The Darkness(7)

But today the sun was shining out on the peninsula, although there was a blustery wind and, looking back across the bay, Hulda could see the rain clouds still hanging low over Reykjavík. Finally, a series of white apartment blocks with blue roofs rose from the featureless terrain to her right, signalling the outskirts of Njardvík, and she turned off into the town. It wasn’t large but, as she didn’t know her way around, it took her some time driving aimlessly through the streets before she finally located the hostel.

She hadn’t called ahead to let them know she was coming; it hadn’t even occurred to her in her haste to get out of the police station, away from the oppressive atmosphere that seemed to descend on the office the instant she got the bad news. She kept imagining that the corridors were full of people gossiping about her, that all her colleagues knew she’d been given the boot, that she was past it, surplus to requirements, ditched in favour of a younger model. Goddamnit.

The young woman at reception couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. Hulda introduced herself as a police inspector without elaborating on the reason for her visit. The young woman didn’t bat an eyelid.

‘Oh, yes? What can I do for you? Do you need to speak to one of our residents?’

From what Hulda had been able to discover, the hostel was used exclusively as accommodation for asylum-seekers. It was an unwelcoming place. She could almost sense the desperation in the air, the silence and the tension. The walls were painted a stark white and there was nothing here to remind one of home or even of a hotel. This was a place where people waited in limbo to learn their fate.

‘No, I’d just like a few words with whoever’s in charge here.’

‘Sure. That’s me, Dóra.’

It took Hulda a moment to grasp that this young woman was the hostel manager. ‘Ah, right,’ she said, embarrassed, ashamed of her own preconceptions. It hadn’t even occurred to her that a mere slip of a girl like that could be in charge of running the place. ‘Is there somewhere we could have a word in private?’

Dóra had short brown hair and a businesslike manner. Although her smile was friendly enough, her gaze was disconcertingly sharp. ‘Of course, no problem,’ she said. ‘I’ve got an office round the back.’

She got up without another word and led the way briskly down the corridor, with Hulda following on her heels. The office was small and impersonal, with dark blinds over the windows and a single overhead bulb casting an unforgiving glare over the meagre contents. There were no books or papers, nothing but a laptop on the desk.

They sat down and Dóra waited, still without speaking, for Hulda to state her business. Casting around for the right words, Hulda began: ‘The reason I’m here is … I’m investigating the death, a little over a year ago, of a woman who was one of your residents.’

‘Death?’

‘Yes. Her name was Elena. She was an asylum-seeker.’

‘Oh, her. I’m with you. But …’ Dóra frowned, puzzled. ‘I thought the case was closed. He rang me – you know, the detective; I’ve forgotten his name …’

‘Alexander,’ Hulda supplied, picturing him as she said it: sleazy, overweight, with a blankness behind the eyes that never failed to set her teeth on edge.

‘Yeah, Alexander, that was it. He rang to tell me he was closing the case because the investigation was inconclusive and, personally, he thought it was an accident. Or suicide, maybe – Elena’d been waiting ages to hear the result of her application.’

‘Would you say she’d been waiting an abnormally long time? It was my understanding that she’d been here four months.’

‘Oh no, not really – that’s not unusual – but I guess the waiting affects people differently. It can be stressful.’

‘Did you agree with him?’

‘Me?’

‘Yes, you. Do you believe she drowned herself?’

‘I’m no expert. I’ve no idea what I’m supposed to think. It wasn’t like I was the one investigating. Maybe he – whatsisname …’

‘Alexander.’

‘Yeah, Alexander. Maybe he knew something I didn’t.’ Dóra shrugged.

I very much doubt it, Hulda thought, suppressing the temptation to say it aloud. ‘But you must have wondered.’

‘Well, sure, but we’re very busy here. People come and go all the time: she happened to go like that. Anyway, I don’t have time to waste on wondering about that sort of thing.’

‘But surely you knew her?’

‘Not really. No more than any of the others. Look, I’m running a business here. This is how I make my living, so I have to focus on the day-to-day management. It may be a question of life or death for the residents, but I’m just trying to run the place.’

‘Is there someone else here who might have known her better?’

Dóra appeared to think about this. ‘I doubt it. Not any more. Like I said, people come and go all the time.’

‘So, let me get this straight: you’re saying that none of your current residents would have been here when Elena was alive?’

‘Oh, well, there’s always a possibility …’

‘Would you be able to check?’

‘I suppose so.’