘Where on Snorrabraut? Do you know the house number?’ Særós asked earnestly.
‘No. It’s near Hlemmur,’ Amal said, taking a spray bottle from the trolley and squirting liquid on the table. Særós watched his dark hands wipe the surface with smooth movements.
‘Could you try to remember? I could drive you home after your shift and you could show me the house?’
He stared at her and moved to another table.
‘No, thank you,’ he muttered. He was clearly uncomfortable with her presence. She knew that she was often too direct, too quick. She would have to learn to be more guarded in her approach.
‘It won’t take long,’ she said, all the same. ‘I just need to know where the house is.’
‘Enjoy your meal before it gets cold,’ Amal said, indicating the salmon on her plate.
He pushed his trolley away and didn’t stop until there was a good distance between them. For a moment it occurred to her to follow him, but instead she dropped into a chair and stirred the pale sauce and the salmon into little mouthfuls, but left the string beans. She had managed to frighten Amal and now he wanted to tell her nothing. She would have to learn to rein herself in.
Særós dug her fork into the mixture on her plate and took a mouthful, deciding as she did so that it was idiotic to be working under a false flag. Now she would sit here for a while before telling them the truth to get the two phone numbers she needed.
34
Today she felt better. Ísak had brought a first aid kit and a bucket of water, washed most of the filth off her and disinfected her injuries. Then he helped her out of her dirty clothes and into clean garments, gazing at her lean body as he dressed her. She was sure that there were tears in his eyes as he looked away.
‘I found this,’ he said gruffly, crumbling a large tablet into her green drink. ‘It’s supposed to be for animals, but it should kill off the worst of the infection. I have three of these so I’ll bring you another tomorrow.’
‘Ísak,’ she begged, holding his hand tight. ‘Help me get away from here.’
He tried to disengage from her grip, but she held tight to him, her fingers locked around his hand.
He pushed her away abruptly, and quickly put everything back in the first aid box. He crawled out the way he had come in. The hatch banged shut and she felt she was no longer alone while she still had hope.
35
‘Sajee’s phone is switched off and there’s just some incomprehensible message when I call Hirumi’s number. I can’t find any trace of either of them online, but the good news is I have a register of everyone living on Snorrabraut and have already eliminated more than a third of them based on what information we already have. I’ve made a few calls and that’s narrowed it down to ten apartments that I’m sure are rented out.’
‘That’s great,’ Guðgeir said, his phone at his ear while Inga looked at him enquiringly.
‘Who is it?’ she mouthed, and Guðgeir mouthed Særós’s name in reply.
‘If we’re in luck, we should be able to pin down these Chinese women this evening,’ Særós said. ‘What do you say? Shall we do it?’
Reluctant to leave Inga, Guðgeir didn’t reply right away. They had been able to discuss things calmly and that
had brightened his hopes of a better future. There was nothing he longed for more than for things to be the way they had been before he had shattered her faith in him. They both knew that they were happier together than apart, but it seemed that Inga was still unable to swallow her pride and admit it. She had the idea fixed in her mind that they needed to be apart for a whole year before looking to the future. Even though she said that she missed him, she had remained inflexible – until now. Her resolve seemed to be softening. They had chatted pleasantly with the children over dinner and now they were able to relax together. Everything was the way it had been, and then Særós had to call.
‘What about around nine in the morning?’ he suggested, settling deeper into the sofa. It was so good to be home. ‘I don’t have to travel east until the afternoon and I’m back at work the day after.’
‘I have a meeting in the morning, and I need to be prepared,’ Særós said. ‘You know there’s always a better chance of catching people at home in the evenings, so we ought to get to work.’
‘All right,’ Guðgeir said, his eyes on his wife as he spoke. ‘I’ll be outside your place at eight.’
