The Darkness(23)

So it came as a surprise when he rang to suggest a short weekend trip, to see the snow, as he put it. She glanced out of the window at the driving rain, heard the howling of the wind through the glass, and shivered. But you only live once, she thought. Better to agree and experience something new, an adventure on the edge of the Arctic.

‘Won’t it be cold?’ she asked. ‘It looks so chilly out there.’

‘Colder than this,’ he replied, adding, as if he had read her mind: ‘It’ll be an adventure.’

So they were thinking along the same lines.

She heard herself say yes. But she had other questions, too: where are we going? How will we get there? What shall I bring?

He told her to relax. They’d be going in his four-by-four. Not that they’d be travelling far: the weather was unpredictable and they didn’t want to take any chances. Just far enough to get away from it all, to give her a taste of the wilderness.

She tried again: ‘Where are we going?’

He wouldn’t say.

‘You’ll see,’ he answered at last, then asked if she had a warm coat she could bring, like a down jacket. When she said she had nothing suitable, he offered to lend her one. She would need to get hold of some thick woollen underwear as well, to keep her warm on the journey, especially at night: that’s when the cold would really kick in.

For an instant, she wondered if she should change her mind about going, but she felt the pull, the appeal to her spirit of adventure. She told him, as he must already know, that she didn’t own any woollen underwear, and he offered to buy her some, to lend her the money. She could pay him back later.





IX


Was it possible that she was closing in on the truth? Was it possible that this unknown man had picked Elena up the day before her body was found; that he’d been a client? Hulda could picture the scene as if she’d been there herself. Could imagine how alone and abandoned Elena must have been feeling, forced into prostitution in an alien land. Perhaps he was her first client. Perhaps, when it came to it, she had said no. Could her refusal have cost her her life?

The idea filled Hulda with impotent rage and hatred. She would have to watch herself. What was it that Bishop Vídalín once wrote? Rage kindles an inferno in the eyes; a feeling she knew only too well.

Deciding that this merited another phone call to Bjartur, she rang and asked if Elena had ever referred to any clients – by name or occupation, for example. Bjartur was eager to help but said that, sadly, Elena hadn’t shared any details with him.

The next step was to go and see áki, the businessman suspected of operating a prostitution ring. Having tracked down his address, Hulda drove over to the upmarket area in the west of town where he lived. His house turned out to be an old single-storey detached villa with a well-kept garden. The branches of the trees were still bare, but there was a sense of expectancy about them, as if they were poised to put out the first buds of spring. An aura of peace hung over the unassuming house in the expensive neighbourhood, as if nobody was home, an impression supported by the absence of a car on the drive. She tried the doorbell, but got no reply, so she decided to wait for a while in her car, in case the owner returned. This was the best tip she had received so far and she wanted to ambush áki in person, bombard him with questions before he had a chance to prepare his replies. Besides, she had nowhere else to go. Backing up a little, she parked the old Skoda at a discreet distance, in a spot where she still had a good view of the house.

She’d lost count of the hours she’d spent waiting in her car during her career – it had the comfort of long habit – but by the time two hours had passed she was itching to stand up and stretch her legs. Best stick it out a bit longer, she told herself. Or should she knock on the door on the off-chance? After all, he might be in; he might have been home all day.

As she was weighing up her options, a four-by-four pulled into the drive. Out stepped a lean, youngish-looking man with cropped hair and a brisk, decisive manner. Hulda watched him enter the house and gave it a couple of minutes before following in his footsteps and knocking on the door. The man answered it himself, still in his outdoor shoes and jacket.

He seemed surprised by the visit and waited, still and watchful, for her to state her business.

‘áki?’ Hulda did her best to sound calm and collected.

He nodded, his lips twitching in a rather charming smile.

‘Could I have a word?’

‘That depends. What about?’ His voice was soft, with a hint of firmness underneath.

‘My name’s Hulda Hermannsdóttir. I’m with the police.’ She reached into her pocket, hoping her ID was there.

‘The police,’ he said pensively. ‘I see. You’d better come in. Has something happened?’

She wanted to say yes, recalling the photographs of Elena’s body on the beach, but stopped herself: ‘No, nothing like that. I’m just making a few inquiries, if that’s all right with you.’ She was as polite as she could be in the circumstances, unwilling to give áki any reason to call his solicitor. Better keep things simple for the time being. It would be difficult to justify this visit on the basis of the evidence currently available to her. Just prod him a little and see what happened, try to get a sense of what he was like.

He offered her a seat in the living room – possibly one of several, since the house seemed larger inside than it had appeared from the outside. The decor was modern and minimalist, the colour scheme dominated by monochrome and steel. Hulda took a seat on a black sofa made of some shiny material that felt icy to the touch, while áki perched facing her on a footstool, part of a set with a handsome armchair.