‘You weren’t alone?’ he said. ‘When you found the girl?’
For the first time Ingiborg didn’t answer.
‘Obviously, it must be painful to talk about after all this time,’ Konrád added after a pause.
‘I was... no, it’s not very nice having to talk about it.’
A silence developed, which Konrád refrained from breaking.
‘He was a soldier,’ Ingiborg said all of a sudden.
‘Who?’
‘You’re right, I wasn’t alone when I found her. He said his name was Frank Carroll but that was a lie, like everything else he told me. His real name was Frank Ruddy — the American soldier I was friendly with for a while — and he wasn’t a very admirable character. A real cad, in fact. He lied to me. Not just about his name. He turned out to have a wife back in America. And children. He was even two-timing me with another girl here in Reykjavík.’
The words came in spurts, she almost spat them out, and again Konrád sensed bitterness mingled with an old anger.
‘An absolute snake,’ Ingiborg continued. ‘It was the police who told me what sort of person he was. Lovely men, both of them. They knew I’d been taken for a...’ She broke off, then continued apologetically: ‘I wasn’t going to tell you any of this. When you rang and wanted to dredge the whole thing up. I wasn’t going to talk about it at all.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Konrád. ‘You can say as much or as little as you like. It’s up to you.’
‘I was... I was dreadfully upset when I learnt the truth about Frank, what sort of person he was. Flóvent, the detective, came to see me specially to tell me everything. Please excuse me but I... I don’t feel comfortable digging all this up. Perhaps it would be best if you left now. I don’t think I can help you any further.’
‘All right,’ said Konrád. ‘Of course. I didn’t mean to upset you.’
Ingiborg stood up with some difficulty to see him out.
‘What can you tell me about Flóvent?’ asked Konrád, rising to his feet as well. He remembered the name from one of Stefán’s newspaper cuttings. ‘Was he in charge of the investigation?’
‘Yes, he led the inquiry into the girl’s death. There was another policeman too, representing the army. Thorson, his name was. An unusually nice, charming young man.’
‘Thorson?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you say Thorson?’ Konrád couldn’t hide his astonishment.
‘Yes. Thorson.’
‘Was he investigating the girl’s death as well?’
‘Yes. There were two of them. Flóvent and Thorson.’
‘Do you have any idea what became of him?’
‘No. He was from Canada. I expect he went back there after the war.’
‘He was a policeman here?’
‘Yes, with the military police.’
‘And he investigated Rósamunda’s death?’
‘Yes.’
It took Konrád a while to digest what Ingiborg had told him.
Finally she lost patience. ‘Why are you so astonished?’
‘You mean you don’t know?’
‘Know what?’
‘Thorson died a couple of weeks ago. He was the pensioner found murdered in his flat. He went by the name of Stefán Thórdarson in later life. He was the man who kept the cuttings about the girl and had recently started asking questions about her, after all this time.’
It was Ingiborg’s turn to be stunned. ‘You mean that was Thorson?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who on earth would have wanted to harm him?’
‘We don’t know. I thought you might be able to help us answer that.’
The old woman sank back into her chair.
‘Can you tell me anything about him?’ asked Konrád, copying her example and sitting down again.
‘I shouldn’t... my son... I can hardly tell you — a complete stranger.’
‘It needn’t go any further.’
‘No, it’s probably best if you leave now. I... I’ve had enough. I’m tired. Would you please go?’
‘All right.’ But Konrád showed no signs of moving. He could see that the old lady was troubled and sensed that in spite of what she said, she hadn’t finished.
‘It’s... it’s one of those things that happens, and then you’re left facing it all alone, powerless,’ she said. ‘And it never leaves you, however many years go by. It stays with you for ever.’
‘Perhaps you’d like to know how Thorson died,’ said Konrád. ‘He was suffocated. At home in his bed. His pillow was held over his face and —’
‘Please, spare me the details.’
‘Tell me something: did you ever hear about another girl who suffered the same or a similar fate to Rósamunda?’
‘Another girl?’
‘There’s a chance Thorson was asking questions about her before he died. Another girl from those days. A girl who disappeared. I gather they never found her remains.’
‘And she was supposed to have suffered the same fate?’
‘Yes, does that ring any bells?’
‘No,’ said Ingiborg pensively. ‘Thorson told me the girl from the theatre had mentioned the huldufólk, but I can’t remember exactly what it was she had said.’
‘Really? The huldufólk?’
‘Yes, just like the woman I went to see. Mind you... I didn’t know whether to take it seriously or if it had any bearing...’
‘What?’
Ingiborg heaved a sigh of resignation. ‘If I tell you, it’s only for Thorson’s sake, in case it helps you find out the truth about his death. He was so very kind to me.’ She fell silent. ‘Maybe I should... I’ve never told anyone else.’
‘What?’
‘I told Thorson about her and what she did, and I know he and Flóvent went to see her. Thorson believed Rósamunda had gone to her for the same reason. To the woman on the hill. It’s an experience I’ll... I’ll never forget as long as I live...’
21
One cold February day, not long after Ingiborg had identified Frank at the military police headquarters, she put on her best coat and a fetching hat, and went down to number 11 Fríkirkjuvegur where she asked to speak to Flóvent. It was the first time she had been inside the grand building that housed Reykjavík’s Criminal Investigation Department. A secretary greeted her at reception and asked her to wait.
Shortly afterwards Flóvent appeared and showed Ingiborg into his office.
‘I didn’t know where else to turn,’ said Ingiborg, once she was seated in front of his desk. She took in her surroundings with interest. The office wasn’t large. One window looked out over the dusk-filled back garden where the stables used to be. The only source of illumination in the room was a desk lamp, which cast a pool of light on Flóvent’s papers, a card with fingerprints, and some photographs of Rósamunda’s body at the scene of the crime.
Frank was still being detained by the American military police; Ingiborg hadn’t met her former lover since his arrest. Flóvent told her that he would remain in custody until they had verified his story.
‘What can I do for you?’ he asked now.
‘What’ll happen to Frank, do you know?’
‘I can’t say for sure. If he turns out not to have played any part in Rósamunda’s death and they find no other reason for him to remain in custody, he’ll be released.’
‘And allowed to stay in the army?’
‘I expect so.’
‘Here in Reykjavík?’
‘I really couldn’t say. He may be a cheat and a liar but I’m afraid that’s not a criminal offence. There’s talk of troop movements to Britain, an imminent invasion of the Continent. He may well be sent over there with his regiment.’
‘I need to speak to him,’ said Ingiborg. ‘I’m afraid it’s unavoidable.’
Flóvent’s face registered surprise. ‘I’d have thought you wouldn’t want anything more to do with him.’