Dagný had always known her own mind and had a clear idea of what she wanted to do in life. On the wall of their parents’ house hung a picture of Dagný at six years old in a nurse’s uniform: today she worked at Akranes Hospital as a midwife. She had got together with Viðar when they were both fourteen and had never seemed to have a moment’s doubt about their relationship or herself. They were still together, all these years later, with two kids, a detached house, a jeep and everything else you’d expect of the average family. Elma could hardly believe she and Dagný had come from the same gene pool.
‘How’s life in the police, Elma?’ Viðar asked, accepting a cup of coffee from his mother-in-law. Elma opened her mouth to answer but Dagný got in first.
‘God, you’ll never guess who’s pregnant!’ Without waiting for an answer, she went on: ‘Bjarni’s Magnea!’ She looked round expectantly. The duty of confidentiality had never prevented Dagný from discussing her patients outside work.
‘No!’ Aðalheiður exclaimed. ‘I’d begun to think there must be something wrong. Physically, I mean. Though you don’t dare ask these days, as you have to be so careful not to offend people.’
‘No, not a bit of it. She’s eleven weeks gone,’ Dagný said. At that moment there was a commotion from the floor. Alexander had snatched a toy car from Jökull who began to wail. Dagný nudged Viðar, shooting him a look that told him to take care of it.
‘I’ll do it,’ Elma said hurriedly and got up. She lifted Jökull’s solid little body into her arms and started walking around the room with him. His silky hair smelled sweet. His crying subsided as soon as he had his dummy in his mouth. He leant his cheek against Elma’s chest and closed his eyes.
‘Of course, you mustn’t tell a soul; it’s still absolutely hush-hush,’ Dagný continued.
‘We won’t breathe a word,’ Aðalheiður promised.
‘Oh, don’t let him go to sleep now or we’ll never get him down this evening,’ Dagný exclaimed irritably, noticing Jökull’s closed eyes.
‘But he’s so sleepy,’ Elma said, hugging him tighter. ‘See how happy he is with his auntie.’
‘Elma, seriously. He won’t sleep this evening if he drops off now. All it takes is a five-minute nap, then it’s like he’s had an adrenaline jab in the bum.’
‘In the bum?’ Alexander echoed fearfully, looking up from the cars he had been absorbed in lining up. ‘Who’s having a jab in the bum?’
‘No one’s having a jab,’ Viðar reassured him.
‘He still hasn’t forgotten his vaccination when he was four,’ Dagný whispered, once Alexander had turned back to the cars. ‘Honestly, I don’t think he’ll ever get over it.’
Saturday, 2 December 2017
When Begga rang to invite Elma to share a bottle of red wine on Saturday evening, she had accepted the invitation with alacrity. She appreciated Begga making the move as she would never have dared to ring herself; she didn’t feel they knew each other well enough yet. Elma had always found it hard to make friends as she was too shy to take the initiative. But Begga, it seemed, had no qualms on that score. Nor did Elma have to make much effort to keep the conversation flowing when they were together since she was lucky if she could get a word in edgeways. Begga, who was on good form now that she’d got her beloved cat back, talked more or less nonstop. When Elma finally got home, she realised that she’d knocked back rather too many glasses. For the second weekend in a row, she welcomed the numbness and temporary release from care that went with being drunk. She smiled foolishly as she searched for her house keys in her pocket. It took her several fumbling attempts to insert the front-door key in the lock, and before she managed to turn it, the door was opened from the inside.
‘How’re you?’ The young man from the flat opposite hers was grinning.
‘Fantastic!’ Elma answered, beaming back at him. She’d thought she would sober up on the walk home but the corridor was moving up and down and she was finding it hard not to sway. The wine made everything seem a little unreal, which was welcome right now.
‘Good evening?’ he asked, looking Elma up and down.
‘Yes. Yes, actually, it was a lot of fun.’ Elma laughed. ‘Thanks for letting me in.’
‘Do you need help with your own door too?’ the young man asked.
‘No, thanks, I think I can manage.’
‘OK,’ he said but showed no signs of budging. Instead, he stood and watched her.
