The Darkness(57)

Hulda remembered the days when she would have been referred to as a girl, not a lady.

While he was gone, Hulda seized the chance to switch on the radio and lie back in her seat for a minute. It had been a long day and it wasn’t over yet. But the sky was blue and, after the unpromising start, it had turned into a beautiful sunny evening. Hulda reflected that May was definitely the best time of year in her chilly northern homeland.

After a couple of minutes, Bjartur got back into the car. ‘Sorry about that, we can go on now.’ He smiled. ‘It’s only another half an hour or so.’

They had been driving for an hour already, and Hulda was aware of a gnawing hunger: she’d had nothing to eat since this morning’s Prins Póló biscuits. She was growing increasingly tired, too. Perhaps she could ask Bjartur to drive on the way back. This journey had better not turn out to be a waste of time. She had made herself a promise that she would abandon the case at the end of the day, but would she be capable of keeping that promise? She still felt uneasy about not being able to contact Albert. She had to speak to him.

Or would she simply obey orders: take all the evidence she had gathered to Magnús and let him finish the case? It would be no joke telling Magnús that she suspected their old colleague Albert of double murder. The lads had a habit of sticking together, and Albert had been accepted as part of the gang, despite being a lawyer rather than a detective.

She cursed under her breath. Maybe she should just drop it. Get this journey over and done with.

She missed Pétur, and suddenly realized that she was almost happy to be retiring after all, that she was excited at the prospect of spending her golden years with him. They could do so many things together, travel around Iceland, abroad even, and enjoy life in each other’s company. She would keep up her hiking, now with Pétur, but she could discover new hobbies, too; she was still fit and needed to stay active. She might even take up golf, the hobby of choice for so many of her colleagues. Only sixty-four, and so many things to look forward to; maybe she could try – with Pétur’s help – to put the darkness of the past behind her. She hadn’t seen things so clearly in a long while.

She was very much looking forward to going home to bed and starting a new life when the sun came up tomorrow: a new life with Pétur.





XXI


After a moment, he groped for one of the head torches on the table and switched it on. Then stared down at her, trying to come to terms with what he had done. He’d been in love with this woman, and now she was lying dead at his feet. He had killed her. It was all so bizarre, somehow.

He would have to salvage what he could of the situation. Think logically. Try to prevent too much blood from spilling on to the floor of the hut.

Think. The most important fact was that no one else had known about their trip. And no one would dream of looking for them here or of searching the hut for evidence of the crime.

It was still dark, which meant he had plenty of time. All he had to do was keep a cool head and act methodically.

It was the first time he had ever killed anyone, and, in truth, it had been disturbingly easy.





XXII


‘I think we’re on the right track,’ Bjartur said. ‘This is the valley Elena mentioned, though I’m not aware of any buildings here. But then it’s a long time since I last visited the area.’ Then he added: ‘Are you sure we should go here? I’m not really used to – you know, tracking a killer …’

‘We can’t turn back now we’ve travelled this far,’ Hulda said. ‘It’ll be OK. I don’t for a minute believe we’re in any danger. Is this the right direction? Do we keep heading up the valley?’ The road had dwindled to a gravel track, its surface deteriorating with every kilometre.

‘Yes, that’s right.’

As they continued their juddering progress up the valley, Hulda spared the odd fleeting thought for her Skoda, anxious that it might not be able to cope with the potholes, but other worries were crowding for attention in her head: the death at the hospital; the mother on her way to jail; the potential repercussions of this tragic incident for Hulda herself; the way she had ruined everything in one spectacularly horrible week. Elena was increasingly fading from view, pushed out by these other concerns.

It was a beautiful evening, the sun hung low in an almost cloudless sky, and a group of newly planted saplings cast long shadows over the pale grass of the valley. The slopes had yet to turn green, as spring was not as advanced up here as it was down in the city. For a moment, looking round at the wide-open spaces and boundless blue sky, Hulda experienced a feeling of freedom, that her potential was limitless. But then her tiredness reasserted itself and she would have given anything to be enjoying the weather somewhere else: preferably looking out over Pétur’s garden in Fossvogur.

‘Perhaps we should call it a day,’ she muttered, after five more minutes of bone-shaking progress.

‘Yeah, I agree,’ said Bjartur. ‘There’s a better turning spot just a hundred metres or so up ahead.’ Next moment, he shouted triumphantly: ‘House! Look, there’s a building. That’s new. It wasn’t there the last time I came up here.’

Hulda slowed down and followed Bjartur’s pointing finger.

‘Shall we check it out?’ he suggested. ‘I bet it’s the house Elena was referring to.’