‘What are you on about? If it wasn’t them, who was it?’
‘I’ve got to look into it a bit further,’ said Elínborg. ‘I’ll have to see Konrád tomorrow. I’m sure he’s lying.’
‘Please don’t start stirring things up,’ pleaded Sigurdur Óli. ‘I’ve just congratulated you on solving the case.’
‘That was a bit premature. Sorry.’ She switched her phone off, and turned to Teddi. ‘Can I borrow your jacket tomorrow?’
Early the next morning she had sat down with Konrád in the interview room. He said he had not slept much. He looked exhausted, dishevelled and nervous. He hardly answered Elínborg’s greeting. As usual, he asked after Nína. Elínborg replied that she was much the same.
‘I think you’re lying to us,’ said Elínborg. ‘You were telling the truth all along and we didn’t believe you. The same applies to your daughter. We didn’t believe her, either. So you decided to take the blame. You’d rather go to prison than see her locked up. You’re middle-aged but she’s still young, with her life ahead of her. But there are two problems with your confession, which I don’t think you’ve given enough thought to. She’s never going to go along with your version of events. In addition, you’re lying.’
‘What would you know about it?’
‘I know,’ said Elínborg.
‘You’re determined not to believe a word I say.’
‘Oh, I do — some of it. Most of it, actually, up to the point when you say you went for Runólfur.’
‘Nína didn’t do it.’
‘I don’t know if you remember, but you told me you’d smelt something like paraffin when you got to Runólfur’s flat. You thought he’d been burning something. Was there a smell of burning as well?’
‘No, there was no smell of burning.’
‘So you just smelt the oily smell?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you know what paraffin smells like?’
‘Not particularly. It just seemed sort of oily.’
‘Was it a strong odour?’
‘No, it wasn’t. More like a background scent in the air.’
Elínborg picked up a plastic bag and took out the jacket that Teddi had been wearing the day before. She placed it on the table.
‘I’ve never seen that jacket before,’ said Konrád, unprompted, as if to avoid any more trouble.
‘I know,’ said Elínborg. ‘Please don’t come any closer, and don’t sniff it from close up. Can you smell it?’
‘No.’
Elínborg took the jacket, shook it vigorously, then folded it back into the bag. She stood up and put the bag out in the corridor. She sat down facing Konrád. ‘I know this isn’t very scientific, but can you smell anything now?’
‘Yes,’ replied Konrád. ‘I smell it now.’
‘Is that what you thought was paraffin, in Runólfur’s flat?’
Konrád took two deep breaths. ‘Yes! That’s just the same as in Runólfur’s flat when I arrived,’ he said. ‘Perhaps a little bit fainter.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. That’s it exactly. What jacket is that? Whose is it?’
‘It’s my husband’s,’ said Elínborg. ‘He’s a motor mechanic, and co-owner of a garage. His jacket hangs all day in his office at the garage, so it absorbs the smell of lubricants. Every car workshop in the country smells the same. It clings — and it’s hard to get rid of.’
‘Lubricants?’
‘Yes. Lubricants.’
‘So? What about it?’
‘I don’t know. I’m not sure what it means, but please don’t go making any more confessions until we’ve spoken again.’
Elínborg was jolted abruptly back to the present as the plane made a jarring touchdown.
29
At the guest house in the village, Elínborg was given the same room. She took her time settling in. Night was falling and she was in no hurry. On the way from the airport she had rung Sigurdur Óli in Reykjavík and others involved in the investigation to try to gather more information on Runólfur’s family: his mother; his father, who had gone smiling to his death; Runólfur’s friends in the village, and their families. Her enquiries had not yielded much — not surprisingly, as it was all so last-minute. If her hunch was correct she would learn more in the next few days.
Her hostess recognised her at once. She was surprised to see her back in the village and made no attempt to conceal her curiosity: ‘Is there something special that’s brought you back so soon?’ she asked as she showed Elínborg to her room. ‘I don’t suppose this is just a social visit, is it?’
‘I seem to remember someone said nothing ever happens here,’ said Elínborg.
‘Yes, that’s true. Not much going on,’ replied the woman.
‘Don’t worry about me,’ said Elínborg. She went to the village’s only restaurant, took a seat, and ordered the fish again. On this occasion she was the only customer. The ubiquitous Lauga took her order without a word and disappeared into the kitchen. Either she did not remember Elínborg or could not be bothered to make conversation. She had been more talkative on Elínborg’s previous visit. Before long she reappeared and placed the plate of fish on the table.
‘Thank you,’ said Elínborg. ‘I don’t know if you remember me. I was here a few days ago. The fish was excellent.’
‘I always use fresh fish,’ said Lauga. She gave no indication of whether she remembered Elínborg. ‘Thank you.’ She was about to return to the kitchen, but Elínborg stopped her.
‘Last time I was here I met a girl who was looking at the videos over there in the window,’ she said, pointing at the niche by the door. ‘Where do you think I might find her?’
‘There are still a few girls left in the village,’ said Lauga. ‘But I don’t know who you mean.’
‘She was about twenty, I should think, with blonde hair, and a narrow face — quite pretty, slender, wearing a blue down parka. I imagine she comes here now and then. This is the only place in the village to rent videos, isn’t it?’
Lauga did not answer at once.
‘I’d appreciate it if you could-’ continued Elínborg.
But Lauga interrupted: ‘Do you know her name?’
‘No.’
‘Don’t know her,’ said Lauga, shrugging. ‘She may be from the next fjord.’
‘I just hoped you might be able to help me. Never mind,’ answered Elínborg, and started on her fish. It was every bit as delicious, fried exactly right, fresh, and perfectly seasoned. Lauga certainly knew how to cook. Elínborg thought that perhaps Lauga’s talents were wasted here, in the back of beyond. Silently, she apologised to the place. She knew she had a tendency to be prejudiced against life outside the city. She ought to be thinking that the villagers were lucky to have such an outstanding cook among them.
Elínborg ate at her leisure. For dessert she chose freshly baked chocolate cake, with a cup of good coffee.
Three youngsters in their early teens — two boys and a girl — came in to look at the videos. One of them switched on a large television above the counter and selected a sports channel. He set the volume far too high and Lauga came out and politely asked him to turn it down. He did so at once.
‘Tell your mum I can cut her hair tomorrow afternoon,’ she said to the other boy, who nodded. He looked over at Elínborg, who smiled at him but received no response. The girl sat down to watch the game and before long all three were glued to the screen. Elínborg smiled to herself. She debated whether to have a liqueur with her coffee and decided to indulge herself. She suspected that tomorrow was going to be a rough day.
Eventually Elínborg stood up and settled her bill at the bar. Lauga took her payment without speaking. Elínborg sensed that the youngsters were observing her every move. She thanked Lauga and called out a friendly goodnight to the kids. They made no reply beyond a nod from the girl.
Deep in thought, Elínborg walked back toward the guest house. As she was considering how to pursue her enquiries the following day she caught a glimpse of a young blonde woman in a blue down parka, hurrying along the pavement on the other side of the main street. Elínborg halted, uncertain whether it was the same girl. Concluding that it was, she called out to her. The girl slowed down and looked in Elínborg’s direction. ‘Hey!’ called Elínborg, and waved.