‘Good evening,’ she said as she looked in at the garage door. The owner of the car looked up from what he was doing and returned her greeting. He was fiftyish, with a friendly, cherubic face.
‘Is this your car?’ asked Elínborg.
‘Yes,’ replied the man. ‘Yes, it’s mine.’
‘It’s a Cadillac, isn’t it?’
‘No, actually it’s a Chrysler New Yorker, ’59 model. I got it sent over from America a few years back.’
‘Oh, a Chrysler?’ responded Elínborg. ‘Is it in pretty good nick?’
‘It’s in very good condition,’ the man replied. ‘It doesn’t need any work, just a bit of spit and polish now and then. Do you like classic cars? You don’t meet a lot of women who are interested.’
‘No, not exactly. It’s my husband who loves them. He’s a motor mechanic and he had a car like this once, but he sold it in the end. He’d like this one.’
‘Oh, well, send him over to see me, by all means,’ the man said. ‘I’ll take him out for a spin.’
‘Have you lived here long?’ enquired Elínborg.
‘Since my wife and I were married. Must be about twenty-five years now. I like to be near the sea. We often go for a walk along the shore here, around by the harbour.’
‘I hear it’s all going to be cleared for new construction at the old dock. What do the locals feel about that?’
‘I’m not happy,’ said the man. ‘I don’t know about anyone else. I feel we shouldn’t always be chucking out our history, and the traditional ways of life and work. It’s not as if we’ve got much left: all the businesses that used to be down by the harbour are forgotten now. And the dry dock will go next.’
‘I don’t suppose your neighbours are pleased.’
‘No, probably not.’
‘Do you know them well?’
‘Reasonably.’
‘I was passing through and thought I recognised the man in the yellow house over there, the one with the alder tree growing over it. Do you happen to know his name?’
‘Do you mean Edvard?’ asked the man.
‘Yes, Edvard, that’s right!’ exclaimed Elínborg, as if she had been racking her brains. ‘That’s him. I used to work with him,’ she said. ‘Is he still teaching, or …?’
‘Yes, he’s a teacher. At one of the secondary colleges — I don’t remember which one.’
‘We used to teach together at Hamrahlíd High School,’ Elínborg said. She felt bad about lying to her new acquaintance but she was reluctant to admit she was a police officer. The word would spread quickly through the neighbourhood and soon get back to Edvard himself.
‘Right,’ said the man. ‘I don’t see much of him. He keeps himself to himself, and you hardly notice him.’
‘I know. He’s a bit of a mystery. Has he lived here long?’
‘I think he moved in about ten years ago. He was still a student back then.’
‘But he could afford to buy a house?’
‘I wouldn’t know anything about that,’ the man said. ‘But I think he used to have a lodger for a while, a few years ago. Maybe that helped towards the mortgage.’
‘Yes, I remember him mentioning that,’ Elínborg lied. ‘Didn’t he teach in Akranes at one time?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Did he drive up there every day?’
‘Yes, he did. He had the same car he’s driving now. It’s pretty decrepit. As I say, I don’t know Edvard very well even though we’re neighbours. He’s more of an acquaintance, really. I don’t know much about him.’
‘Is he still single?’ asked Elínborg, trying to feel her way forward.
‘Oh, yes. Edvard doesn’t seem to have much to do with women. Not that I’ve noticed, at any rate.’
‘He was certainly no party animal when I knew him.’
‘That hasn’t changed, then. I never see anyone at the house at weekends,’ said the man, with a smile. ‘Or at all. He’s pretty much a loner.’
‘Good luck with the Chrysler,’ said Elínborg. ‘She’s a beauty.’
‘Yes,’ the man replied. ‘She’s a real humdinger.’
As Elínborg was pulling up outside her home, her mobile rang. She turned the engine off and glanced at the screen. She did not recognise the number and was in two minds about answering. It had been a tiring day and she longed for a few hours of peace and quiet at home. She looked at the number, trying to place it. The children sometimes used her phone, and occasionally one of their friends would ring her number by accident. The ringing was irritating but she was reluctant to turn it off. She decided to answer.
‘Good evening,’ said a woman’s voice. ‘Is that Elínborg?’
‘Yes, I’m Elínborg,’ she snapped.
‘I’m sorry to call so late.’
‘That’s all right. Who is this?’
‘We haven’t met,’ said the woman. ‘I’m a bit worried, although I probably shouldn’t be. He can look after himself, and he likes to be alone.’
‘Excuse me, who is speaking?’
‘My name is Valgerdur,’ the woman replied. ‘I don’t think we’ve spoken before.’
‘Valgerdur?’
‘I’m a friend of your colleague Erlendur. I’ve tried to contact Sigurdur Óli but he’s not answering.’
‘No,’ said Elínborg. ‘He won’t pick up if he doesn’t recognise the number. Are you all right?’
‘Yes, thank you. I just wanted to find out if Erlendur has been in touch with either of you. He’s gone to the East Fjords and I haven’t heard from him.’
‘No, I haven’t either,’ said Elínborg. ‘How long is it since he went to the east?’
‘Nearly two weeks now. He’d been working on a difficult case, which I think he found very distressing. I’m a bit worried about him.’
Erlendur had not said goodbye to Elínborg or Sigurdur Óli when he left — they had simply found out at the station that he had taken a leave of absence. Just before that he had discovered the bodies of a man and woman who had been missing for twenty-five years. He had also been pursuing another case on his own time but had been unable to uncover enough evidence for a prosecution.
‘I should think Erlendur just wants to be left alone,’ said Elínborg. ‘Two weeks isn’t all that long, if he was planning to stay in the east for a while. I know he’s been working very hard lately.’
‘Perhaps. Either he’s turned his mobile off, or he’s in some dead spot.’
‘He’ll turn up,’ said Elínborg. ‘He’s gone off before without telling anyone.’
‘Well, that’s good to know. If he does get in touch, perhaps you’d let him know I was asking after him?’
26
Theodóra was still awake. She moved over in bed and Elínborg lay down next to her. They lay quietly together for a while without speaking. Elínborg’s mind was on Lilja, who had vanished from Akranes. She thought of the young woman dumped by the road in Kópavogur who had locked herself away in her misery. She recalled Nína in tears in the interview room: imagined her, knife in hand, slashing Runólfur’s throat.
The house was silent. The boys were out and Teddi was at the garage, working late over his accounts.
‘Don’t worry, Mum,’ said Theodóra. She sensed a restlessness in her mother, who was tired and distracted. ‘Not about us, anyway. We know you sometimes have to work a lot. Don’t worry about us.’
Elínborg smiled. ‘I think I have the best daughter in the world,’ she said.
They did not speak for a while. The wind was rising, howling at the windows. Autumn was gradually giving way to winter, and to the cold and darkness it would bring.
‘What is it you must never do?’ Elínborg asked Theodóra after a few minutes. ‘Never?’
‘Never accept a lift from a stranger,’ replied Theodóra.
‘That’s right,’ said Elínborg.
‘No exceptions,’ recited Theodóra, using the words she had long since been taught by her mother. ‘No matter what they say, whether it’s a man or a woman. Never get into a car with a stranger.’