‘Yes. I just need a quick word with you. Any news?’
‘News? No, there’s never any news here.’ Dóra smiled and closed the paper. ‘New people, yes, but always the same old routine. Or were you talking about, you know, something to do with Elena?’
‘I was, actually.’
‘No, no news there. How are you getting on with your investigation thingy?’
‘Getting there, slowly,’ Hulda said. ‘Look, could we sit down for a minute and have a chat?’
‘Sure, pull up a seat, there’s a stool by the phone.’ Dóra gestured to a table near the reception desk on which there was an old-fashioned desk phone and next to it a bound copy of the telephone directory, a rare sight in this day and age.
‘Actually, I was thinking of somewhere, well, a little more private,’ said Hulda.
‘Oh, none of the residents understand Icelandic. And I’d rather not leave reception unmanned, if I can help it. We’ve already been over this so thoroughly I’m assuming it won’t take long?’
‘No, it shouldn’t,’ said Hulda, giving in. Bringing over the telephone stool, she sat down, facing Dóra across the reception desk.
‘Tell me about Katja.’
‘Katja? The one who did a runner?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Yes, I remember her. Russian, like Elena. They were good friends, I think. Then one day she simply vanished.’
‘Was her disappearance investigated?’
‘I expect so. A policeman came round asking questions, but I couldn’t tell him anything. I thought maybe she’d been delayed somewhere, but she never turned up again. I don’t know if they ever found her, but she certainly never came back here.’
‘She’s still missing.’
‘Oh, right. I always got on well with her. Hope she’s OK, wherever she is.’
‘Did anyone ever link her disappearance to Elena’s death?’
‘Well, that was some time later.’ Dóra looked thoughtful. ‘But, no, I don’t think so. And I didn’t mention it when your friend came round to interview me about Elena.’
‘Alexander?’
‘Yeah. He wasn’t exactly what you’d call keen. Didn’t seem that interested in the case. You strike me as much more energetic.’ Dóra smiled. ‘If someone killed me, I’d definitely rather you were on the case.’
Hulda didn’t smile at the black humour. ‘Yesterday,’ she said, ‘you told me Elena had got into a four-by-four with a stranger.’
‘Uhuh,’ Dóra confirmed.
‘Short, fat and ugly,’ you said.
‘That’s right.’
‘Well, yesterday evening, I met a man who’s indirectly linked to the case, so it’s possible he met Elena at some point. He has access to a four-by-four, too.’ Hulda was reminded of Dóra’s comment about all off-roaders looking the same to her. Perhaps that was because she had seen the same vehicle more than once; perhaps Baldur had fetched Elena in his brother Albert’s car. She’d soon find out. Hulda started rummaging in her bag for her phone. When she couldn’t immediately find it, she was struck by the horrible thought that she might have forgotten it at home, as it now dawned on her that she hadn’t checked it all morning.
‘Sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘Just a sec.’
Ah, there it was. Hulda let out a sigh of relief. ‘The thing is, I’ve got a photo of him here somewhere. Let me see …’
Nothing happened. Was the battery out of juice? Damn.
‘You don’t happen to have a charger for one of these, do you?’ she asked Dóra. ‘That fits this …’ She indicated the power jack.
‘Can I have a look?’ Dóra took the phone, pressed a button and it made a sudden noise. ‘You had it switched off. Here you go.’
At that moment, Hulda had a vague recollection of turning off her phone the night before. ‘Sorry,’ she said, her face reddening. Everything was going wrong today.
As she was searching for the picture the phone started making a shrill bleeping to indicate an incoming text message. Then it did it again and again and again.
‘What on earth’s going on?’ Hulda said aloud, speaking to herself rather than to Dóra. The messages opened one after another on her screen.
CALL ME NOW
CALL ME IMMEDIATELY!
GET DOWN TO THE STATION NOW!
HULDA, CALL ME RIGHT NOW!
The texts were all from her boss, Magnús. And there was one from Alexander, too: ‘Hulda, can you call me? I want to talk to you about the investigation. There’s really no need to reopen it.’ She decided not to reply to Alexander, or to call him.
But she couldn’t ignore Magnús’s texts. What the hell was going on?
Not that she gave a damn.
‘One minute, Dóra. I need to make a quick call.’ Her heart pounding, Hulda selected Magnús’s number but then dithered a moment. Did she really want to talk to him? Was there any way he could have good news for her? And if not, what on earth could he want? For months, he had barely spoken to her, just left her to get on with her cases without showing the slightest interest in them. But now that he had fired her – or as good as – he was suddenly desperate to get in touch with her. Could she have stepped on someone else’s toes?
She braced herself and pressed the call button.
Magnús picked up at the second ring. That in itself was unusual.
‘Hulda, where the hell have you been? For fuck’s sake!’ She had often seen him lose his temper but, hearing his voice now, she realized she had never known him seriously enraged before.
She drew a deep breath. ‘I drove out to Reykjanes to see where Elena’s body was found and follow up a couple of leads. You asked me to carry on with the case today.’
‘Asked you? I let you: there’s a difference. And leads, you say? You’re on some wild-bloody-goose chase, Hulda! Nobody murdered that Russian woman.’
‘Actually, there were two women,’ Hulda chipped in.
‘Two? What do you mean? Anyway, that’s irrelevant. You’re to get yourself over here right now. Do you hear!’
‘Is something wrong?’
‘You bet your life something’s wrong. Get your arse over here right now. We need to talk.’
He hung up. He had often treated her unfairly, she felt, but never had he been so downright rude. Something was seriously wrong.
Hulda sat at the reception desk, feeling shell-shocked. Not knowing what had happened was killing her. All she could think of was that it must have something to do with áki. Had she unwittingly wrecked her colleagues’ investigation? If so, why couldn’t he have told her over the phone?
Finding her voice at last, her face burning, Hulda said: ‘Afraid I’ve got to dash.’
Dóra nodded. ‘Yes, I got the feeling you might. He didn’t sound too happy, whoever he was!’
Hulda forced out a smile. ‘No.’
‘But what was it you wanted to ask me?’
‘What? Oh, of course.’ Hulda lowered her gaze to her phone and eventually located the photograph of Baldur Albertsson. ‘It’s a bit out of focus, but could this have been the man in the four-by-four?’
Dóra peered briefly at the phone then gave an emphatic nod.
Hulda stared at her, completely thrown.
‘That’s him,’ said Dóra. ‘Without a shadow of a doubt.’
XI
She awoke with a gasp.
It was impossible to breathe, she was suffocating. It took her several moments to work out where she was: cocooned in a sleeping bag in a freezing hut in the middle of the night.
The cold was so intense that it had blocked her nose, which is why she was having difficulty breathing. For a moment, she felt trapped in the sleeping bag and scrabbled frantically to widen the opening, feeling close to hysteria. She had to get her head free so she could snatch some air.
Finally, she succeeded.
Sitting up a little, she tried to calm down, to slow the frantic beating of her heart.
Her coat, which she was using as a pillow, had become uncomfortably creased. She refolded it to make it as soft as possible then lay down again, pulling her sleeping bag up to her chin, leaving her head uncovered this time, and concentrated on trying to get back to sleep.
XII