The first person Elma met when she arrived at the police station that morning was Gígja, or rather the lower half of her, as the upper half was hidden inside an SUV.
‘Do you need a hand?’ Elma called over the noise of the wind.
Gígja looked round. ‘Hi, Elma,’ she said. ‘Yes, it might be good to have some help. I dropped in at the bakery on the way, but they packed it all in boxes, which are hopeless for carrying.’
‘Here, let me take that.’
They went inside, loaded down with bags and boxes of pastries.
‘Isn’t this way too much, Gígja?’ Elma asked, surveying the little table in the coffee room. Gígja had bought enough to feed an army.
Gígja looked at all the food and burst out laughing. ‘You know, she said, ‘you may be right. In that case you’ll all just have to take the leftovers home with you.’
Elma shook her head. She was pouring yesterday’s coffee down the sink when Sævar came in.
‘The road’s imp— … Whose birthday is it?’ he asked, distracted, glancing from Gígja to Elma.
‘It must be somebody’s somewhere,’ Elma said.
‘Yes, it’s always somebody’s birthday,’ Gígja agreed. She put down the knife she’d been using to cut the length of Danish pastry into slices. ‘Anyway, I’ll be off.’
‘Won’t you stay and have some with us?’ Elma asked.
‘No, it’s not good for me.’ Gígja slung her bag over her shoulder. ‘I need to get to work.’
‘Aren’t you…?’ Elma hesitated. She hadn’t discussed Gígja’s cancer with her and didn’t know if she preferred to keep it private. Hörður was reluctant to discuss it, and Elma had learnt the news from her mother rather than him. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘There’s nothing wrong with me,’ Gígja said. ‘Hörður’s behaving as if I should be lying with my feet up all day.’ She glanced at the door, as if to make sure he couldn’t hear, before adding in a whisper: ‘Don’t tell him about work. The poor man just needs to take it a bit easier.’ She winked at them both, then headed off.
‘What were you saying, Sævar?’ Elma asked through a mouthful of caramel-iced doughnut.
‘The road’s impassable by Hafnarfjall,’ Sævar said, referring to the infamous black spot, where the road wound round the foot of the mountain on the coast north of Akranes and the wind speed had been known to reach more than 250 kilometres per hour. ‘We’ll have to wait until the gale dies down before we can do our Borgarnes trip.’
Raindrops were rattling on the glass and there was a screaming from the window frame, even though it was closed. It didn’t look as if they’d be going to Borgarnes any time in the next few hours. The storm wasn’t expected to slacken off until after lunch at the earliest. Elma’s thoughts flew to Jakob, and she wondered if he was still lying, snuggled up under her warm duvet. He always slept so deeply and so late, whereas she was normally wide awake on the dot of seven, even at weekends.
It was five days since Maríanna’s body had been found and they had made little appreciable progress. The case was constantly in the news, with endless reports rehashing details of the original inquiry, accompanied by pictures of Maríanna. The police had published a phone number with a request for the public to get in touch if they had any information about her movements on Friday, 4 May. But, again, the seven-month interval was a big disadvantage – people simply couldn’t remember that far back. So far, none of the messages currently inundating CID had stood up to scrutiny.
Elma got out the case files again. Top of the pile was the envelope Maríanna had left behind for Hekla. The note had been the main reason for thinking that she had taken her own life. Elma wondered why Maríanna had written it that day. What exactly had happened to make her feel she owed Hekla an apology? Could it have been about the football tournament? Elma had to admit that she found it strange of Maríanna not to let Hekla take part. After all, the girl wouldn’t necessarily have had to stay with Bergrún: Maríanna could have accompanied her daughter herself, if she’d wanted to. If the note did refer to the tournament, it must mean that Maríanna had been expecting Hekla to come home, in which case she would hardly have gone chasing after her to Akranes. Unless the message had been left that morning, before Maríanna went to work, and something had come up in the meantime.
