2012
Helgi was woken by the rain; it was still tipping it down out there. The curtains were open in the bedroom and the rain rattled on the glass, streaming down into the dark winter morning. At this time of year, it was always a long wait for daylight.
He turned over, intending to wake Aníta, only to discover that she had gone.
She did this from time to time when she stayed over, slipping away without a word, generally because she needed to go home to get ready for work. Yesterday evening they had finally had a proper conversation about her moving in with him, and planned for it to happen before Christmas, if possible.
Now that they had made the decision, Helgi couldn’t wait to have Aníta living with him in the little flat.
Her presence made him so ridiculously happy.
Even a dismal rainy day like today couldn’t rob him of the feeling.
He eased himself out of bed, still groggy with sleep, but already looking forward to this evening.
He just had to be patient. Maybe he should start the day by going for a run in the rain; brave the weather rather than cowering under the covers.
Getting back to the warm flat after his run, drenched with rain and sweat, had felt so good, with the endorphins pumping through his body and the prospect of a hot shower to look forward to.
It was a different story later that morning, when Helgi dashed the short distance from his car to the police station.
Despite sprinting, he was wet through by the time he reached the entrance.
His coat and trousers were sodden, and so was his shirt where his coat hadn’t protected him.
The atmosphere among his colleagues seemed rather subdued too, he thought, as if the heavy clouds had dragged everyone down with them.
He had brought Elín’s – or Marteinn’s – manuscript with him, still in its plastic bag, and was intending to ask Forensics to examine it for potential evidence before he got down to reading it.
‘There’s a woman waiting to see you, Helgi,’ one of his colleagues said.
‘Sorry?’
‘She’s in the interview room.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘Can’t remember.’
Helgi dropped by his office and hung up his coat.
There would be a puddle on the floor by the end of the day.
He put down his bag too and took out a whodunnit, Brat Farrar by Josephine Tey.
To his relief, it hadn’t got wet. It was yet another story that centred on a missing-persons case.
A young boy vanishes and many years later a stranger turns up, claiming to be him in order to get his hands on the family fortune.
He was fully expecting to find Rut waiting for him. Perhaps she had remembered something else that she had ‘forgotten’ to tell him.
Alternatively, she could have come in to confess belatedly to a crime.
The police were planning to issue a press release about Elín’s disappearance later in the week in order to appeal to the public for information. Someone had to have seen or heard something. Helgi was dreading the media frenzy: he would be under siege from reporters.
But, with any luck, Rut was about to change the course of the investigation.
He opened the door to the interview room, where, to his astonishment, he saw not Rut but Kristín Unnur from the radio.
She was sitting at the table, looking rather downcast, but raised her eyes for a moment when Helgi entered.
‘Hi,’ she said in a low voice.
‘Kristín, I wasn’t expecting you.’ Helgi took a seat opposite her.
‘No, I wasn’t expecting to be here today either.’
It was clear from her appearance that she had been caught in the rain as well, her hair and coat dripping.
‘What can I do for you?’ Helgi asked. He had never seriously entertained the suspicion that Kristín might be directly involved in the case, despite the fact that she had the most to gain from it.
By far the most, in fact. The previous day he had finally received all the information from Elín’s bank – after chasing them several times – and discovered that her accounts contained around two million euros, presumably from international royalties, in addition to which she owned her house outright.
If Elín did turn out to be dead, Kristín would stand to inherit a substantial fortune.
She didn’t immediately respond to Helgi’s question.
The only thing breaking the silence in the hot, muggy room was the roar of the wind and rain outside.
Helgi got up and pulled back the curtains to admit some light.
He remained there for a moment or two, staring out at the drab, grey view.
The miserable weather, the traffic lights, the cars, the blocks of concrete – there was nothing out there to gladden the eye.
He felt an overpowering longing to go home and crawl back into bed with his book.
‘There’s something we need to discuss,’ Kristín said at last, her voice sounding stronger than before.
Helgi put aside his speculation that she might be responsible somehow for Elín’s disappearance. It seemed too far-fetched.
Kristín was silent again for a moment, then took a deep breath.