Elma got the key in the lock of her flat door at the first attempt this time. But before she could open it, the young man said quickly:
‘I’ve got some beer in the fridge if you’re interested.’
Elma turned. ‘It’s so late,’ she said, with a rather exaggerated yawn. In her imagination she was already in the bath she’d been planning to run for herself.
‘It’s exactly … twenty past eleven,’ the young man said, grinning again.
‘Really?’ Elma peered hazily at her watch. ‘That early?’
The young man laughed. ‘The offer’s still open, if you’re interested.’
Elma hesitated. ‘Weren’t you going out?’
‘Yes, but only to buy some Coke. It can wait.’
‘All right, maybe just one drink.’ She smiled at him uncertainly. Perhaps she just needed to do something different, something out of character.
‘Great,’ he said and led her into his flat. Elma watched him open the fridge and take out two beers. He was younger than her but very good-looking. Better-looking, in fact, than anyone who had ever shown an interest in her before. Her mind strayed briefly to Sævar and his dinner with his girlfriend’s family. To Davíð too, but she managed to push this thought away. All she asked was to be free of him for one evening. To have one evening where she wasn’t tortured by thoughts of what she could have done differently.
The young man handed her a beer and sat down opposite her on the sofa. She still didn’t know his name. She had only taken one sip when he put down his beer, got up and came over.
Akranes 1991
The two of them sat side by side on the edge of the sandpit, burrowing their feet in the wet sand. One dark haired, in an anorak that was too small for her and scuffed trainers; the other blonde, in a shiny new raincoat and boots. Neither said a word. Two eight-year-old girls, sunk in their own thoughts.
They had always found it easy to be quiet together. Ever since they first met at school it was as if they had tacitly understood that words weren’t always necessary. Unlike most children their age, they felt little need for inconsequential chatter in each other’s presence. The hours they spent together offered a brief respite, a momentary lull from the constant barrage of stimuli that went with being eight years old.
The blonde girl suddenly stood up. She looked at the other girl and sniffed dolefully. ‘I can’t be your friend anymore,’ she said, meeting her eye. Elísabet had been so deep in her own thoughts that she stared at her friend uncomprehendingly for a moment. ‘Mummy says I’m not allowed to play with you,’ Sara continued. She hovered there for a while as if uncertain what to do next, then finally turned on her heel and ran away from the playground. A few moments later she was out of sight.
The dark-haired girl in the wet trainers was left staring down at the sand. Small drops of rain fell from the sky and mingled with the salty tears that were rolling down her cheeks.
Sunday, 3 December 2017
One of the former break supervisors from Elísabet’s school, a woman called Anna, had agreed to meet Elma early on Sunday morning. She had retired and now lived in sheltered accommodation near the Höfði Old People’s Home. She invited Elma to take a seat at a small kitchen table covered in a flowery plastic cloth and put some of the doughnut twists known as kleinur and a cup of coffee in front of her.
‘I only worked at Brekkubær School for a few years,’ she said, once she’d sat down opposite Elma. ‘After I left, in around 1995, I got a job at the Einarsbúð grocery and stayed there until my Bússi died last year. Then I
gave up work and moved here.’
‘Which years did you work at Brekkubær School?’ Elma asked, taking a small mouthful of coffee. She had woken up feeling sick and headachy for the second time in a week. She didn’t intend to make a habit of it.
‘I started at the school in 1989, so … er, that would have been six years, wouldn’t it? It was never meant to be permanent but there you are – it just goes to show what a long time you can spend doing something that was never part of the plan. Be careful you don’t get stuck in a rut like that,’ Anna said with a chuckle. ‘Oh, it was all right. In fact it was fine. There were two of us break supervisors and we kept an eye on the kids at play time, mopped the corridors and so on. It doesn’t sound too exciting but it had its moments. I got to know the kids, especially the naughty ones – the troublemakers.’ She gave another low chuckle.
