‘You’re not the only girl meeting soldiers in secret, miss,’ said Thorson in a friendly voice. ‘Not the first and you won’t be the last either.’
She tried to smile.
‘What’s his name, miss?’ asked Flóvent. ‘The soldier you were with.’
‘Please, there’s no need to call me “miss”.’
‘All right,’ said Flóvent.
‘Frank,’ she replied. ‘His name’s Frank. Have you spoken to him?’
‘No. Frank what — do you know his surname?’ asked Thorson.
‘Of course I do. Frank Carroll. He’s a sergeant. How did you know I was there? Did somebody see me?’
‘It’s a small town,’ said Thorson drily.
‘You were spotted by a woman who recognised you,’ Flóvent elaborated. ‘It doesn’t matter who she is, but she saw you with a soldier, an American, and assumed you two must have hurt the girl, then made a run for it. Was she right?’
‘No!’ exclaimed Ingiborg vehemently. ‘I’ve never seen the girl before. Never in my life. Frank and I were... we only went there to... you know...’
‘Neck?’ suggested Thorson.
‘Daddy doesn’t want me seeing him. You heard what he said. He’s forbidden me to meet him. There are so few places we can go. I don’t like being around the other soldiers, and I don’t want to ask my friends to lend us their rooms, so really all we can do is meet out of doors. We’ve been there once before.’
‘What is he? Infantry? Artillery?’
‘All I know is that he’s a sergeant. We don’t talk much about the army. He hates it and he’s afraid of being sent to Europe.’
‘Where did you two meet?’
‘At Hótel Borg. Last autumn. He’s ever such a nice man. So polite and considerate.’
‘So you mainly meet at dances?’
‘Yes. He’s... he’s a terrific dancer.’
‘You like the jitterbug?’ asked Thorson, trying to lighten the atmosphere a little.
‘Yes.’
‘What else do you know about Frank?’
‘He’s from Illinois. He’s five years older than me. He’s going to start a car dealership when he gets out of the army. Everyone owns a car in America. He likes going to the movies, but I haven’t dared go with him since Daddy banned me from meeting him. He has two brothers and lives with his mother. His father’s dead.’
‘Did he strangle the girl in the doorway of the theatre?’ asked Flóvent with sudden brutality.
Ingiborg recoiled in shock. ‘No! He didn’t lay a finger on her. I don’t know who the girl was. Oh my goodness, you mustn’t say things like that. Was she strangled?’
‘Did you watch him do it?’
‘Me? No, I... no, how could you say such a terrible thing?’
‘Afterwards did you take her and dump her behind the theatre like a worthless piece of rubbish?’
‘My goodness... how can you talk like that...?’ She began to whimper.
‘Then why did you two run away?’
‘Because he insisted. Frank did. He thought it was the most sensible thing to do. Said it was none of our business. And... he was right. We had nothing to do with it. Nothing at all. It’s terrible. Absolutely terrible. Of course, I know we shouldn’t have run off but...’
‘Is Frank aware of your father’s position at the ministry?’
‘No.’
‘That he’s chief adviser to the government on the inauguration of the republic this summer?’
Ingiborg looked at Flóvent. ‘All Frank knows about Daddy is that Daddy despises him and won’t have anything to do with him.’
‘Have you seen the girl before?’
‘No, never. I’ve never seen her before and I don’t have a clue who she is. Do you know who she is?’
‘Why did Frank say that running off and leaving her was the most sensible thing to do?’ asked Thorson, ignoring her question.
‘Because it was none of our business,’ said Ingiborg. ‘And it’s true. We only found her. We didn’t do anything to harm her. Honestly. We never touched her.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘What?’
‘That it was none of your business?’
‘Because I don’t know who she is. I’ve never seen her before.’
‘What about your boyfriend, Frank?’
‘What about him?’
‘Had he seen her before?’
‘Frank? No.’
‘How can you be so sure of that?’
‘Because... I just know. Why are you saying that? Why would you think he knew her?’
‘Because he fled the scene,’ said Thorson. ‘That might be why he ran away. Because he knew her.’
Ingiborg stared at him aghast as she realised what he was insinuating.
‘But she was a complete stranger to him,’ she said, with less conviction this time, because now she stopped to think about it, she didn’t really know much at all about Sergeant Frank Carroll from Illinois.
‘All right, Ingiborg, I think that’ll do for now,’ said Flóvent.
‘Are you going to arrest me?’
‘No,’ said Flóvent. ‘We’re not going to arrest you. But we may need to speak to you again, possibly even tomorrow. I hope that’ll be convenient.’
She nodded.
‘Perhaps you should fetch her parents now,’ Flóvent said, turning to Thorson. He noticed a fresh look of dismay cross the young woman’s features.
The following afternoon, once Thorson had combed through the lists of all the US servicemen in Iceland, made a few phone calls to confirm his suspicions, and also checked the lists of other nationals, he rang Flóvent at the Fríkirkjuvegur offices.
‘She’s lying to us,’ he said, when Flóvent picked up.
‘What makes you so sure?’
‘We can’t trace that sergeant of hers.’
‘You can’t find Frank?’
‘We can’t find any sergeant by the name of Frank Carroll stationed here. He doesn’t exist.’
‘Are you absolutely sure?’
‘Yup. The guy doesn’t exist.’
‘Then what are the odds he’s not from Illinois either?’
‘I’m willing to bet that’s a lie too,’ said Thorson.
7
Marta was in the middle of trying to do ten things at once when Konrád dropped in to see her at the CID offices. He rarely went in now that he was retired, and he paid little attention to what was going on there, except for what he heard on the news.
‘I wanted to ask if you could use any help with the murder inquiry into the old man’s death,’ he said when Marta had a momentary break between calls. They were sitting in her office, surrounded by piles of documents, folders, newspapers and other junk that Marta had accumulated over the years, much of it unrelated to work. Amid the clutter was a handsome sword that had belonged to a Danish lieutenant around the turn of the twentieth century. She had picked it up in an antiques shop, and now it lay in its scabbard atop a tide of paper on the windowsill. Konrád had never asked why she’d bought it but vaguely remembered hearing that her grandfather had been an officer in the Icelandic Coast Guard.
‘You what?’ said Marta.
‘Aren’t you permanently short-staffed?’
‘I thought you’d retired.’
‘Yes, and you can rest assured that I have absolutely no intention of coming back. But I’d like to help out with the case, if you’d let me.’
‘Why?’
‘Boredom, simple as that. You wouldn’t even need to tell anyone. I’d report my findings to you and if I uncovered anything significant I’d let you know at once.’
‘Konrád... I... you’re supposed to be retired,’ said Marta. ‘Shouldn’t we just keep things the way they are? You can’t start trying to make private deals with me. It’s out of the question. Honestly, what are you like?’
‘Fair enough, you’re the boss,’ said Konrád.