‘Me, too,’ she said, conscious that her days as a police officer were numbered. ‘I wanted to ask you about a young woman from Russia…’ She allowed a brief silence to develop, in which she studied Áki’s reaction and thought she detected signs that he knew what she was talking about. His gaze flickered away for a second then locked with hers again.
‘Russia?’
‘She came to Iceland as an asylum-seeker,’ Hulda elaborated, deciding to plunge straight in without giving him any warning, ‘but it seems likely she was actually a victim of sex trafficking.’ This was the theory she was working on, so she might as well go ahead and state it as a fact.
‘I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about, Hulda.’ His gaze remained locked with hers. ‘I’m not with you at all. Are you under the impression that I know this woman?’
Know, in the present tense. A sign that he knew nothing about Elena and what had happened to her, or that he was guilty and trying to throw her off the scent?
‘She’s dead,’ Hulda stated bluntly. ‘Her name was Elena. Her body turned up in a cove on Vatnsleysuströnd.’
Áki’s face remained expressionless.
But he didn’t seem about to show Hulda the door. He sat tight: self-possessed, outwardly respectable, in dark-blue jeans, white shirt, black leather jacket and shiny black shoes. His entire appearance, like his house and car, signalled affluence.
‘Nice house, by the way,’ Hulda remarked, surveying her surroundings. ‘What do you do for a living?’
‘Thanks. Though my wife deserves most of the credit. We enjoy being surrounded by beautiful things.’
Hulda smiled. ‘Beautiful’ wasn’t the first word that sprang to mind when she saw the furniture and interior decor; ‘soulless’ was the adjective she’d have chosen.
But she didn’t say anything, merely waited for him to answer her question.
‘I’m in the wholesale business,’ he said after a moment, clearly proud of the fact, or at least keen to give that impression.
‘What do you sell?’
‘What do you want?’ His smile widened, then he went on, more soberly: ‘Maybe I shouldn’t joke about it in front of a cop. I import a bit of this and a bit of that: alcohol, furniture, electrical goods, whatever can be sold on for a good margin. I hope being a capitalist isn’t a crime yet.’
‘Of course not. And that’s it?’
‘It?’
‘Were you acquainted with Elena at all? I can show you a photo of her.’
‘There’s no need. I can assure you I didn’t know her. I’ve never heard her name before, never met any Russian asylum-seekers, don’t do any business with Russia full stop. And I’m happily married, so I have no need to resort to hookers, if that’s what you’re implying.’ He still exuded an almost preternatural calm.
‘No, far from it,’ Hulda assured him. She was aware of a growing sense of unease, in spite of the opulent surroundings. The glass coffee table between them shone like a mirror, the room was light and airy, the late-afternoon sun sent shafts of light through the windows. Áki gave the impression of being a perfectly respectable member of the public, polite, well groomed, good-looking even, yet her gut instinct told her she was crossing swords with a formidable adversary – and on his home ground.
Although the ensuing silence lasted only a few seconds, the time seemed to pass with infinite slowness.
‘Actually, what I wanted to ask…’ Unusually for her, Hulda was hesitant. She forced herself to continue: ‘What I wanted to ask is whether you were responsible for bringing her to the country.’
Áki didn’t seem remotely disturbed.
‘Well, there’s a question. Are you asking me if I brought a prostitute into the country?’
‘Yes, or prostitutes.’
‘Now you’ve really lost me.’ His voice had acquired a slight edge, and Hulda felt suddenly, unaccountably, chilled, despite the warmth of the room.
‘I’m talking about trafficking,’ she went on doggedly. ‘Organized prostitution. According to my information, Elena was mixed up in that kind of racket.’
‘Interesting. And why exactly would you think that I’m involved in that line of business?’ Áki’s voice had recovered its silky smoothness.
‘I don’t think anything,’ Hulda said hastily, reluctant to accuse him directly of being engaged in criminal activities when she had no solid evidence.
‘But you’re insinuating as much,’ he said, smiling again.
‘No, I’m simply asking if you know anything about this girl or that kind of activity?’
‘And I’ve already told you that I don’t. To be frank, I find it a bit much that a police officer should come knocking on the door of a law-abiding citizen like me, someone who’s always paid more than his fair share of tax, and coolly accuse me of running some kind of vice ring. Don’t you agree?’ He was still oddly calm, his voice level. Hulda wondered if an innocent man wouldn’t have been more affronted, more self-righteously angry.
‘I haven’t accused you of anything, and if you know nothing about Elena…’
‘Why did you come here?’ he asked abruptly, catching her off guard. ‘What gave you the idea to come and see me?’
She could hardly tell him that her source in the police believed him to be a major player in the sex industry.
After an awkward pause, she said: ‘An anonymous tip-off.’
‘An anonymous tip-off? They’re not always reliable, are they?’ He pressed home his advantage: ‘Have you got any evidence for me to refute? It’s hard to defend yourself against allegations snatched from thin air. You must be aware’ ‒ he leaned a little closer ‒ ‘that I have a reputation to protect. In business, a good reputation is everything.’
