The Darkness(29)

As the tears welled up in her eyes, she had promised to think about it.





XX


The lawyer’s house in the leafy suburb of Grafarvogur reminded Hulda a little of her old home on álftanes. Though the neighbourhood was very different in character, there was something about the house itself that triggered a rush of nostalgia – the cosy, old-world air, perhaps. Not that it took much to set her off at the moment. Since receiving notice of her dismissal, her thoughts had been turning to the past with unusual frequency. Her budding relationship with Pétur had stirred things up, too, making her uneasily aware of all that she hadn’t yet told him.

She rang the doorbell and waited.

Though the man who answered the door was a much shorter, stockier figure than Albert, the family resemblance was unmistakeable. He appeared to be considerably older than his brother, maybe as much as a decade, Hulda guessed, and much thicker about the waist.

‘You must be Hulda,’ the brother said, smiling; his voice with its smooth radio announcer’s tones also giving away his relationship to Albert.

‘That’s right.’

‘Come in.’ He led her into a sitting room crowded with mismatched furniture, most of it deeply unfashionable to Hulda’s admittedly limited eye for such things. Taking pride of place was a boxy old television set with a large, extremely comfortable-looking recliner planted in front of it.

‘I’m Baldur Albertsson, Albert’s brother.’

Albert and Baldur: their parents obviously hadn’t leafed very far through the book of baby names before plumping for those two, Hulda thought. Next moment, she was struck by a fact she should have noticed straight away: Albert’s brother was a perfect match for the description Dóra had given of the man in the four-by-four – short and fat. She caught her breath, at the same time telling herself to get a grip. What was the likelihood that the lawyer’s brother could be the man she was after? Admittedly, he had a connection to the case, but only an indirect one. And, anyway, Dóra’s vague description could refer to any number of people. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to use this opportunity to ask the man a few questions. She toyed with the idea of asking him straight out if he had ever picked Elena up from the hostel, but something told her this would be jumping the gun. Better to let Dóra identify him first, then put him on the spot.

Recalling how jumpy she had felt in áki’s house, Hulda reflected on the contrast now. In spite of her awakening suspicions, Baldur Albertsson continued to come across as an affable, unthreatening presence.

‘I gather Albert’s not in,’ she said, in an attempt at small talk.

‘No, he’s at a meeting. Always on the go.’

‘Are you a lawyer, too?’

Baldur gave a polite chuckle. It had a well-rehearsed sound. Doubtless, it was a question he was often asked. ‘Good Lord, no. That’s Albert’s area – the first and only lawyer in the family. I … I’m between jobs at present.’

‘I see,’ said Hulda, and waited, knowing from experience that direct questions were often unnecessary.

‘Albert very generously lets me stay with him,’ Baldur elaborated, then, after a brief pause, corrected himself: ‘ “Stay”’s probably the wrong word: I live here, have done for the last two years, ever since I lost my job. This used to be our parents’ house, but Albert bought the place off them when they downsized.’

Hulda took a moment to respond to this, trying to think of a diplomatic answer. ‘That sounds like a good arrangement … assuming you get on well together.’

‘Oh, yes, that’s never been a problem.’ Changing the subject, he asked: ‘Would you like a coffee?’

Hulda nodded. She wasn’t about to pass up on the opportunity to get to know this man a little better, if there was even an outside chance that he was mixed up in the case. Anyway, he gave the impression of being more in need of company than caffeine.

There was a lengthy interval before he returned with the coffee, which, after all that, turned out to be undrinkable. Never mind, it provided the perfect excuse for a longer chat.

While she was waiting, Hulda had used the time to hunt around the room for a picture of Baldur. She needed one to show Dóra and had thought of using the camera on her phone to take a shot of any photo she found, though the quality wouldn’t have been very good, given the knackered state of her mobile. To her frustration, there were none. She wondered if she could surreptitiously snap a picture of him without rousing his suspicions but knew this would tax her agility. She was all fingers and thumbs with her phone and taking a photo required pressing too many buttons.

They sat on either side of a large dining table, and Hulda reflected on how much she would rather have spent this time with Pétur. Then again, maybe it wasn’t too late: there was no real distinction between day and night at this time of year; night was nothing more than a state of mind. Thinking about Pétur brought with it the dawning realization that maybe she’d had enough of work after all; there might be something to be said for unlimited evenings off, with no distractions, either direct or indirect, from her job. She was far too inclined to take work home with her, even when there was no need for it. Her mind was always in overdrive. She had never been able to tear herself away from her cases, to switch off completely. Jón used to complain about that, but it was simply how she was made.