“She’s just lying in bed. Looks as though she’s peacefully sleeping. The doctor told me to talk to her.”
“Talk to her?”
“He thinks she can hear voices through her coma, and that’s good for her.”
“So what do you talk to her about?”
“Nothing much,” Erlendur said. “I have no idea what to say.”
The sister of Benjamin’s fiancee had heard the rumours, but flatly denied that there was any truth in them. Her name was Bara and she was considerably younger than the one who had gone missing. She lived in a large detached house in Grafarvogur, still married to a wealthy wholesaler and living in luxury, which was manifested in flamboyant furniture, the expensive jewellery she wore and her condescending attitude towards the detective who was now in her sitting room. Elinborg, who had outlined over the phone what she wanted to talk about, thought that this woman had never had to worry about money, always granted herself whatever she pleased and never had to associate with anyone but her own type. Probably gave up caring for anything else long ago. She had the feeling that this was the life that had awaited Bara’s sister, around the time she disappeared.
“My sister was extremely fond of Benjamin, which I never really understood. He struck me as a crushing bore. No lack of breeding, of course. The Knudsens are the oldest family in Reykjavik. But he wasn’t the exciting type.”
Elinborg smiled. She didn’t know what she meant. Bara noticed.
“A dreamer. Hardly ever came down to earth, what with his big ideas for the retailing business, which actually all came to pass years ago, although he didn’t live to benefit from them. And he was kind to ordinary people. His maids didn’t need to call him Sir. People have stopped that now. No courtesy any more. And no maids.”
Bara wiped imaginary dust from the coffee table. Elinborg noticed some large paintings at one end of the room, separate portraits of Bara and her husband. The husband looked quite glum and worn out, his thoughts miles away. Bara seemed to have an insinuating grin on her strict face and Elinborg could not help thinking that she had emerged from this marriage the victor. She pitied the man in the painting.
“But if you think he killed my sister, you’re barking up the wrong tree,” Bara said. “Those bones you said were found by the chalet are not hers.”
“How can you be sure of that?”
“I just know. Benjamin would never have hurt a fly. An awful wimp. A dreamer, as I said. That was obvious when she disappeared. The man fell apart. Stopped caring about his business. Gave up socialising. Gave up everything. Never got over it. My mother gave him back the love letters he sent to my sister. She read some of them, said they were beautiful.”
“Were you and your sister close?”
“No, I can’t say that. I was so much younger. She already seemed grown-up in my earliest memories of her. Our mother always said she was like our father. Whimsical and tetchy. Depressive. He went the same way.”
Bara gave the impression she had let out the last sentence by mistake.
“The same way?” Elinborg said.
“Yes,” Bara said peevishly. “The same way. Committed suicide.” She spoke the words with complete detachment. “But he didn’t go missing like her. Oh no. He hanged himself in the dining room. From the hook for the chandelier. In full view of everyone. That was how much he cared about the family.”
“That must have been difficult for you,” Elinborg said for the sake of saying something. Bara glared accusingly at Elinborg from where she sat facing her, as if blaming her for having to recall it all.
“It was hardest for my sister. They were very close. It leaves its mark on people, that sort of thing. The dear girl.”
For a moment there was a trace of sympathy in her voice.
“Was it…?”
“This was a few years before she herself went missing,” Bara said, and Elinborg could tell that she was concealing something. That her story was rehearsed. Purged of all emotion. But perhaps the woman was simply like that. Bossy, cold-hearted and dull.
“To his credit, Benjamin treated her well,” Bara continued. “Wrote her love letters, that sort of thing. In those days, people in Reykjavik would go for long walks when they were engaged. A very ordinary courtship really. They met at Hotel Borg, which was the place in those days, they called on each other and went for walks and travelled, and it developed from there just as with young people everywhere. He proposed to her and the wedding was only a fortnight away, I would guess, when she disappeared.”
“I’m told that people said she threw herself into the sea,” Elinborg said.
“Yes, people made quite a meal of that story. They looked for her all over Reykjavik. Dozens of people took part in the search, but they didn’t find so much as a hair. My mother broke the news to me. My sister left us that morning. She was going shopping and went to a few places, there weren’t as many shops in those days, but she didn’t buy anything. She met Benjamin in his shop, left him and was never seen again. He told the police, and us, that they quarrelled. That’s why he blamed himself for what happened and took it so badly.”
“Why the talk of the sea?”
“Some people thought they’d seen a woman heading towards the beach where Tryggvagata ends today. She was wearing a coat like my sister’s. Similar height. That was all.”
“What did they argue about?”
“Some petty matter. To do with the wedding. The preparations. Or at least that’s what Benjamin said.”
“You don’t think it was something else?”
“I have no idea.”
“And you don’t think it possible that it’s her skeleton we found on the hill?”
“Out of the question, yes. I have nothing to base that claim on, of course, and I can’t prove it, but I find it just so far-fetched. I simply can’t conceive of it.”
“Do you know anything about the tenants in Benjamin’s chalet in Grafarholt? Maybe people who were there during the war? Possibly a family of five, a couple with three children. Does that ring a bell?”
“No. But I know people lived in his chalet all throughout the war. Because of the housing shortage.”
“Do you have a keepsake from your sister, such as a lock of hair? In a locket maybe?”
“No, but Benjamin had a lock of her hair. I saw her cut it off for him. He asked her for a memento one summer when my sister went up north to Fljot for a couple of weeks to visit some relatives.”
When Elinborg got into her car she phoned Sigurdur Oli. He was on his way out of Benjamin’s cellar after a long, boring day, and she told him to keep his eyes open for a lock of hair from Benjamin’s fiancee. It might be inside a pretty locket, she said. She heard Sigurdur Oli groan.
“Come on,” Elinborg said. “We can prove whether it’s her if we find the lock of hair. It’s as simple as that.”
She rang off and was about to drive away when she had a sudden thought and switched off the engine. After pondering for a moment, nervously biting her lower lip, she decided to act.
When Bara answered the door she was surprised to see Elinborg again.
“Did you forget something? she asked.
“No, just one question,” Elinborg said awkwardly. “Then I’ll leave.”
“Well, what is it?” Bara said impatiently.
“You said your sister was wearing a coat the day she went missing.”
“So?”
“What sort of coat was it?”
“What sort? Just an ordinary coat that my mother gave her.”
“I mean, what colour? Do you know?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I’m curious,” Elinborg said, not wanting to go into explanations.
“I don’t remember.”
“No, of course not,” Elinborg said. “I understand. Thank you and sorry for bothering you.”