The envelope, which was unopened, looked like an ordinary bill. Elma stared at it for a moment, then tore it open. It turned out to contain a standard warning notice that if the bill wasn’t paid within the next few days, interest would be charged. It wasn’t for a particularly large sum – thirty thousand krónur for TV and internet usage. What drew Elma’s attention, though, was the fact that the letter was dated more than a year before Maríanna had vanished. Why on earth would she have pulled out such an old piece of post to write a note to Hekla on? Elma closed her eyes and tried to picture the flat. She couldn’t remember any piles of bills lying around. Was it possible that Hekla had put an old note from her mother on the kitchen table? They had got an expert to confirm that the handwriting was Maríanna’s, but, all the same, there was definitely something odd about this. Elma leant forward and switched on her monitor. It was time to take a closer look at Hekla.
Eight Years Old
When I enter the flat after work, the air is so heavy and close that it’s like walking into a wall. There was a storm last night and I made sure all the windows were tightly closed, forgetting to open them again before we went out this morning. I walk around the flat, drawing the curtains and opening all the windows. She should be on her way home by now. I scan the street for her, squinting against the sun that has momentarily broken through the oppressive layer of cloud. Children stream past on their way home from school, and I recognise several girls from her class. They are walking in such a tight knot that their arms are touching, all of them laughing and whispering together. Then I see her.
My daughter might as well not exist, although she’s only a few steps behind them. She doesn’t say a word, just follows them like a shadow. Her desperation to be part of the group, to belong, is almost palpable. It drips from every ingratiating smile she puts on that none of them notice. They totally ignore her. Aren’t even aware of her. Yet she continues to trail after them, eavesdropping on their conversation, smiling when they laugh, staring mesmerised at their pink school bags. I hide behind the curtains, watching, though the sight makes me want to cry. Why is she like this?
Without warning, one of them turns, and I see my daughter’s smile when they finally deign to notice her. Even from my post up here by the window I can see the hope quickening in her face. But then the girl leans towards the others and whispers something. They laugh and quickly walk on. My daughter stands still, staring after them. For a while she appears to be considering whether to follow them. Oh God, I hope she doesn’t. How tragic would that be? She doesn’t seem to have a clue about social interaction. Doesn’t realise when she’s being rejected; doesn’t understand why they snap at her and make spiteful remarks. Doesn’t understand boundaries or when she’s being annoying or weird. Perhaps that’s a mercy, because at least she doesn’t understand what the other children think of her. But I dread the day when she does realise and what that will do to her.
As I’m thinking this, I notice the girls abruptly stop and turn round. It’s a coordinated movement. Premeditated. My daughter halts because she can’t do anything else. They are blocking the pavement, standing arm in arm. Although I can’t hear what is said, I get a sick feeling in my stomach. I doubt they’re inviting her to come home with them or complimenting her on her hat. A moment passes, and I pray to God that nothing bad will happen; that they’ll just turn round again and carry on walking. But then one of them steps forward and something is said and done, and then it’s impossible to see what’s going on because they’ve formed a circle around her. There’s a scuffle, and I try to see if she’s OK, but my view is blocked by a wall of backs, until a moment later something red is flung into the road. Her hat.
I don’t waste time pulling on a coat. I don’t even wait for the lift but run down the stairs, all eight storeys. My heart is in my throat and the booming in my head drowns out all other sounds. I don’t know what I’ll do when I reach them. I want to scream at them and shake them until their heads jerk back and forth like ragdolls.
But they see me long before I can reach them. They probably hear my voice; the yelling that doesn’t sound like me at all but like some mad woman. Their heads whip round, they exchange glances, then take to their heels, their school bags bouncing on their backs. I feel an urge to chase after them, to catch them and hold them down while I tear off their limbs one by one, but I don’t do it. Instead, I bend down and pick her up. Some of the other kids are dawdling on their way home, watching us. I ignore them. Then a boy who can hardly be more than six years old taps my arm and holds out the red hat. It’s wet from lying in the road, but I take it, studying the boy. He’s small and fair with big, fat cheeks, and I could hug him. Instead, I put the school bag on her back and pick her up in my arms, something I haven’t done since she was a baby. She buries her face in my hair, and all the way home I can feel her hot breath on my neck.
