‘It’s good to know that Lilja’s case isn’t forgotten.’
‘We do our best.’ Elínborg hurriedly changed the subject, asking Lilja’s mother more about their daily routine and assuring her that the police were receptive to information, even after so many years. Elínborg sat with her for some time, and when she took her leave dusk was falling. Hallgerdur came out to the car with her and stood in the sharp northerly wind, apparently not noticing it.
‘Have you lost anyone close to you in this way?’ she asked Elínborg.
‘No, not in the same way, if you mean …’
‘It’s as if time stands still, and it can’t start again until we know what happened.’
‘Of course it’s a terrible experience.’
‘The tragedy is that it never ends. We can’t say goodbye to her, because we don’t know anything,’ said Hallgerdur, smiling faintly and with her arms crossed across her chest. ‘When Lilja vanished, a part of us went with her which we will never get back.’
She ran a hand through her hair. ‘Maybe we lost ourselves.’
The bakery where Áslaug worked was quiet. A bell hung against the door, and it jangled harshly when Elínborg called in on her way out of town. The northerly wind was rising and Elínborg found herself almost physically blown inside the shop. Inside she was met with the comforting aroma of freshly baked bread. A young woman wearing an apron was handing change to a customer. She closed the till and smiled at Elínborg.
‘Do you have any ciabatta?’ asked Elínborg.
The woman scanned the shelves. ‘Yes, we’ve got two left.’
‘I’ll take them, and a sliced wholemeal loaf, please.’
The assistant put the ciabatta in a bag and placed the wholemeal loaf on the counter. They were alone in the shop.
‘Here you are,’ said the young woman.
Elínborg handed over her credit card. ‘I gather that you were a good friend of Lilja?’ said Elínborg. ‘You’re Áslaug, aren’t you?’
The woman looked at her. She did not appear surprised. ‘Yes,’ she replied, tapping her name badge with a finger. ‘My name is Áslaug. Did you know Lilja?’
‘No, I’m from the Reykjavík police, just passing through. I met some colleagues here and we got talking about Lilja and how she vanished. They said you were her best friend.’
‘Yes,’ said Áslaug. ‘I was. We were … she was such a nice girl. So you were talking about us?’
‘Lilja’s disappearance came up in conversation,’ answered Elínborg as Áslaug passed back her card. ‘Lilja was planning to stay over with you, wasn’t she?’
‘Yes, that was what she said to her mum. I thought she’d changed her mind and gone to see her grandparents. She often did. I didn’t think any more of it. I’d spoken to her that morning — we were thinking of going to the cinema in the evening, and then back to my place. We were planning a trip to Denmark. Just the two of us. Then … then it happened.’
‘It was as if she disappeared into thin air,’ said Elínborg.
‘It was just so unbelievable,’ said Áslaug. ‘So ridiculous. So ridiculous that it could happen. I just know she didn’t kill herself. She must have had some freak accident and … She often used to go down to the seashore. All I can imagine is that maybe she slipped and fell, and was knocked unconscious, then drowned when the tide came in — or something like that.’
‘You’re sure it couldn’t have been suicide?’
‘Absolutely not. That’s a daft suggestion. She was trying to find a birthday present for her grandad. She mentioned it to me that morning, and she was seen in a sports shop that sells riding equipment. Her grandad loves horses. That was the last sighting. Then she disappeared. And nobody has any idea what happened to her.’
‘But apparently the shop didn’t have what she wanted?’ said Elínborg, who had read the witness statements.
‘No.’
‘And that’s the end of the trail.’
‘As I say, it doesn’t make any sense. I never thought to get in touch when I didn’t hear from her that evening. We hadn’t made any firm plans, and she often went out to the farm without telling anyone beforehand. I just assumed she’d gone there.’
The bell rang and a new customer entered. Áslaug sold him a Danish pastry and some rolls. Another customer arrived, and Elínborg waited patiently.
‘How have her parents been coping?’ she asked when they were alone again.
‘They’re up and down,’ said Áslaug. ‘It put a great strain on their marriage. Hallgerdur became very religious and joined a fundamentalist church. Lilja’s dad, Áki, is quite different. He just doesn’t mention it.’
‘You were at school together, weren’t you?’
‘For as long as we could remember.’
‘And at the comprehensive college too?’
‘Yes.’
‘Was she happy there?’
‘Yes, very much so. We both were. She was brilliant at maths. Physics and the other sciences were her favourite subjects. I was more on the languages side. We had even considered going to Denmark to study. That would have been …’
‘Apparently she also talked about going to America.’
‘Yes, she wanted to try living abroad.’
The door opened once more. Áslaug served four customers before Elínborg could ask her about Edvard. She was grateful to Áslaug for not talking about Lilja when other people were in the shop. ‘Did she have any favourite teacher?’ she asked. ‘At the college?’
‘No, not that I know of,’ said Áslaug. ‘They were all really nice.’
‘Do you remember a teacher called Edvard? He taught science subjects, I think.’
‘Yes, I do. He left ages ago. He never taught me. He taught Lilja, though, I’m sure of that.’
‘Did she ever talk about him?’
‘No, not that I can remember.’
‘Yet you recall him clearly?’
‘Yes. He once gave me a lift into town.’
‘Town? Do you mean the town centre here?’
Áslaug smiled for the first time during their conversation. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Edvard lived in Reykjavík, and he once offered me a lift there. To Reykjavík.’
‘Recently?’
‘No, no. It was years ago, when he was teaching here. It must have been before Lilja vanished, because I remember telling her. He was very nice. Why do you ask?’
‘Then what? Did he drop you off when you got to Reykjavík?’
‘Yes, I was waiting for the bus when he stopped and offered me a lift. I was going shopping in Reykjavík and he drove me to the Kringlan mall.’
‘Did he often give people lifts?’
‘I don’t know,’ Áslaug replied. ‘But he was very friendly. Invited me to come round, if I wanted.’
‘Come round to his home?’
‘Yes. What is it? Why are you asking about him?’
‘And did you go round?’
‘No.’
‘Did he ever give Lilja a lift?’
‘I don’t know.’
The door opened to admit another customer, followed by yet another, and before long the bakery was crowded. Elínborg picked up her loaves, called goodbye to Áslaug and left the bakery with the noise of the shop bell ringing in her ears.
Elínborg drove back to Reykjavík, arriving at the Asian food shop just before it closed. Jóhanna was not there and the shop was being minded by a girl who said she sometimes covered for her. Elínborg did not recall seeing her there before. She explained that she knew Jóhanna well, and had hoped to speak to her. The young woman, Jóhanna’s twenty-five-year-old niece, was friendly and helpful. She had been helping Jóhanna out with the shop more and more over the past year, she said, as her aunt’s health had been declining. The cause was not clear — probably exhaustion, she observed frankly, adding that her aunt worked too hard and did not take proper care of herself. Elínborg had the impression that it had been a slow day in the shop, and the girl was pleased to have someone to talk to.