‘I quite understand. And I can assure you that this conversation won’t go any further. Since you’re obviously unfamiliar with the case, there’s nothing more to be said.’ Hulda felt an urgent desire to get out of the house, out into the sunny spring afternoon, though Áki’s behaviour had not been in the least threatening. Quite the opposite, in fact.
Suddenly, she felt hemmed in. Her palms were sweating and she was feeling increasingly jumpy, sensing that the tables had been turned. She had often tried to enter the heads of suspects, not out of sympathy for their plight so much as to improve her interrogation technique. Over the years, she reckoned she’d become pretty adept at it. Once she had gone so far as to have herself locked in a cell to find out what that sort of confinement felt like and how long she would be able to stick it out. Before locking the door, her colleague had asked if she was sure about this, and she had nodded, despite feeling the cold sweat prickling her skin. He had closed the door, leaving Hulda alone with nothing but the four walls. Next to the reinforced door was a narrow window and, above the bed, another, slightly larger one with frosted glass, the only purpose of which was to admit a small amount of light. Finding herself breathing unnaturally quickly, Hulda had closed her eyes to distract her attention from the fact that she was trapped in a small space. But far from helping, this had made her feel so claustrophobic that she was afraid she was going to faint. Yet she knew that, unlike real prisoners, all she had to do was knock on the door to be let out. Panting, close to hysteria, she had stuck it out for as long as she could before finally jumping up and banging on the door. When her colleague didn’t immediately respond, she had been on the verge of screaming, flinging herself against the door and hammering on it with all her might. But at that moment, mercifully, it had opened. She had felt as though she’d been locked in for hours, but her colleague had glanced at the clock and said: ‘You only lasted a minute.’
The claustrophobia wasn’t as intense now, but something about this encounter in Áki’s living room had triggered the memory.
She rose to her feet. ‘It was nice to meet you. Thanks for agreeing to see me unannounced like this.’
Áki stood up as well. ‘My pleasure, Hulda. Do get in touch if I can assist you any further with your in
quiries.’ He extended his hand and she shook it in parting. ‘Of course, I’ll get in contact if I hear anything,’ he said with a laugh. ‘Though it’s rarely that exciting in the wholesale business. Hulda – Hulda Hermannsdóttir, wasn’t it?’ he said, and this time there was no mistaking the menace underlying his words.
X
The day of the trip had arrived. She stood to one side, watching him pack two rucksacks, one of them for her. ‘Do I really need all that?’ she asked, as it dawned on her that this trip was going to be a lot tougher than she had realized. Nodding, he told her she couldn’t get away with any less kit. The pack contained a sleeping bag that would keep her alive during the freezing nights, food supplies, a thick scarf, a pair of gloves that looked too big for her, a woolly hat and an empty bottle. When she asked if she should fill it with water, he laughed. Don’t forget we’re in Iceland: there’s more than enough clean water here. We’ll be staying overnight in a mountain hut and the water in the stream there is far purer than anything you’ll get out of the tap.
Just when she thought there wasn’t room for anything else, he had added a torch and some batteries then announced that he reckoned that was it. She lifted her pack with difficulty, gasping at the weight and exclaiming that it was far too heavy. ‘Nonsense,’ he said. ‘You won’t notice it once it’s on your back. You’ll need these, too … He reached for a pair of walking poles and strapped them to the outside.
After loading both packs into the car, he asked if she knew how to ski. She shook her head, spotting a ray of light, a possible way out. She’d never skied in her life, she told him, and it was far too late to start now. Perhaps they’d better not go on the trip after all. He laughed and said there was no way he was going to let her down like that. Then he disappeared and returned with a pair of skis, two poles and a thick rope.
She asked nervously if he was planning to go skiing without her.
It was a safety precaution, he explained: if anything went wrong he could ski for help. Seeing her eyes on the rope, he added that it was necessary in case the car got bogged down.
‘Are you expecting that to happen?’ she asked, her breath catching in her throat.
‘No, no chance,’ he reassured her. And she believed him.
She climbed into the passenger seat and he switched on the ignition, then suddenly appeared to remember something. Telling her to hang on a minute, he hurried back inside, leaving the engine running. She watched him in the mirror and, when she saw him return, carrying two axes, her heart missed a beat. He shoved them in the boot and got back behind the wheel.
‘Were those … axes?’ Her voice trembled a little, though she did her best to hide the chill that had flooded her heart at the sight.
‘Sure, ice axes – one each.’
‘Why on earth do we need ice axes?’ she asked. ‘I don’t want to take any risks: I’m not used to extreme sports.’
‘Don’t worry, they’re just a precaution. It’s better to be prepared for every eventuality. It won’t be dangerous, just an adventure.’
Just an adventure.
XI
Hulda had a clear memory of the day Jón died.
She had been working late, as she often did, looking into a violent attack in the centre of Reykjavík. She wasn’t officially in charge of the case, but she had borne most of the weight of the investigation. Incidents like this were fairly frequent at weekends, when the bars were open until late. When they closed, everyone poured out into the streets, creating a carnival atmosphere every Friday and Saturday night. With so many people drunk, the police often had to intervene, and sometimes the cases were serious, leading to formal charges.
