Elínborg took the tunnel under Hvalfjördur and drove up to Akranes. A brisk northerly wind was blowing. She had arranged to meet the parents of Lilja, the girl who had vanished six years before. She had spoken to the mother, who still contacted the police occasionally to ask if any progress on the case had been made. When she first heard from Elínborg, the mother had thought initially that there might be a new lead, but the detective was quick to disabuse her and say that, regrettably, she had no new evidence. She only wanted to review the events and establish whether Lilja’s parents might have anything new to contribute to the investigation.
‘I thought the case was closed,’ the woman had said on the phone.
‘No, nothing new has come up, we don’t know any more than we did then.’
‘So what do you want?’ asked Hallgerdur, Lilja’s mother. ‘What are you ringing me for?’
‘I gather that you get in touch with us now and then to ask about the case,’ said Elínborg. ‘A colleague mentioned Lilja the other day. I played a small part in the investigation at the time, and it occurred to me that you might be prepared to refresh my memory, run through the events. We try to learn from cases like Lilja’s. We’re always learning something new.’
‘Absolutely,’ replied the woman.
She was waiting for her visitor and had opened the front door before Elínborg was out of her car. They shook hands in the chilly breeze, and Hallgerdur ushered her in. She was some years older than Elínborg, very slender, and appeared to be highly strung. She was clearly tense about being visited by the police. She said she was alone in the house. Her husband, an engineer on a fishing boat, had gone out to sea that morning. The couple lived in an old detached house with a large garden which showed the ravages of autumn weather. In the living room Elínborg saw a large photograph of Lilja, taken about two years before her disappearance. She recognised it as the photo that had been published in the media at the time of the search. It showed the cheery face of a young girl with dark hair and pretty brown eyes. The photograph was displayed in a heavy black mourning frame on top of a fine chest of drawers. In front of it a votive candle flickered.
‘She was just a normal child,’ said Hallgerdur, when they had taken their seats. ‘A really lovely girl. She was so interested in all sorts of things, and loved being with her gran and grandad in Hvalfjördur. She spent all her time there with the horses. But she had a lot of friends here in town: you could speak to Áslaug — the two of them were inseparable, ever since infant school. She works in the bakery now, she’s got two children of her own. Married a good lad from nearby. Áslaug’s a treasure. She always stays in touch, pops in for a chat. She brings her two little girls, such pretty children.’
Elínborg detected a fleeting, delicate tinge of regret in Hallgerdur’s voice.
‘What do you think happened?’ asked Elínborg.
‘I’ve been torturing myself all these years, and all I know for sure now is that it was God’s will. I know now that she must be dead and I’ve accepted it, and I know she’s with God. As to what happened to her, I have no idea. No more than you do.’
‘And she intended to stay the night with a friend, did she?’
‘Yes, with Áslaug. They’d been talking about meeting up that evening and seeing a film. They often stayed the night with each other, without planning it specifically. Sometimes Lilja would ring to say she was at Áslaug’s and was going to stay over, and the same went for Áslaug when she came here. They didn’t necessarily decide in advance, but this time Lilja had said she meant to go to Áslaug’s that evening.’
‘When did you last speak to her?’
‘It was that Friday, the day she disappeared. See you, she said. It was the last thing she ever said to me. See you. There was nothing special about the conversation. Just a routine call, to let me know. No more than that. I said a proper goodbye, I think. Bye, sweetheart, I said. That was a comfort to me, afterwards. That was all there was to it. Bye, sweetheart. That was all.’
‘So she hadn’t been feeling depressed in the days before, or seemed unhappy about something?’
‘Not at all. Our Lilja was never depressed. Always cheerful, and positive, and willing to help. She was pure in heart, an innocent, as really good people are. She treated others well and they treated her well in return. That was the way it was. She was trusting, didn’t see evil in anyone, because she’d never encountered it. She had only ever known good people.’
‘There’s a lot of talk now about bullying in schools, and ways to prevent it,’ said Elínborg.
‘No, there was nothing like that going on,’ Hallgerdur replied.
‘And was she happy at school?’
‘Yes. Lilja was a good student. Maths was her favourite subject, and she used to talk about doing something scientific at university — physics or maths. She wanted to go abroad to study, to America. She said their universities were the best for those subjects.’
‘Was the science teaching good at the college?’
‘So far as I know. I never heard anyone complain about it.’
‘Did she ever talk about the teaching? Or the teachers — anything like that?’
‘No.’
‘Did she ever mention a teacher called Edvard?’
‘Edvard?’
‘He taught her science subjects,’ Elínborg explained.
‘Why are you asking about him?’
‘I …’
‘Did he know my daughter, or something?’
‘He taught her during the school year before she disappeared. He’s an acquaintance of mine, that’s all. I know he was teaching here around that time.’
‘She never mentioned any Edvard. Is he from here? I don’t remember her ever talking about him specifically, no more than any other teacher.’
‘No, no, of course. I just thought of asking, because I know him slightly. Edvard lives in Reykjavík. He used to commute by car. He was quite young then. He has a friend named Runólfur. Do you remember Lilja ever saying anything about them?’
‘Runólfur? Is he a friend of yours too?’
‘No,’ answered Elínborg, realising that she had got herself into an awkward position. She could not bring herself to tell Hallgerdur the truth, or explain her suspicion — really no more than a hunch — that a link might exist between Lilja and a suspected rapist in Reykjavík. She did not want to add to the woman’s distress any more than necessary, especially since she had so little to go on, but she wanted to float the names in case Hallgerdur had any relevant knowledge.
‘Why are you asking about Lilja now, and why are you asking about those men?’ asked Hallgerdur. ‘Is there new evidence you don’t want to tell me about? What are you after?’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Elínborg. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have brought up any names. They have nothing to do with Lilja’s disappearance.’
‘I don’t know them.’
‘No, I didn’t expect you to.’
‘Runólfur? Isn’t that the name of that man who was murdered in Reykjavík?’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘Is that him? The one you’re asking about?’
Elínborg hesitated. ‘Edvard knew Runólfur,’ she said.
‘Knew Runólfur? Is that why you’re here? Is this Runólfur involved with my daughter’s case?’
‘No,’ replied Elínborg. ‘Nothing new has come to light. All we know is that Edvard and Runólfur were friends.’
‘I don’t know them — I’ve never heard those names.’
‘No, I didn’t expect so.’
‘What’s their connection with Lilja, then?’
‘Nothing.’
‘But didn’t you come here to ask about them?’
‘I just wanted to find out if you might recognise the names. That was all.’