‘We have to be prepared to accept that Sajee may have left the country,’ Særós said as she sat in his car half an hour later. There was no need for a greeting. She was now too caught up in this case to be bothered with pleasantries. He knew her well enough to be aware that once she had the bit between her teeth, she didn’t waste energy on anything else. Særós clicked her seat belt into place and took her notes from her bag.
‘I printed all this out and I’ve already eliminated a few of the names. Let’s get on with this before it gets too late and we’ll start close to Hlemmur.’
He listened as she read out the list of names of the registered owners of apartments in the district as they drove along Bústaðavegur towards Snorrabraut. They agreed that their attention should be on an old building containing a number of flats, of which several were registered as being owned by one individual, Ísleifur Árnason. Apart from that, nothing stood out as being suspicious, except that one flat in the building was registered to a charity.
‘Children in Crisis,’ Særós read out. ‘Have you heard of this organisation? Is it normal for them to put money into property instead of spending it?’
‘It could be an inheritance, or a gift from a someone with a kind heart who wanted their property to go to a good cause. But this Ísleifur? I reckon I’ve heard the name before. I’m not sure where or in what connection, but I think he’s come to our attention before now,’ Guðgeir said thoughtfully and Særós agreed.
‘I looked him up and he seems to have property all over, mostly out in the suburbs, and some of them are real shitholes, to put it mildly. I hear he rents them out at extortionate rates. He’s been renting to foreign construction workers ever since the boom got under way and there was something about this on the news a few days ago. Lousy conditions, mould, and all the classic stuff, while Ísleifur’s adamant that everything is absolutely fine.’
The lightbulb in the lobby was dead, so Guðgeir used the torch in his phone to examine the poorly marked postboxes and unmarked doorbell buttons. As someone leaving the building opened the door, they took the opportunity to slip inside. An old man opened the door of a flat on the top floor, the door swinging open while Guðgeir’s finger was still on the doorbell button. The man wore a suit that, like him, was long past its prime. His hair was thick but tousled, and there was a fine layer of dandruff around his collar.
‘Come on in,’ he said cheerfully, and held the door open wide. ‘Are you the taxman?’
‘No.’
‘Police?’
‘Yes,’ they both said. ‘But keep quiet about that,’ Særós added.
‘Well, yes, of course. Come in, please. Lovely to have visitors. I can’t go out often. The stairs … you understand? I’ve a duff knee.’
They followed him into a dark living room where he ushered them to a high-backed, mustard-yellow sofa. They perched on the edge. The man vanished into the kitchen, returning with a kettle that he placed on the table, plugged in and switched on. Then he disappeared again, returned with a carton of milk and was gone once more. Særós rolled her eyes, and Guðgeir gave her a gentle smile.
‘We’re looking for a woman, originally from Sri Lanka, who lives, or lived, here on Snorrabraut. We don’t know exactly where, but we need to speak to her. It’s important.’
‘I’ve been waiting for a knee operation for ages. They did the other one a few years ago, and that was wonderful, but I had to wait for that as well,’ came the man’s voice from the kitchen.
‘Good grief,’ Særós sighed and scowled while Guðgeir raised his eyebrows. They sat close together on the sofa and listened as the man rummaged in the kitchen, opening cupboards and running the tap. Særós glanced at her watch and Guðgeir rubbed the stubble on his chin.
‘Are you going to deport her?’ The man stood in the doorway holding a tray of cups and a jar of instant coffee. He seemed to doubt whether or not to offer them anything after all. ‘If that’s your game, then I want nothing to do with you. I’ll have nothing to do with that kind of dirty business.’
‘That’s not what we’re here for,’ Guðgeir said gently. ‘I assure you of that. We suspect that this woman, Sajee, may have disappeared. To be honest, we’re concerned that she may be the victim of some dirty business, as you call it.’
‘Really?’ He placed the tray on the inlaid table and spooned coffee into cups. ‘You mean trafficking? There was something on the radio about that yesterday.’
‘We can’t be sure yet,’ Særós added, smoothing down the collar of her pressed shirt and fiddling with the fine chain that lay over her collarbone.