‘Do you remember a girl called Elísabet?’ Elma asked. She instinctively warmed to this old woman, who sat there smiling and rubbing her bony hands together. Her home was clad in dark wood panelling and the walls were covered with pictures. Children, grandchildren – and great-grandchildren, she had announced proudly as she pointed to the most recent photo, of a little boy with a single tooth who sat holding a ball. Elma had also noticed the small glass table in the sitting room on which were arranged the photo of a man in a gilded frame, a glass candleholder and a small book with a cross on the front.
‘Elísabet?’ Anna frowned. ‘Elísabet … no, I don’t remember anyone of that name.’
Elma took out her phone and showed her the photo of Elísabet as a child from the Akranes photography archive.
‘Oh, you mean little Beta,’ Anna said, her face lighting up when she saw the picture. ‘Do I? Poor little mite, she had such a tough time. I always felt sorry for her. She came from a broken home, you know: her father was dead and her mother … she wasn’t well. A neighbour used to look after her most of the time – Solla, quite a good friend of mine. But in spite of everything Beta was always so calm and level-headed, like she was untouchable somehow. Of course she wasn’t, but she seemed different from the other kids. Looking back, I suppose she was more grown up because of what she’d had to go through. She always seemed like she was older than the other kids.’
‘When you say “what she’d had to go through”, are you talking about the deaths of her father and brother?’
‘Well, yes, there was that too, which of course can’t have been easy. But that happened before she started school. She was always a serious little thing but she was still a child. She used to laugh and play and watch the other kids. It was only after her friend died that she – how shall I put it? – she seemed totally lost. She used to turn up to school but she didn’t watch the other kids anymore, let alone take part in their games. She kept herself to herself mostly, and the other kids picked up on it and made fun of her. Poor little thing.’
‘Her friend died?’ Elma asked.
‘Oh, yes, it was terrible. They used to spend all their time together. I saw them walking home from school almost every day. They were like chalk and cheese: Sara so blonde and Elísabet so dark. You can see them in that picture. That’s Sara, behind Elísabet and Magnea.’
‘How did she die?’ Headache and nausea forgotten, Elma studied the picture on her phone with new interest. Behind Elísabet and Magnea was a fair-haired girl who was looking up at the camera. She was lying on her stomach with a sheet of paper in front of her and crayons scattered all over the floor.
‘Yes. Surely you must remember it? The whole town was in shock. I’ve never known anything so tragic.’ Anna shivered. ‘The girl just vanished. All they ever found were her trainers on the beach at Krókalón.’ Anna gazed out of the window, her eyes sorrowful. Her house was near Langisandur and had a view of the sea, but as it was high tide, hardly any of the yellow beach could be seen. ‘They began the search when she didn’t come home at suppertime. But it wasn’t until several days later that a raft they thought had something to do with her disappearance washed up on the beach where they’d found her shoes.’
‘What about Sara herself? Did they never find her body?’
‘No.’ Anna’s voice grew huskier. ‘She was never found.’
Elma was silent, a chill running through her flesh.
‘Ása and Hendrik were inconsolable,’ Anna added, and took a mouthful of coffee.
‘Ása and Hendrik?’
‘Yes,’ Anna said. ‘Sara’s parents. They never really got over their loss.’
The shift was changing when Elma got back to the police station. Weary officers were saying goodbye and preparing to go home while the new shift took over and switched on the coffee machine.
Sævar was sitting at his desk, staring intently at his computer screen. He seemed tired. His hair was a mess and he had shadows under his eyes. Elma paused in the doorway and leant against the doorpost. ‘Is Hörður in?’
‘No, I haven’t seen him.’ Sævar glanced at the clock. ‘He should be here any minute.’
Elma bit her lip. She had no idea what to do with the information she had just received or how it might be significant. ‘OK, maybe I should wait for him.’
Sævar shrugged and she turned to leave, hovered in the corridor for a moment, then went back into his office. When he didn’t notice her, she coughed.
‘Do you remember Sara – Hendrik and Ása’s daughter?’ she asked. When Sævar shook his head, she sat down facing him across the desk. ‘Sara Hendriksdóttir died when she was nine. Her shoes turned up on the beach at Krókalón but her body was never found. They believed she’d been playing on a raft that was swept out to sea.’
