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

when she came home from Guffi’s, shaking like a leaf, in desperate need of something to calm her nerves. The wine had done its job. She had almost finished the bottle before, succumbing to drowsiness, she had crawled into bed.

It was still night, she could tell by the silence, and she needed a few more hours’ sleep before tackling the coming day. Although the girl had vanished, her image lingered, unnervingly vivid, and her song went on echoing in Una’s head. She wondered why she was still sleeping up here, still putting herself through this hell. Why hadn’t she moved out? Was it because she sensed that, in spite of everything, the girl didn’t mean her any harm? Even if that were true, there was no hope of getting back to sleep with her nerves jangling like this. Perhaps one little glass of wine would help take the edge off her fear.

She groped on her bedside table but couldn’t feel the bottle. Then she remembered that she had left it in her kitchen.

Una got out of bed, her eyes adjusting to the darkness, and walked slowly through to the other room, relieved that the song had fallen silent.

She was brought up short by the sound of breaking glass just as she reached the doorway and, fumbling for the light switch on the wall, pressed it. The living room leapt into view and she was met by the sight of the bottle lying smashed on the floor, the wine forming a dark pool among the broken glass, surrounded by splash marks that looked disturbingly like blood. The bottle had been on the kitchen table, only an arm’s length from where Una was standing. And there was nobody else in the flat, no one who could have knocked the bottle on to the floor, before quickly making their exit.

But the kitchen window was open and air was blowing in, so it was possible the wind had swept the bottle off the table. Had it been standing that close to the edge? Una couldn’t remember. Perhaps she had created a draught when she opened the bedroom door … She racked her brain for a rational explanation. The bottle couldn’t have fallen on the floor for no reason, immediately after she’d had another nightmare about the girl who had died. The coincidence was too great.

XXVI

Next morning Una cancelled her classes. She had surfaced just before eight, to find herself curled up on the little sofa in the living room. Her headache was still there, though it had faded to a dull throbbing, but she had neither the willpower nor the energy to get up. She had crawled downstairs and rung Kolbrún’s house, hoping to goodness that Kolbeinn wouldn’t answer. Her wish was granted, as it was Inga who picked up the phone. Una explained that she was ill and couldn’t teach today and Inga’s reaction was cool, as it was to most things. Una was sure rumours would now start doing the rounds about how she’d started missing work because of her drinking. Well, so be it.

The situation could hardly get any worse. None of the villagers trusted her and she didn’t trust any of them, feeling that they had ganged up on her. She asked herself if there was any point in continuing to take part in this deception and pretend she could do her job under these conditions; if she could carry on teaching one pupil. Was it worth it? It wasn’t as if she even liked the child …

Una had returned to the sofa after speaking to Inga and managed to get a bit more sleep. Now a grey dawn was breaking outside, but Una had no particular desire to get up. All she really wanted was to ring Thór, but she wasn’t even sure she could trust him any more. It crossed her mind to call Sara for a chat. But that would mean not only dragging herself off the sofa but going downstairs and taking the risk of bumping into Salka. Really, she couldn’t go on like this; the situation was becoming intolerable. And to top it all, she’d finished all her wine again.

XXVII

Una was woken by the noise of the knocker. Someone had brought it crashing down on the door. She must have dozed off again on the sofa. She leapt up in a panic. As the fog of sleep cleared, she realized it must be the policeman, as no one else visited them. It wouldn’t do to miss him.

She pulled on her dressing gown over her nightie and raced downstairs into the hall, only to find that Salka had got there first and opened the door. The man standing on the step was probably in his thirties, thickset and broad-faced, with slightly thinning hair that didn’t suit him, but his smile when he saw Una suggested that he was a nice guy.

‘Are you Una, by any chance?’ he asked, his voice deeper than she had expected.

‘Yes, that’s me.’

‘Hello, pleased to meet you.’ He held out his hand and she approached and shook it. ‘My name’s Hjalti and I’m with the Thórshöfn police. Sorry it’s taken me a while to get here. I got a call from Reykjavík yesterday evening, asking me to check on something out here. I was going to come first thing, but, you know how it is – time flies, and all that.’ He smiled again. ‘You always have to prioritize and, to be honest, you can’t always drop everything and jump to it every time that lot in Reykjavík call you up. I’m sure you understand.’

Una didn’t know whether she was supposed to answer this, but Salka saved her the trouble: ‘Oh, yes, I do.’

‘It’s ages since I was last over this way,’ Hjalti continued. ‘Shameful, I know, but it’s just so rare that I have any business in these parts. I don’t ever remember any crimes happening in Skálar, at least not since I joined the police. It’s a peaceful