‘I met Elín once, as I told you.’
‘Right. Through work.’
She nodded.
‘A radio interview?’
‘No, actually. This was in 2005, before I started working for the radio. After Elín had given up writing.’
‘Seven years ago, in other words?’
‘Yes. I’d been working as a journalist for several years, for various different papers, though mostly at DV .
Then one day Elín rang me out of the blue, saying she’d read one of my feature interviews and had been very taken with my style and approach, or something like that.
Anyway, she flattered me, and no writer minds receiving praise from a renowned stylist like Elín S.
Jónsdóttir, I can tell you.’ There was a brief hint of a smile.
‘I believe you,’ Helgi remarked.
‘She said she didn’t give many interviews, in fact she’d given up the bad habit, as she put it, after her last book had come out.
But she would be prepared to talk to me at some point if it would suit me.
I also remember her asking whether I had any say over where and when an interview would appear.
At first, I thought maybe she didn’t want it to be in DV , but in some glossy magazine perhaps.
But that wasn’t the reason at all, as it later transpired. ’
When he entered the room, Helgi hadn’t for a minute expected to hear a story like this from Kristín. Plainly, she was planning to spin it out and keep him in suspense for as long as possible, just like Elín manipulating the readers of her novels.
‘I assume you accepted her request,’ he prompted.
‘Yes, you bet I did. I wasn’t going to miss out on an opportunity like that.
I had visions of trying to sell the interview to the highest bidder, though I was still employed by DV at the time.
At any rate, I didn’t intend to tell my editors about it immediately but to play it by ear.
Besides, I didn’t know when Elín would make herself available for our chat or whether she was even serious. ’
‘And was she serious?’
‘Yes. She wanted to arrange a time straight away. We met up two weeks later. I suspected she wanted to give me a chance to read her books because I hadn’t read all of them.
And I made good use of those two weeks, managing to get through the entire series as well as some old interviews with her.
You could say I became an instant expert on Elín S. Jónsdóttir. Then we had our meeting.’
Kristín broke off to take a sip of the coffee that someone had clearly offered her while she was waiting.
‘Our conversation took place at her house. Have you been there?’
‘Yes. It’s a beautiful place.’
‘It certainly is. A real writer’s house was the impression I got.’
‘Which, it seems, could one day be yours.’
Helgi instantly regretted his remark. Kristín stopped short, as if it simply hadn’t occurred to her that the house would be hers along with most of the other assets – if Elín did turn out to be dead.
‘We sat in her study.’ Kristín’s voice had acquired a different rhythm now. ‘I remember it so well. The walls were lined with books and the computer wasn’t even on her desk. She handwrote all her novels, you know.’
Helgi nodded.
‘We spent a long time together. I took along a cassette recorder that I used to use for interviews, all very old school. Elín set a condition at the beginning that we weren’t to discuss her private life.
Of course, that was a bit disappointing, but it wasn’t a deal-breaker.
I found it fascinating enough just to be allowed to sit with her and take an exclusive interview.
It started well, though I can remember being rather nervous; I felt like I was taking an exam and had to be at the top of my game.
Elín was very nice and reacted well to all my questions – except when I accidentally strayed into areas that she considered too personal.
Apart from that, she was very open from the outset, and I had begun to visualize making a splash with a brilliant feature interview.
It tickled my vanity, as I’m sure you’ll understand.
I’d never had a proper exclusive as a journalist, but I was hoping this would be my big break. ’
‘I see,’ Helgi said, taking care to put his next question tactfully, as he didn’t want to offend the woman.
‘I have to admit that the interview passed me by at the time. And I haven’t come across it, though of course I haven’t tried to track down all the old interviews with Elín in researching the background to this case.
I expect it was well received, though, wasn’t it? ’ He smiled at Kristín.
She shook her head. ‘No, the interview has never been published.’
‘What?’
‘Not yet, anyway.’
‘Hang on, I don’t quite follow. You took the interview, but she banned you from publishing it? Or you didn’t want to…’
‘She didn’t exactly ban me. She just set a further condition.’