Reykjavik Nights (18 page)

‘What?'

‘The fact they couldn't have children.'

‘No, well, actually only the other day at our sewing circle we were discussing whether she had found herself a new lover. You hear so many stories – that sort of gossip's always doing the rounds, you know what I mean? So I can't vouch for it. I knew her very well and wasn't aware of it, so … in my opinion it's rubbish. But we were discussing whether he might have been the man she met at Thórskaffi that evening.' Ástrídur lowered her voice. ‘The man in the drawing.'

Erlendur nodded again. Oddný's family had commissioned an artist's impression of one of the men at the nightclub, based on a description by her childhood friend, and circulated it to the papers and the television station. The friend in question had seen Oddný talking to the man just before she left. The picture had resulted in a few leads from the public, among them customers from Thórskaffi, but none of these could be substantiated.

‘It did emerge that she'd once been unfaithful to her husband,' said Erlendur. ‘In connection with that drawing.'

‘Yes, that came out in one of the papers,' said Ástrídur in disgust. ‘It's terrible, printing something like that. Poor couple.'

‘The circumstances were similar. It seemed significant.'

‘Admittedly, she did meet that guy at a nightclub,' said Ástrídur, ‘but it was the only time.'

Three years before her disappearance Oddný had slept with a man after meeting him at Rödull, a nightclub. After two or three more encounters she had decided to break it off, but the man didn't want to let her go. Then Oddný's husband had found out. He had gone berserk and threatened to leave her, but they had managed to sort it out and, as far as anyone knew, she had never met the man again.

‘Why did she have a fling?' asked Erlendur.

‘Your guess is as good as mine,' said Ástrídur. ‘The first I heard about it was when I read it in the papers.'

‘But you think she may have done it again – cheated on her husband?'

‘Well, it's possible that the man she met in Thórskaffi wasn't just a casual acquaintance. Maybe there was something more between them and they really did leave together. The girls in my sewing circle think it's very strange that he's never come forward.'

‘Was their marriage in trouble?'

‘For all I know, it was fine. At any rate, she didn't complain to us. I get on all right with her husband. We sometimes take our partners along when we go out together, and he was always very nice. He doesn't come out any more, though. We've invited him but he … naturally he's been going through a very tough time and…'

‘What?'

‘Oh, just, I think he's coped really well, considering.'

‘Does he still live alone?'

‘I believe so. As far as I know. For the moment, anyway. But life goes on.'

‘Yes,' said Erlendur, looking up at the large poster of London behind her. ‘I suppose it does.'

31

Rebekka was tidying up when Erlendur dropped by the surgery later that afternoon. All the patients had gone and the doctors were leaving, one after the other, calling out their goodbyes to her. She asked Erlendur to wait a minute while she finished up, then followed him out into the sunshine. They walked to the lake again, this time finding a bench at the near end, by the Idnó Theatre. He pulled the earring from his pocket and handed it to her.

‘What's this?'

‘It turned up in the pipeline where Hannibal was sleeping,' Erlendur explained.

‘Oh, so you got managed to get hold of it?'

She examined it.

‘Seen it before?' asked Erlendur.

‘No, who –?'

‘Quite sure?'

‘Definitely,' she said firmly. ‘Was it Hannibal's?'

‘No, it wasn't his. But I think I know whose it was, and it's very odd that it turned up in his camp.'

‘So whose was it?'

‘Are you absolutely sure you've never seen it before?'

‘Yes, I've never laid eyes on it,' said Rebekka. ‘Did it belong to a girlfriend of Hannibal's? Someone who visited him there? Why did you say it's very odd? What's so odd about it?'

‘The woman who owned this earring is almost certainly dead. There's a chance that the night she went missing she was in the pipeline with Hannibal at some point.'

‘I don't understand. What do you mean? She went missing?'

‘Her name was Oddný. Maybe you remember the news reports.'

Rebekka thought.

‘You mean the woman at Thórskaffi?'

He nodded.

‘Was she at the pipeline?'

‘Possibly.'

‘How … what…?'

‘It's a year since she vanished and the police still haven't worked out what happened to her. Either it was suicide or she was murdered. She disappeared around the same time – in fact the very same weekend – that Hannibal drowned in Kringlumýri. Nobody connected the incidents because there was nothing to link them. But recently I talked to a friend of Hannibal's who'd been on the streets with him. She claimed she'd gone to his camp shortly after he died, found the earring and took it away with her. I'm afraid there's no getting round the fact that Oddný may have been with Hannibal the night she went missing.'

