The Girl Who Died, Ragnar Jonasson [small books to read .TXT] 📗

‘Yes, I’ve got a haddock fillet in the fridge that should be enough for both of us.’

‘Great, I’ll see you downstairs in a bit, then.’

XXI

Supper was fine, if a little under-seasoned for Una’s taste. Salka had cooked better fish that winter, but Una was grateful for the company, even if her landlady didn’t have much to say.

‘By the way, Salka …’ she ventured, breaking a long silence. ‘You remember the man who came here before Christmas – the one who knocked on our door, looking for Hjördís …?’ The secret was weighing heavily on her and, if she could trust anyone in the village, it was Salka.

Salka nodded. ‘What about him?’ she asked irritably. That didn’t necessarily mean anything, though, as she seemed to be on edge most of the time these days.

‘Well, the thing is, the man they reported missing in Reykjavík at New Year …’ Una trailed off, waiting for a reaction.

‘Reported missing? What?’

‘Didn’t you hear about it?’

‘No, I haven’t listened to the news much since … since …’

‘No, of course not.’

‘What’s he got to do with the man who came here?’ Salka asked.

‘It was the same man,’ Una stated flatly.

‘What? The same man?’

‘Yes, his name’s Patrekur Kristjánsson. He hasn’t been seen for more than two weeks.’

‘You must be mistaken, Una. What could he possibly have been doing out here? Nobody comes here except …’ Salka broke off in mid-sentence and Una had the feeling she had been about to say something hurtful.

‘No, I’m telling you, it was him,’ Una insisted. ‘The moment I heard the description on the news I thought of him, I don’t know why; he’d just been on my mind for some reason.’ She left unsaid what she had been thinking; that maybe – just maybe – there had been some connection between the man’s unexpected visit and Edda’s sudden death.

‘You can’t claim that just from hearing a description.’

‘I’m not. I’ve seen a photo of him. In the paper. In fact, I’ve got it upstairs.’

Salka looked disbelieving. ‘Can I see it?’

Una nodded and, getting up from the table, ran upstairs to her kitchen and came straight back down.

‘Did you cut it out of the paper?’ Salka asked inconsequentially when she saw the photo.

‘What? No, not exactly. But it is him, isn’t it?’ Una held out the picture.

Salka studied it for what felt like a long time without saying a word, her brow furrowed. ‘He was looking for Hjördís,’ she said slowly.

Una wasn’t sure whether this was a question or whether Salka was merely thinking aloud. Eventually she repeated: ‘It is the same man, isn’t it?’ Although she was already convinced in her own mind, it would be good to have it confirmed by another witness.

Salka nodded. ‘Yes, yes, you’re right,’ she said at last. ‘But I just don’t understand … can’t understand … How long is it since the news came out?’

‘It was at New Year. He’s still missing, as far as I know.’

After another lengthy interval, Salka said: ‘What a strange coincidence that he should have come here. Obviously, his disappearance can’t have anything to do with us, though. It can’t be linked to Skálar – or to Hjördís.’

‘Of course not. But, you know, the information could help the police to pick up his trail.’

‘We’re not dragging the police out here,’ Salka retorted, with unaccustomed firmness. ‘It wouldn’t serve any purpose.’

‘Well, they might not need to come all the way out here, but I was just going to ring and let them know. Perhaps it’s the missing piece they need –’

‘I hope you’re not implying that someone in the village was involved in his disappearance,’ Salka interrupted, her voice harsh. ‘That would be a slap in the face after the welcome we’ve given you. You’ve been treated kindly here.’

That was debatable. ‘No, Salka, please don’t get me wrong, I’m not implying anything of the sort. I just wanted to help.’

Neither of them spoke for a while. Salka took a sip of the wine she had for once served with supper. Una had been grateful not to have to deplete her own limited supply. Perhaps the alcohol was to blame for Salka’s unusual reaction – the alcohol and of course the trauma she had suffered. She was a changed person these days and, naturally, Una understood that.

‘Help,’ Salka said at last, slowly, the word sounding more like a question than a statement. ‘Why would you want to help?’

Una didn’t immediately answer.

Salka persisted: ‘Are you from the police?’

The question left Una momentarily speechless.

‘Do you know this man? This … what was his name again? Patrekur?’

Una shook her head. ‘No, of course not.’

‘Then I don’t understand what would possess you to think of such a thing. To set the police on us, I mean.’

‘But I’m not setting …’ Una didn’t bother to finish. There was no point arguing with Salka in this mood. It must be the wine. The bottle was empty and, although Una had drunk quite a bit, she suspected that Salka had put away the lion’s share.

‘This is a peaceful place, Una,’ Salka said, composing herself with an effort. ‘We’re used to solving our own problems. That’s the way it’s always been. The villagers stick together and look out for one another. I know that, though I haven’t lived here very long. It’s in our blood.’

‘Sorry, Salka, but I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’re talking about. I can’t see how it would harm anyone to let the police know that we’ve seen a man who’s been reported missing.’

Unless someone in the village is responsible for his disappearance, Una thought to herself, but didn’t dare say it aloud. Instead, she said: ‘It’s, well, it’s my duty as a good citizen …’

Salka laughed mockingly. ‘Your duty as a good citizen? Next you’ll be telling me we have to follow some unwritten code of behaviour? That everything in life has to be fair and just?’ Her voice grew shrill: ‘Was it fair that Edda had to … had to … die