Her heart beating against mine.
Sævar and Hörður conceded that the date of the bill was a bit odd, but pointed out that there could be a natural explanation for that. Maríanna could simply have had the old envelope lying around in a drawer or among some other papers. But, envelope or not, they agreed on the need to take a closer look at Hekla, part of which would entail checking if she had a boyfriend or other friend with a driving licence. Elma did a background check on Agnar, the boy who had commented on Hekla’s photo. After a brief search she discovered that he lived in Akranes and worked at a restaurant, so there was a good chance he would be at home in the mornings. That was convenient, since it meant she could use the time while the storm was blowing itself out to interview him.
Elma had never been particularly good at talking to teenage boys. They were as alien to her now as they had been when she was a teenager herself. She knocked on Sævar’s door. He was staring with great concentration at his computer screen but looked up when she appeared.
‘Bad news,’ he said, before she could say a word.
‘Oh?’
‘Sölvi’s phone didn’t leave Borgarnes the day Maríanna vanished. Which means he can’t have taken her to Akranes unless he left his phone behind, and there aren’t many people who go anywhere without their phones these days, are there?’
‘Not unless it was a cunning ploy to hide his movements,’ Elma said.
‘Yes, that’s a possibility, of course. But we’ve got nothing else on him.’
Elma sighed. It was high time the investigation started throwing up some proper leads.
‘Have you got any news?’
‘Well, actually, there is one thing,’ Elma began, then told him that she’d almost certainly found Hekla’s boyfriend. ‘But talking to teenage boys isn’t my forte, so…’
‘So you want me to come along as a true master of the art?’
Elma smiled. ‘Well, I wouldn’t put it quite like that but … yes.’
Sævar stood up and took his coat off the peg. As he did so, a violent gust of wind shook the window glass and howled through the gaps. ‘The things I do for you,’ Sævar said, shaking his head.
Vesturgata was the longest street in Akranes and ran along the northern shore, with a view across the stormy grey sea to the Snæfellsnes Peninsula and the dome of the glacier rising at its tip. Many of the houses were noticeably rundown. Some lined the street, others were set back, and from their gardens it was only a few steps down to the black-sand beach.
‘Bingo,’ Sævar said as they parked in front of the address where Agnar was registered as living. ‘A green Volvo S80,’ he explained when Elma looked at him enquiringly. ‘Does he live with his parents?’
‘I don’t know,’ Elma said. ‘But I doubt he lives alone in a house this size.’
It was a two-storey building, clad in red corrugated iron. They walked up the steps and rang the doorbell, then waited a while without being aware of any sound or movement.
‘These houses often have basement flats,’ Sævar observed, walking down the steps.
Elma followed him into the garden and round to a door on the left-hand side of the house. They knocked and after a brief interval the door opened. Elma hadn’t known what to expect as she hadn’t found any photos of Agnar online, but it certainly wasn’t this. The boy standing in the doorway was so tall he was in danger of bumping his head on the lintel. His arms were unusually long and thin, the bones uncomfortably visible through the white skin. His face was similarly pale and thin, with a prominent jaw, high cheekbones and startlingly large, staring eyes. Elma felt as if his face needed correcting somehow. As if it was a rough sculpture that still needed to be tidied and polished.
‘Agnar?’ Sævar asked.
The boy responded with a ‘hmm’ that was presumably a yes. Sævar introduced them, then asked if they could come in a moment, and Agnar stepped aside. Elma gave an involuntary gasp as she entered the flat and was hit by a pungent stench. No doubt it came from the tray of cat litter in the hall that urgently needed cleaning out.