‘Oh, yes. Now you mention it, I do remember hearing about the case, but I didn’t move to Akranes until I was in my teens, several years after her disappearance. But of course you couldn’t avoid hearing about it; it was on the national news. A tragic accident. If I remember right, they found biological traces on the raft – a hair caught on a nail or something.’
Elma nodded. ‘Right. I was so young when it happened, only just six, that I only have a very vague memory of it. According to a break supervisor who worked at Brekkubær School at the time, Sara and Elísabet used to be inseparable.’
‘Where are you going with this?’ Sævar asked.
Elma sighed. ‘I don’t know. It just strikes me as a bit odd. Why did so few people know that they were friends? Neither Elísabet’s aunt Guðrún nor Eiríkur mentioned Sara’s disappearance when we asked them about Elísabet’s childhood in Akranes, yet it must have been a traumatic experience for her. Do you suppose she never told them about it?’ Elma leant her elbows on his desk and began massaging her temples. ‘I’m puzzled about the fact that Hendrik’s family keeps cropping up in connection with the investigation. I was thinking of talking to Sara’s parents, Ása and Hendrik…’
‘I don’t think that’s a very good idea,’ Sævar interrupted. ‘Making them rake up a family tragedy when we don’t even know if it’s relevant.’
‘No, maybe not.’ Elma stared pensively out of the window behind Sævar. She knew he was right. ‘But what about Magnea? Didn’t she mention Sara at all?’
Sævar shook his head. ‘No, but then we didn’t ask her much about her time at school. She said that she and Elísabet weren’t exactly friends.’
‘Anna, the break supervisor, said that the woman who lived next door to Elísabet used to take care of her. She was called Solla, or Sólveig. Do you reckon she could be the woman Eiríkur mentioned? He said the only time Elísabet went into Akranes was to visit some old lady.’
‘Yes, that sounds likely. It’s bound to be the same woman,’ Sævar agreed. He yawned and turned back to the sports news on his computer, apparently unaffected by Elma’s excitement. ‘I just find it hard to see how it can have any relevance to what happened to Elísabet,’ he added, after a pause, looking back at Elma.
She nodded. Although she didn’t agree, she didn’t say so. For her, this latest detail sounded like too much
of a coincidence. There had to be a link. She didn’t know what but she had every intention of finding out.
‘Elma?’
‘Yes?’ Snapping out of her thoughts, she saw that Sævar was grinning.
‘Was there anything else?’
Elma shook her head and left his office.
It turned out that Hörður remembered Sara’s disappearance well. ‘Hendrik and Ása reported her missing when she didn’t come home that evening. We searched the nearby playgrounds and knocked on doors but no one had seen her. We soon started combing the beaches and that’s when we found her shoes. It was only really then that we began to suspect the worst.’ Hörður frowned at Elma, puzzled. ‘Why are you asking about that now?’
Elma repeated what she had told Sævar, but Hörður was obviously unimpressed; he shrugged and muttered that it was highly unlikely to have any connection to the investigation. ‘Though it might be one reason why Elísabet avoided coming to Akranes,’ he conceded. ‘There were obviously too many ghosts here. Still, that doesn’t explain why she was found dead by the lighthouse.’
‘I was thinking of sounding out Sara’s parents,’ Elma began, ‘Ása and Hendrik, but—’
‘You will do nothing of the sort!’ Hörður snapped. ‘You’re talking about an incident that happened thirty years ago; we’re not going to start digging that up now.’
‘I know it’s a delicate subject,’ Elma hastened to assure him. ‘I just thought maybe Sara’s parents could tell us more about Elísabet’s situation, seeing as she was close friends with their daughter. Don’t forget that Halla rented the house from them as well.’
Hörður frowned. ‘No, the whole thing’s too far-fetched. We’ve already interviewed Bjarni and Magnea; it’ll start to look like we’re persecuting the family if we go on like this.’ Squaring his shoulders, he added: ‘To be honest with you, the situation’s not looking hopeful. We found nothing in the car, no DNA, except from Elísabet and her children; no blood; nothing. The only remotely interesting find was some strands of wool on the driver’s seat.’
The Creak on the Stairs Page 21