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

spot, isn’t it?’ He was still standing on the doorstep.

‘Very peaceful,’ Salka replied, ‘and that’s the way we like to keep it. Won’t you come in?’

‘Thought you’d never ask!’ he joked, and stepped into the hall.

‘Let’s go into the sitting room. Would you like a coffee?’

‘I never say no to an offer like that.’

‘Una, could you help me with the cups?’

Una obeyed, and they left the visitor alone in the sitting room. Una fetched the cups from the cupboard and waited while Salka put on the coffee. She avoided catching Salka’s eye and neither of them said a word.

Once the coffee was ready, they went back in with it.

‘This is good and strong,’ Hjalti commented. Apparently, he was in no hurry to get down to business. Perhaps he needed to revive himself after the drive.

‘Salka, wasn’t it your daughter who …?’

Salka nodded, her face tightening.

‘My heartfelt condolences. It was terrible, terrible news.’

‘Thank you,’ Salka said.

‘Were you both born and brought up here?’ he asked, after a few moments when nobody spoke.

‘Not in my case.’ This time it was Una who answered first. ‘I’m from Reykjavík and got a job here over the winter. I’m a teacher. Salka has more claim to be from here.’

Salka nodded. ‘This is my home, my house. And this is where I intend to stay.’ She sounded defiant.

Hjalti sipped his coffee. ‘Thanks very much for the hospitality. It’s a lovely house too, very handsome.’ He smiled. ‘It’s good to get out of Thórshöfn once in a while, even in the middle of winter. But maybe I should get down to business – this bad business of the man who’s gone missing, Patrekur … Patrekur …’

Una chipped in: ‘Patrekur Kristjánsson.’

‘That’s the one. I don’t know much about the case, to tell the truth; I was just asked to deal with this. They didn’t give me much background. To be honest, I can’t understand what on earth could have brought him out here.’

‘Nor can I,’ Una said.

‘Yes, it was you who rang, I gather. Did you say you’d met him?’

‘We both met him,’ Una said firmly.

‘And you’re sure it was the same man?’

‘Yes, positive. I saw the photo of him in Morgunbladid. It’s the same man, definitely –’

‘It …’ Salka interrupted, then hesitated. Una turned to look at her.

‘It wasn’t him,’ Salka said, after a brief pause.

Una felt as if she’d been kicked in the teeth. She couldn’t believe her ears: Salka couldn’t have said that.

‘I beg your pardon? Are you saying it wasn’t him?’ Hjalti asked, evidently almost as astonished as Una was. ‘It wasn’t Patrekur?’

‘No. We were both here when he knocked on the door, late in the evening. He was an Icelander, looking for somewhere to stay. He didn’t introduce himself.’

‘What do you mean, Salka?’ Una cried. ‘You’ve got to be joking?’

Hjalti stood up and laid a hand on Una’s shoulder. ‘Let’s just take it easy. We’ll get to the bottom of this. Maybe you both experienced it differently. I expect you’ve seen the photo, Salka?’

She nodded.

‘Did the men look alike?’

‘You mean you believe her?’ Una asked, trying with an effort to compose herself. Salka had betrayed her; that’s all there was to it.

‘We’ll see. There must be a simple explanation for this,’ Hjalti said in a steadying voice. ‘Salka, did the two men look alike?’

Una glared at Salka. Was she going to keep on lying?

Salka didn’t immediately answer. There was a charged atmosphere in the small sitting room.

‘No, actually,’ she said at last. ‘Not in the slightest. They looked nothing like each other. I just can’t understand why Una’s so obsessed with the idea. I’ve tried to make her see sense and I thought she was coming round, but it seems she went and rang the police after all. I’m … I’m only sorry you’ve had to drive all the way out here.’

Una was stunned. She didn’t know how to react.

‘Are you absolutely sure about that?’ Hjalti asked Salka.

‘Yes. I spoke to him and got a good look at him. I don’t know where Una got this idea. I can’t imagine … though, actually … Of course, it’s been difficult for her. Being so isolated here, you understand? It’s a bit of a shock to the system after Reykjavík.’

Hjalti smiled. ‘You can say that again. I lived in Reykjavík for several years. Thórshöfn and the city are worlds apart, so I can just imagine what a big change it would be to move here to Skálar.’

Una couldn’t speak.

‘It’s all been a bit of a strain,’ Salka went on, lowering her voice. ‘She’s also … well, she also claims the house is haunted.’

‘It is haunted!’ Una intervened desperately, realizing as she did so that this was doing nothing to help her cause.

‘A beautiful house like this, haunted?’ Hjalti asked, looking at Una with his eyebrows raised, and she could see from his expression that he didn’t believe her. That he felt sorry for her.

She wondered whether to withdraw her claim, but that might make matters worse. ‘Well … well, I don’t know … A girl died in the house more than half a century ago and people say she haunts the place. I think I’ve sensed her up in the attic – in the flat up there. Which is where I live.’

Hjalti studied her, frowning slightly. ‘And what form does it take? The haunting?’

‘There’s this lullaby she sometimes sings in the night, and I’ve heard the piano playing too … and I’ve seen her, or at least I think I have … And then last night, a wine bottle broke for no reason and …’ None of this sounded very convincing when she said it out loud.

Salka glanced at Una, then back at Hjalti. She smiled indulgently as if to say: Be gentle with her; she’s not in a good way.

‘I’ve heard stories like that before,’ Hjalti said. ‘And a broken bottle, you say?’

He caught Salka’s eye, then turned his gaze back to Una.

‘What kind of wine?’

‘What?’

‘What kind of wine? White? Red? Something stronger?’

‘Just red