‘We can sit here,’ Agnar said, waving a hand towards a kitchen table with some folding chairs. On the table was a takeaway box, some empty glasses and the remains of a pizza crust. When Elma was younger she and her sister had never been allowed to leave the crusts: their mother had insisted they eat them all up before taking another slice.
‘Do you live here alone?’ Sævar asked, once they were seated.
‘No, with my brother.’
‘Right, well, we won’t bother you long,’ Sævar said. ‘We just wanted to check if you knew Hekla?’
‘Hekla? She’s … or rather she was my girlfriend. We broke up yesterday.’ Agnar yawned, and a gust of foul breath carried across the table to them. He gave no appearance of being distressed by the end of his relationship.
‘Had you been together long?’
‘Yes, nearly a whole year. Since way back in, like, January or something.’ Agnar made it sound as if a year was forever, and Elma smiled inwardly. When she was a teenager a year-long relationship would have seemed like an eternity. Normally they hadn’t lasted for more than a few weeks at that age; rarely for several months.
‘So you were seeing her when her mother disappeared in the spring?’
‘Yep.’
‘Do you know if Hekla came to Akranes the day her mother went missing?’
‘Er … yes.’ Looking suddenly as if he’d said too much, he added hastily: ‘Or, I don’t remember. Maybe it was the next day.’
‘You didn’t see her at all on the Friday? It’s very important that you tell the truth. You know it’s a criminal offence to lie to the police. People go to prison for less.’ Sævar smiled as if he were joking, but Agnar seemed to sense that he was serious.
He didn’t answer for a moment, then sighed and said: ‘Oh, fuck it, I don’t owe that bitch anything after yesterday. She just dumped me after we’d been going out a year, like I was … like I was nobody.’
‘So you did see her that Friday?’
‘No. Or, you know, she asked me to pick her up from Borgarnes.’
‘And did you?’
‘Nope, I was on my way to the gym, and then I had work at four. I said I could pick her up in the evening, but she couldn’t wait. She was going to find another way.’
‘And did she?’
‘What?’ Agnar stared at Sævar as if he had no idea what he was talking about.
‘Did she find another way?’
‘Oh, yes. We were going to meet up in the evening.’
‘And did you meet her in the evening?’ Sævar asked patiently.
‘No, all of a sudden she couldn’t make it. She’d gone back home.’
‘Back home? So she did come to Akranes?’
‘Yes, she did.’
> ‘Do you know how she got here?’
‘No, I don’t.’ Agnar shrugged. ‘Took a bus or something.’
‘And do you know where she was while she was in Akranes?’
‘Just with her family or mates. I don’t know, man. I wasn’t sure what was going on. Then she rang the next day and said that, like … her mum was missing or something.’
Sævar nodded. ‘And when did you next see her?’
‘On the Sunday.’
‘So if we contact the restaurant, your boss will be able to confirm that you were at work all evening?’ Sævar leant forwards, locking eyes with Agnar.
‘Yeah, man.’ He gave them a look as if indignant at the question. ‘I worked till eleven, but my shift was only supposed to last till ten. I remember because I wanted to leave earlier to meet Hekla, but the bastard I work for wouldn’t let us go. Not that we got paid any more. Isn’t that, like, illegal or…?’
‘Did you do it?’
‘What?’ Hekla asked, though she knew perfectly well what Dísa was talking about. They were sitting in the classroom, waiting for the next lesson. The teacher still hadn’t arrived and there was a babble of noise all round them.
‘Did you break up with him?’
Hekla nodded. She and Tinna shared a desk, but they had turned their chairs round to face Dísa, who had the desk behind them all to herself.
‘Did he cry?’ There was a gloating note in Dísa’s voice.
‘Oh, Dísa,’ Tinna said, sending her a sharp glare.
But Hekla couldn’t help smiling, and when the girls saw this, they started laughing. It was such a relief to have broken up with Agnar at last. Now she was free to do as she liked. Well, not quite what she would have liked to do, she reminded herself.
Girls Who Lie Page 15