The Darkness(20)

It was a question to which she hadn’t found a satisfactory answer. No doubt there had been all kinds of contributing factors, including attitudes to women back in the day, but the truth was that she’d always found it difficult to bond with her colleagues, always kept them at arm’s length, and had paid the price for that in her career.

‘Hulda, hon, how are you? Is it true you’re leaving? Have you already left?’ Karen slipped into the chair opposite her. ‘I’m afraid I can’t stay long – rushed off my feet at work, you know how it is.’

Karen used to work for Thrándur in the vice squad, but now she had taken the next step up the ladder.

‘Won’t you have a coffee?’ asked Hulda. ‘And some cake?’

‘Definitely no cake, I’m gluten free these days, but I’ll have a coffee.’ Karen stood up again. ‘I’ll fetch it myself.’

‘No, please, let me –’

‘No, I won’t hear of it,’ Karen interrupted, in what sounded to Hulda like a pitying tone. Like one cup of coffee would bankrupt her, now that she was retiring. If there was one thing Hulda couldn’t stand, it was being pitied. Still, she wasn’t going to waste her time arguing over something this trivial, so she let it go.

‘We really must do lunch from time to time,’ said Karen, returning with a cappuccino, ‘so we don’t lose touch. Of course, I knew you were older than me, but I didn’t realize you were that old.’ Astonishingly, Karen seemed to regard this as a compliment. She beamed, not the least embarrassed by her faux pas. Perhaps she thought Hulda would be flattered by this reference to her youthful appearance.

Hulda tried to shrug off her irritation, but it was dawning on her that they had never really been friends after all. Karen had needed her support and friendship while she was clawing her way up through the hierarchy, but now, clearly, Hulda had served her purpose and could be tossed aside. She silently cursed herself for not having realized this before, but right now she needed Karen.

‘I’m retiring,’ she said.

‘Yes, I heard. We’ll all miss you terribly, hon, you know that.’

‘Yes, right. Same here,’ Hulda said insincerely. ‘Anyway, there’s a little matter Magnús asked me to clear up before I go; something he needed an experienced officer to cast an eye over.’ This was being economical with the truth, but then Hulda was getting used to that.

‘Really, did Maggi do that?’ Karen sounded unflatteringly surprised.

It would never have occurred to Hulda to refer to her boss as ‘Maggi’.

‘Yes, he did. It concerns a young Russian woman who died a little over a year ago. She may have been working as a prostitute here, under cover of being an asylum-seeker.’

Karen’s face had taken on a vacant look. She glanced at her watch and smiled in a perfunctory way, clearly impatient to be off.

After a short, rather awkward silence, she said: ‘Sorry, I don’t think I can help you there. I’ve never heard of the case and, anyway, I’ve moved on.’

‘Yes, I’m aware of that,’ Hulda said calmly, ‘but I was under the impression that you were quite well informed about that world – familiar with the main names and faces. But maybe I’ve misunderstood the kind of jobs you were …’ She left it dangling. It had crossed her mind to ask bluntly if this meant that Karen hadn’t been entrusted with anything important, but she reckoned she’d got the message across loud and clear.

‘No, you were right. Shoot,’ said Karen, taking the bait.

‘Are there any characters we still haven’t managed to nail who are suspected of … well, of being in that line of business?’

‘I’m not sure what the scene’s like today, but there is one candidate who springs to mind. Though …’ Karen dried up, but Hulda wasn’t about to let her off the hook. She waited … then waited a little longer: that was one thing she knew how to do. Sure enough, Karen soon felt compelled to continue: ‘But it was difficult to pin anything on him, so we more or less gave up. His name’s áki ákason – you may have heard of him. He runs a wholesale business.’

The name was familiar, all right, though Hulda couldn’t put a face to it. ‘Young or old?’

‘About forty. Lives in the west of town, in a flashy house that must have cost a packet.’

‘The wholesale business can pay well.’

‘Not that well, believe me. He’s up to his neck in it. But sometimes you just can’t get anything to stick, so you have to let it go and move on. For Christ’s sake, don’t spread it any further, though; officially, the man’s squeaky clean.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll keep it to myself,’ Hulda assured her. ‘It’s interesting, but I doubt it’ll help me directly. What I need is a link to the dead girl.’

‘I hear you. Anyway …’

And so they parted, with no warmth on either side. In spite of what she had said, Hulda had every intention of paying this wholesaler a visit. After all, what did she have to lose?





VI


Although life with her daughter was settling into a routine, it wasn’t quite how the mother had pictured it. She was finding it a hard, unrelenting struggle. The child was naughty, fractious and withdrawn, though the mother did her best to lavish on her all the love and kindness she was capable of. Evenings were the most difficult time: the little girl was still so afraid of the dark that she would only go to sleep with the light on. Their financial situation was precarious, too, and all the worries about her child, about money and the future, were taking their toll.