1976
The meeting with Einar at the prison continued to haunt Hulda for a long time afterwards.
The despair in his eyes, through which she had nevertheless caught occasional glimpses of his youth; the faint hope in his voice. His face scored with lines long before his time, a young man grey and wan after a decade in the dark.
Hulda had discussed the case a little with Jón over supper without divulging anything particularly confidential. After all, it was common knowledge that Einar was serving a prison sentence for armed robbery and manslaughter.
‘How could it happen?’ Hulda had asked her husband, but he couldn’t provide any answers. Jón was a man of few words, more interested in business, property and the stock market than police matters. He was always so level-headed that she couldn’t imagine him ever being guilty of a crime.
Jón praised the food instead. Hulda had poached haddock, which didn’t require any special skill, though it was delicious.
As the meal was ending, he had asked – as he did from time to time – whether Hulda wasn’t involved in matters that were too distasteful, like meeting condemned criminals in prison, and whether she shouldn’t consider a change of career.
It was never too late to try something new.
Then he had added that one should never forget the victims. Einar had killed a man, causing irreparable damage, and somewhere there must be family members who were still mourning their loss.
Few things got on Hulda’s nerves more than comments like these, but she ignored them, as usual.
This was typical of Jón, but he didn’t really mean it.
He would probably be happier if his wife was doing a quieter, safer job, but Hulda had no intention of living her life like that.
She wanted to make a difference, break down walls, do something to be remembered by, while also taking care of her family.
She also meant to continue with her mountain-hiking trips, with or without Jón.
She loved the highlands and enjoyed keeping fit by walking, but she had the feeling that Jón was losing his enthusiasm for this shared hobby of theirs.
Hulda hadn’t exactly made many female friends over the years, but no doubt this could be rectified and she could find herself a walking companion.
For the moment, though, she was content with Jón and Dimma, and her job.
‘I’m going to look in on Dimma,’ Hulda said, getting up from the table. The house was quiet and peaceful that evening, as it was most evenings.
She thought about what Jón had said. Somewhere there must be family members who were still mourning their loss .
Next morning, Hulda stood in the summer rain outside a block of flats on Kaplaskjólsvegur in the west end of Reykjavík. She pressed the bell marked ‘Elísabet Karlsdóttir’, introduced herself over the intercom, explaining that she was from the police, and was buzzed in.
‘I hope I haven’t done anything wrong,’ the occupant, a woman of about seventy, said.
‘You’re Elísabet, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Could I have a word with you, just a quick one? And no, you definitely haven’t done anything wrong.’
‘Come in. No need to take off your shoes. You seem harmless enough.’
Hulda took this as praise.
‘There were no women working on the investigation when my husband died,’ Elísabet added. ‘We can take a seat in the kitchen, if that’s all right by you.’
‘That’s fine.’
The kitchen was small and neat, a relic of the fifties, with white wooden units and yellowish-brown tiles. There was a pleasant smell of fresh coffee in the air.
‘I was just having a cup and trying to read my fortune in the grounds. There’s more hot coffee in the pot if you’d like some.’
‘Yes, please.’
‘Has anything new come to light?’ Elísabet asked as she poured a cup for Hulda. ‘About the robbery?’
‘No, I’m afraid not. There’s no news, and Einar’s still in prison.’
‘I was so angry at first,’ Elísabet said, inviting Hulda to take a seat at the kitchen table, then joining her. ‘But I’m not any longer. You can’t go on nursing your anger, it just eats away at you inside. I sometimes take refuge in my faith; that helps. But the worst part is being alone.’
Her words had an extraordinary effect on Hulda, suddenly filling her with a crushing awareness of what it would feel like to be alone in the world. She reminded herself that she had Jón and Dimma, and made a private vow never to be left on her own like this poor widow.
‘Will you tell me about your husband?’
Hulda hadn’t discussed this visit with anyone, not even with her boss or Jón. She had simply slipped away from the police station for undisclosed reasons.
‘Hinrik was… oh, such a dear man. That describes him pretty well. We both grew up in the west, in the countryside near Hvanneyri. Our parents knew each other as our farms weren’t far apart and we used to play together as children. I never expected to fall in love with him, though.’
‘Then later you moved to the city?’
The tragedy felt almost palpable to Hulda as she sat there across the table from Elísabet.
Hulda had felt for Einar when she met him in prison, but she mustn’t forget ‘the irreparable damage’ he had caused, as Jón had put it over supper.
Elísabet must sit at this kitchen table day in, day out, all alone, trying to read the future in her coffee grounds.
But Einar hadn’t been the only one responsible; somewhere his accomplice was still walking free, and it had never been satisfactorily proved – except by Einar’s confession – who had fired the gun.
‘Yes, we both had older siblings who eventually took over our respective farms. Hinrik got a job in a fish factory in Reykjavík, then went to night school. He ended up working in a bank. Have you ever worked in a bank?’
Hulda shook her head.
‘It was great. Job security, good pay, a respectable position. He worked his way up; never to the top, mind – he would have had to stay on longer at school for that – but by the end he was an experienced cashier with quite a bit of responsibility. Part of his job was to react to any threats and call the police if necessary. He took this duty seriously – too seriously, the dear man – and fate saw to the rest. I’ve gone over that day repeatedly in my mind.
You see, Hinrik was a bit out of sorts that morning; he had a cold, and I said to him – I remember it so well: Hinrik, dear, stay in bed today.
They’ll manage without you. But he was so conscientious – he’d learnt at home on the farm never to slack – so he put a brave face on it.
He enjoyed his job. He’d been at the bank for years and didn’t have much time left before he could draw his pension.
We’d been looking forward to it, to spending more time together, but sometimes… ’ Her words trailed off.
Hulda was just about to jump in when Elísabet surprised her by continuing: ‘Have you found the other man?’
Although Elísabet’s voice betrayed how important this was to her, it was also clear that she wasn’t getting her hopes up.
Hulda wished she could give a positive answer, but all she could say was: ‘I’m doing my best.’
‘Would you like to see a photo of my Hinrik?’
‘Yes, please.’
Elísabet got up and quickly returned with a battered photo album.
She opened it.
‘This one’s the best,’ she said, pointing to a black-and-white picture, and Hulda found herself meeting the gaze of a handsome young man wearing a light-coloured suit on a long-ago summer’s day.
The man Einar Másson had murdered.