It was a Thursday, and Hulda had spent the week interviewing witnesses and trying to establish who had attacked the young man in question, who was still in hospital.
It was nearly midnight when she got back to their house on Álftanes.
A house, but no longer a home.
The couple hardly spoke to each other any more.
Everything about the house felt cold and bleak, from the trees outside to the atmosphere indoors, the furniture, even the bed. She and Jón no longer shared a room.
She came in to find Jón lying on the living-room floor, so very still, so very dead.
When, in due course, the ambulance arrived, the paramedics had pretended at first that something could be done, trotting out meaningless phrases in an attempt to comfort her, but of course it was too late. He had passed away earlier that day.
‘He had a heart condition,’ was all Hulda had said. Two colleagues from the police arrived at the scene, young men. She knew them both, though they weren’t friends. She didn’t have any friends in the police. She had gone to the hospital in the ambulance, staying close by Jón’s side.
Since that evening, she had been alone in the world.
XII
She wasn’t entirely sure why he had invited her on this trip.
Most of the time he was nice, though there was an intensity about him that made her a little uncomfortable. But he had told her they were friends, and she could really use a friend in this strange country.
She had the feeling he wanted more than just friendship, though; that he harboured stronger feelings for her, but she knew that nothing would ever happen between them.
She had almost turned down his invitation to go on a trip out of town, but decided in the end to embrace this chance to enjoy life a little. She was fairly confident he wouldn’t make a move; tried to convince herself he was simply doing her a favour.
After all, what was the worst that could happen?
XIII
The mother had lost her job, not that this should have come as any surprise. Her boss had been dubious about her being a single mother from the first, telling her bluntly that he preferred to employ childless women: they were more reliable and could keep their mind on the job.
Then, one day, he informed her that she needn’t bother coming in the next day. She protested that she had a right to a longer period of notice, but he disputed this, denying that he owed her a króna more than he’d already paid her. The following days had been a nightmare, as her worries had proved infectious, making her daughter even more fractious than usual. She calculated how long they could survive on her small pot of savings, how long they’d have enough to eat, how long it would be before they were thrown out of the flat she was renting. The answers didn’t look good, however many times she did the sums.
Which was how she ended up swallowing her pride and moving back in with her parents, this time with their grandchild in tow. The old couple quickly came to dote on the child, though their behaviour towards their daughter was cold to begin with. The little girl grew especially close to her grandfather, who would read to her and play with her, but it was as if this caused the fragile bond between mother and daughter to fray, to slowly unravel, until the terrible day when her daughter stopped calling her Mamma.
XIV
It was still fairly light when they set off. Once they had left town, the traffic thinned out until, eventually, they turned off on to a sideroad that appeared to be little used. A chain with a sign in the middle had been strung across it, as if to block it off to vehicles.
She turned to look at him and asked if the road was closed.
Nodding, he swung the wheel, swerving off the road then back on to it, on the other side of the chain.
‘Is it safe?’ she asked nervously. ‘Are we allowed to drive on it if it’s closed?’
He replied that the road wasn’t exactly closed; the sign was just there as a warning that it was impassable.
Again, she experienced that creeping feeling of misgiving, that it was a bad idea to have come on this trip.
‘Impassable?’ She kept her eyes fixed on his face.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said, patting the wheel and smiling at her. ‘Give this baby a chance to show us what she can do.’
In contrast to the bleak, wintry world outside, it was warm in the car,
the heater pumping in a constant blast of hot air. She thought about her parents’ car back home. The heater had never worked.
She looked out at the landscape, at the vast, treeless expanse, enchanted but a little afraid. Everything was so white, as far as the eye could see, apart from the odd glimpse of black – rocks, perhaps, or tufts of grass. A faint blue light hung over the mountains; the beauty was all-encompassing. It was so peaceful, too. Although they hadn’t been driving long, they might have been alone in the world. The isolation was thrilling, yet at the same time it frightened her. The landscape felt somehow cruel and unforgiving, especially now, in winter; nature didn’t care if you lived or died. It would be terrifyingly easy to get lost here.
Abruptly, she was jolted out of her thoughts as the car skidded in the deep snow and, for one horrible moment, she thought they were going to veer off the road and roll over. Heart pounding, she braced herself for the impact. But her fears proved unnecessary, as the car righted itself.
The radio was emitting a flow of words that she couldn’t understand. It sounded like a monotonous recital of facts.
In the end, she felt compelled to ask what the announcer was saying.
‘It’s the weather forecast,’ her companion replied.
‘So what’s the forecast like?’
‘Not too good,’ he said. ‘They’re predicting a heavy snowfall.’
‘Shouldn’t we…’ She hesitated, then said it: ‘Shouldn’t we turn back, then?’
‘No way,’ he replied. ‘Bad weather will just add to the thrill.’
XV
When her phone rang, Hulda was standing by the hot-dog stand on Tryggvagata, grabbing a quick snack in the evening sun. This particular stand had been an important landmark in Icelandic cuisine for decades. Long before the concept of the takeaway was introduced to the country, its hot dogs had taken on the status of a national dish. Later, the stand had been given the international seal of approval when a former US president had stopped there for a hot dog while on a visit.
The Darkness Page 8