‘No, I have no idea. I never met any of his friends except at Hótel Borg, and I didn’t pay that much attention to his uniform.’
‘Do you remember any of their names?’
‘No.’
‘Do you have any letters from him? Any photographs?’
‘No.’
‘Has it occurred to you,’ said Thorson, ‘that since you found the dead girl everything he’s told you about himself has turned out to be a lie?’
It had most definitely occurred to her as she lay wide awake in the dark watches of the night, racked with anxiety. Frank had not been particularly forthcoming about his circumstances, and their conversations had been necessarily limited in scope due to the language barrier. She was aware that he was interested in cars but knew next to nothing about his family. But then they’d only been together a matter of months, and she had imagined that as her English improved — because he was certainly making no effort to learn Icelandic — they would become better acquainted.
‘I’m sure his name’s Frank because they called him that at Hótel Borg. Other men he bumped into. His friends.’
‘All right, that’ll do for now,’ said Flóvent. ‘If you remember anything else, please get in touch.’
‘Do you know who the girl was?’ asked Ingiborg.
‘No, not yet,’ said Thorson.
‘Could she have gone there with a soldier, like I did?’
‘It’s possible.’
‘Someone like Frank, who took her behind the theatre?’
‘We have yet to establish that,’ said Thorson, anxious to avoid hurting her. ‘Was there any particular reason why you and Frank chose that spot?’
‘It was his idea. He said they sometimes go there. The soldiers.’
‘With their girls?’
‘Yes.’
The sentries in their sandbagged post in front of the National Theatre were unable to help the police as none of them had noticed the girl. And if anyone else apart from the schoolmistress had been in the Shadow District that evening and knew something, they weren’t coming forward. It seemed no one had witnessed the girl’s arrival in the doorway, by whatever means and in whatever company. The police had scoured the area around the theatre for clues that could shed light on her fate but had found no leads.
Thorson took charge of questioning the soldiers who worked in the supply depot. Inside, the place could hardly have looked less like a theatre. The stage had yet to be built and the auditorium was piled to the rafters with stores and munitions. At Flóvent’s suggestion, they established themselves in the coal cellar. Although originally intended as a boiler room, the cellar was now to become a banqueting hall since coal heating was being phased out in favour of natural hot water. At present there was a fair amount of commotion in the building as the depot was moving to a new location: the decision had been taken to resume work on the theatre at long last.
None of the servicemen they spoke to said they knew the victim, though two privates admitted to being on friendly terms with Icelandic girls.
‘Turns out there are any number of soldiers in the Reykjavík area called Frank,’ Thorson told Flóvent as they left. ‘I checked that while I was looking for a Sergeant Carroll. He’s fed her a pack of lies. Though that’s nothing new.’
They strode rapidly down Hverfisgata in the raw weather, hands dug deep in their pockets; Flóvent in hat and long winter coat — the only one he owned — Thorson in his cap and wearing his military greatcoat over his uniform. The cathedral bell struck two.
‘No, that’s nothing new.’
‘As long as he wasn’t lying about his Christian name, we ought to be able to track him down,’ said Thorson.
‘Round up the men who match Ingiborg’s description, or come close,’ said Flóvent, ‘and we’ll see if she can pick out her man. It wouldn’t hurt if they came from Illinois as well.’
‘None of them are sergeants.’
‘No, I never thought they would be.’
They parted ways, Thorson continuing to the military police headquarters at the camp in Laugarnes, Flóvent heading down to the CID offices on Fríkirkjuvegur. When he arrived, he found an elderly couple sitting on a bench in the lobby. He marched straight past without giving them a second glance, but they stood up and looked after him as he entered the office. A secretary grabbed his arm as he went by.
‘They want to talk to you,’ she said, nodding towards the couple.
‘Who?’
‘That couple. About their daughter.’
She gave him a meaningful look as she said the last two words, and Flóvent immediately cottoned on. He glanced out into the lobby where the couple stood huddled together, eyes fixed on him and the secretary.
‘But they’re so old,’ he whispered.
‘She was adopted,’ the secretary replied in an undertone. ‘They’re hoping it’s not her they heard about on the news but they haven’t seen their daughter for a couple of days and don’t know where she’s got to.’
Flóvent went back out and greeted the couple. The man shook him by the hand and introduced himself and his wife. Their manner was restrained, though their eyes were anxious. Flóvent guessed they were in their late sixties. Both wore thick overcoats. The woman looked good-natured; the man was thin with gaunt cheeks, and accustomed to hard labour if his hands were anything to go by.
‘We didn’t want to bother you unnecessarily, sir,’ he said. ‘But we heard about the girl behind the theatre, that she was around twenty, and—’
‘I told him to talk to the police but he wanted to wait and see if she turned up,’ his wife broke in. ‘Do you know who she is, sir? The girl you found?’
‘No, not yet,’ said Flóvent. ‘No one’s enquired after her.’
‘This isn’t the first time she’s disappeared like this,’ said the woman.
‘Oh?’
‘No, but last time she turned up again.’
‘I can take you over to the mortuary, if you feel up to it.’
The couple exchanged glances.
‘You’d have to identify her,’ explained Flóvent. ‘It’s the only way we can be sure.’
‘I’ve never been there before,’ said the woman.
‘No,’ said Flóvent. ‘It’s not a place you want to have to visit.’
He rang Baldur at the National Hospital and asked him to make himself available, then escorted the couple out to the CID car and drove them the short stretch to the hospital. It was one of the largest buildings in the country. The doctor greeted them at the door of the mortuary. He had brought out the girl’s body, which lay on a table under a thin, white sheet. The couple stood close together, hand in hand, as the doctor lifted the sheet from the girl’s face.
Flóvent saw the instant recognition. Saw from the way the hope died in their eyes that she was their missing daughter.
11
Baldur replaced the sheet.
‘Who could have done this to her?’ gasped the woman, looking at her husband. ‘Our poor little girl.’
‘I’m afraid we’ll have to take a statement from you,’ said Flóvent. ‘I’d be grateful if you could come back to Fríkirkjuvegur with me.’
‘Would it be possible...?’ The woman turned to Flóvent. ‘Could we possibly stay with her a little longer? Just for a few minutes?’
‘Of course.’ Flóvent gave the doctor a sign to leave the room with him.
‘Any luck tracking down that Yank?’ asked Baldur once they were alone.
‘At present he’s only a witness who fled the scene. I don’t think we should read any more into it. Thorson’s helping us. Have you met him?’
‘I don’t recall.’
‘He’s a good lad. Icelandic-Canadian. He’s proved very helpful in liaising with the troops in the past.’