‘A model citizen. So what’s she doing working as a cleaner?’
‘The crash happened,’ Eiríkur said with a shrug. ‘According to what I’ve been told on the quiet, Valmira was the office manager at a company that was importing clothes and shoes, and was branching out into importing furniture from somewhere in the Far East. That company went out of business very quickly once the banks stopped lending.’
‘So the former office manager with the degree and six languages is now cleaning rich people’s houses instead? That’s a comedown, isn’t it?’
‘There but for the grace of God go we. .’ Eiríkur said and Gunna gave him a sharp look, unsure if he was serious or not.
‘Anything on our system?’
This time Eiríkur smiled. ‘Oh, yes. Natalia Rodriguez has a record. Two counts of assault, four of public drunkenness and one for shoplifting.’
‘And the back story, if there is one?’
‘There’s an extremely volatile relationship with the father of her son, this Hjörtur character, and also with Hjörtur’s wife.’
‘The guy has a wife and girlfriend? That’s always going to be a recipe for a quiet life, isn’t it?’
Valmira’s eyes were unfocused, set on a point somewhere beyond the wall of the room at the national hospital as Gunna glanced through the window.
‘Injuries?’ Gunna asked the doctor who repeatedly pushed his glasses up his nose and let them slip down to look over them.
‘No, nothing physical.’
‘Up here?’ She pointed to her own temple.
‘Ah. Who knows?’ The doctor asked with a wry look. ‘That’s hardly my department, I’m afraid. But probably, I’d say.’
‘I’m all right to speak to her, though?’
‘Go ahead. But I’d appreciate it if you let me know whether or not she tells you anything that might be useful. Come and find me afterwards? I’ll be in my office.’
He left her to look through the window in Valmira’s door, the soles of his rubber clogs squeaking against the scrubbed floor.
‘Good morning. Valmira?’ Gunna offered, closing the heavy door behind her and causing Valmira’s eyes to snap back to reality.
‘Hello,’ she said uncertainly.
‘My name’s Gunnhildur Gísladóttir and I’m a police officer. I’m investigating what happened at the house you were working at yesterday and what you found there,’ Gunna explained, watching Valmira for a reaction. ‘I understand you were brought in here yesterday. Are you feeling better? Well enough to talk?’
She sat on the chair next to the bed while Valmira smiled and fluttered. ‘I’m really sorry for all the fuss. I’m fine.’ She sighed. ‘It was just that. .’ she said and lapsed into silence.
‘Just what?’
Valmira shook her head. ‘Memories. Bad memories.’
‘Yesterday you turned up at this house at eight, and it was schedule to be a four-hour job, right?’ Gunna asked and got a nod in response. ‘There was another house to be cleaned in the same street in the afternoon?’
‘That’s right. First number fifty, and then forty-two in the afternoon.’
‘Had you cleaned this house before?’
‘Fifty? Yes, I think so,’ Valmira said and Gunna listened carefully for the traces of an accent in her voice but was hard-pushed to hear any, although occasional lapses in grammar gave away the fact that she was not a native speaker. Not that that’s any indicator, she thought to herself, reflecting that the younger generation’s grasp of its own language had weakened alarmingly in the face of the influx of English to practically every facet of life in Iceland.
‘And forty-two? I understand they’re owned by the same people.’
‘I don’t know anything about who owns what. As I remember, we did fifty quite a long time ago, maybe a year, but we look after number forty-two regularly. There’s a dentist and his wife who live at forty-two. Maybe they’re both dentists, I don’t know. Anyway, we normally clean that place once a week, always an afternoon job.’
‘Can you tell me what happened yesterday? You went down to the basement of number fifty and what? Were you supposed to clean the basement as well?’
Valmira sighed a deeper sigh than before. ‘No, I wasn’t supposed to go down there. But we have to sign off the worksheet at the end of the job saying that we have left the house secure. So I always check garage doors, back doors, that kind of thing, to make sure it really is all locked up.’
‘And what happened? Was there someone there?’
‘No. There was nobody,’ Valmira said in a blank voice, her eyes again focused on something in the far distance. She sat for a moment and hugged her arms around herself, her thick dark hair shrouding her face. ‘I switched on the lights as I went down the stairs and saw what was there, the broken chair and the blood on the floor, and so much came flooding back. I don’t know if I fainted, but it was as if I had been taken back to. .’ she paused.
‘Back to Yugoslavia?’
‘Yugoslavia?’ Valmira said bitterly. ‘That’s what it was called when I was a child. Everyone hated that old bastard Tito, but at least he kept people from murdering their neighbours.’
‘I see. I’m sorry to hear it. So this took you back to. .’ Gunna paused, not sure what to say. ‘Back to something you’d rather forget?’
‘No. I don’t want to forget that my father and brothers disappeared and were probably shot in a forest somewhere because their names were a little unusual. But I can do without the sudden reminders of what happened.’
‘You were lucky to escape, surely?’
Valmira nodded vigorously. ‘Don’t imagine that I’m not aware of that and that I don’t remember every day that this place is safe and here nobody is going to knock on the door in the night and take away people whose faces aren’t quite right, or who some official has a grudge against.’
‘So it was a shock?’
‘It was a shock to see the same way of doing things. I had never expected to see this in Iceland. I know what went on there.’
‘What, then?’
Valmira shrugged. ‘I guess someone was tied to a chair and questioned, in a very painful way.’
‘Torture, you mean?’
‘Exactly. I try not to think about it. But I think you can be sure that he told them everything they wanted to know.’
Soffía looked radiant, her red curls tied back as Ari Gíslason suckled contentedly. ‘You were just passing, were you?’
‘Well, let’s say I was visiting someone nearby. How is he?’ Gunna asked, peering at the tiny head, its eyes closed.
‘He’s fine. But he seems to be hungry all the time.’
‘The same as Gísli was. He was on a bottle when he was four days old. I couldn’t keep up. Mind you, things were different then.’ Gunna sat down and gazed at the baby. ‘He has your hair.’
‘Red?’ Soffía laughed. ‘That means a temper, doesn’t it? I’m already looking forward to him being a teenager.’
‘He’ll be fine.’
‘Yeah, but you’re his grandmother. Kids can do no wrong as far as grandparents are concerned.’
The word hit her with a force she could not have imagined.
‘Grandmother. It still hasn’t sunk in,’ she said. ‘But don’t you believe it. We’re not all a soft touch.’
‘How’s Drífa?’ Soffía asked, her face turning serious, clearly with an effort.
Gunna winced. ‘I don’t know. She’s all right one minute and in tears the next.’
‘I think he’s asleep,’ Soffía decided, looking down at the baby and gently detaching him to lift him over her shoulder. ‘I hope she’s all right. It’s not her fault that. . Well, of course it is. These things don’t happen out of thin air. But you know what I mean.’
‘I know. She’s not having a wonderful time of it right now. Her parents desperately want her to go home, and she’s equally determined not to, so there’s a battle of wills going on there.’
‘And you’re caught in the middle?’
‘You could say that. Drífa’s mother is in the middle of the world’s longest-lasting sulk and has hardly spoken to her since Kjartan was born. My brother Svanur calls once or twice a week, not that it’s me he wants to speak to. He’s just checking on Drífa. He’s been to see her, but his wife hasn’t.’