‘Is that strong enough?’ the man asked.
‘Two spoonfuls for me,’ Guðgeir replied and Særós shrugged. She preferred to avoid coffee, but accepted a cup to humour the man. He poured boiling water onto the granules in the cups and stirred slowly and carefully. He took his time before handing them their cups and taking a seat opposite them.
‘Ísleifur Árnason, the landlord here. Is he a decent sort of guy?’ Særós asked, crossing her legs. She wore high boots with heels, made in brown leather and one foot rocked back and forth, with the occasional tap as her toe connected with the table.
‘Why do you ask?’ the old man said and settled himself into his chair. A spasm passed over his face, indicating that every movement brought him discomfort.
‘Just curious,’ Guðgeir said, raising a palm to show his innocent intentions, and the man understood what he was driving at.
‘There’s nothing special about this place, as you can see.’
‘No,’ Guðgeir agreed. ‘Not exactly.’
‘I guess it would be cheaper to rent rooms at Amalienborg than here,’ he continued.
‘It’s that bad?’ Guðgeir asked, glancing around. The walls were grubby and the window frames were starting to rot.
‘On my pension, yes. It’s bad. But I suppose one should be grateful for having a roof over one’s head,’ he said. ‘Would you like milk in your coffee?’
They both shook their heads.
‘Amalienborg? Where’s that?’ Særós asked, her foot stopping its movement.
‘The Queen of Denmark’s palace, of course,’ the man replied, clearly surprised at her ignorance.
Særós rolled her eyes again.
‘I don’t see how that’s relevant.’
‘You say you’re searching for a woman from Sri Lanka. That used to be called Ceylon when I was a younger man,’ he said, as if vouchsafing a valuable nugget of knowledge, and without answering her question.
‘Really?’
‘Ceylon, like the tea,’ he continued, undaunted.
‘Sure,’ Særós said, ready to get to her feet. Her patience was running out. She shot a meaningful glance at the clock on the wall, and then at Guðgeir. Time was running away from them and this old man had nothing to tell them.
He was clearly lonely and wanted company.
‘Is he in this dirty business you mentioned earlier? Ísleifur, I mean,’ the man said.
‘We’re investigating the circumstances, but it’s too early to say much,’ Guðgeir said stirring his ink-black coffee as if he had all the time in the world. ‘We’re just checking out a few places to try and locate this woman.’
The man’s mouth clamped shut and he was silent, clearly trying to reconcile some inner doubt. Guðgeir sat solidly on the sofa without saying anything more. Særós got to her feet, took a couple of steps, then gave up and sat back down, taking a sip of coffee for show. She found the long silence deeply disconcerting, but suspected that Guðgeir was onto something. He had a knack of figuring people out and often used conversational techniques that she had always struggled to master. That included silence, sometimes for a surprisingly long time.
‘It’s not complicated. Just be patient, even if your question’s left hanging and it doesn’t seem like the person you’re questioning is going to say anything. Be patient, because almost everyone will eventually say something, and something’s better than nothing,’ was what Guðgeir had tried to drill into Særós when she had joined, and she realised it would be worth remembering his words.
The man examined them in turn, apparently unsure of his ground. Særós took a seat on the sofa again, and made herself comfortable.
‘Do you mind?’ Guðgeir said, unscrewing the cap of the coffee jar.
‘Be my guest. Help yourself,’ the man said, deep in thought and clearly ill at ease as he watched Guðgeir put two spoonfuls of coffee in his mug and pour water that was no longer at boiling point into it. The granules dissolved reluctantly.
‘The young woman we are looking for originally came here to work as a domestic help for an Icelandic family and after she left them, she worked mainly as a domestic cleaner. Sajee is a little over thirty, petite, and with long black hair. It seems she was born with a cleft palate. She speaks reasonably good Icelandic, as far as we’re aware, but her pronunciation could be not entirely clear,’ Guðgeir said.
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