Rebekka stared at Erlendur, stricken. Her gaze dropped to the earring and she jerked back her hand as if burnt. The earring fell on the ground. Erlendur bent over and retrieved it. Anticipating a reaction like this, he had tried to think of a way to mitigate the shock. Perhaps there wasn't one.

‘Do … do the police know about this?' stammered Rebekka. ‘Of course they must – you're a policeman yourself.'

‘I've kept this to myself for the moment,' he said. ‘But I can't cover it up for ever. The woman who found the earring saw no reason to report it, so for the time being it's just between us.'

‘Are you saying that Hannibal … that Hannibal played some part in her disappearance? The woman from Thórskaffi?'

‘Not necessarily. There's an outside chance that he came across the earring somewhere else and took it home with him. Or wasn't even aware it was in the pipeline and didn't lay a finger on her. Then again…'

‘You think he might have harmed her!'

‘I didn't say that.'

‘But it's what you believe.'

‘Is it possible?'

‘For God's sake, no!' she exclaimed. ‘There's absolutely no way. Hannibal could never have hurt her. I just can't … Anyway, what does that have to do with him dying the same weekend?'

‘The earring was found in Hannibal's camp. It belonged to the woman. Those are the facts. How to interpret them is another matter.'

‘She vanishes; he drowns. You really think there's a link?'

‘It's hard not to connect them.'

‘You'll have to report this.'

‘Yes.'

‘Can you find out?' Rebekka asked. ‘If Hannibal harmed her? On the quiet? Before you do?'

‘I'd really like to, but I can't hush it up for much longer.'

‘Would you do it for me?' Rebekka asked. ‘Please, Erlendur. Hannibal wasn't like that. He wouldn't have been capable of it. Under any circumstances.'

‘I'll –'

‘The minute you tell them about the earring everyone'll believe he killed that poor woman. Then the case will never be solved and we'll never find out what really happened. And people will believe that about Hannibal. For ever. You have to help me, please, Erlendur. He didn't hurt anyone. You have to believe me. He never hurt anyone!'

‘I'll do my best. But I'm in an impossible position –'

‘Of course, I understand, but…'

Her words petered out.

‘You have to help me,' she repeated eventually. ‘Please, for me, find out the truth before it's too late.'

32

It transpired that the police had seen no reason to interview a childhood friend of Oddný's called Ingunn. She was a housewife and mother of four, who lived in one of the new terraced houses in Breidholt, where the urban sprawl had spread with alarming speed in recent years. Whichever way you looked, everything was new – streets, buildings, gardens. Many of the sites had yet to be finished and wooden boards, some with mats on them, had been laid in front of entrances in an effort to keep the dirt from being trampled indoors. Only the cars parked outside were old, as many of those building new homes had been forced either to sell their vehicles to pay for the construction or to exchange them for rusty old wrecks that were reluctant to start in the mornings. One of these was puttering out of Ingunn's street as Erlendur arrived; it stalled, coughed into life again and disappeared round the corner in a cloud of blue smoke.

He had called ahead and Ingunn was waiting for him with freshly made coffee and slices of home-made sponge cake. Her children were out playing on the construction sites and her husband was at work. Erlendur could see photos of them all in the sitting room.

‘So you're still looking for Oddný,' she said, pouring coffee into cups. ‘I suppose you've left no stone unturned.'

‘That's right,' said Erlendur. ‘The case isn't closed. But the police haven't interviewed you before, have they?'

‘No, I … they haven't, and I really don't know if I can help you much. I've never actually spoken to the police before. My husband's been pushing me to get in touch with you but … there's been enough gossip about poor Oddný already.'

Erlendur had introduced himself as a police officer who was looking into the incident on his own initiative, making it clear that he had nothing to do with the formal investigation. Ingunn was satisfied and asked no further questions. In fact, she seemed completely devoid of curiosity. She had a quiet manner and spoke so softly that it was hard to hear her. She and Oddný had grown up on the same street and kept in touch all those years. They had attended the same sixth-form college, but unlike Oddný, Ingunn had completed her schooling and taken her final exams. But by then she was in a relationship and pregnant, so instead of going on to the university she had stayed at home and supported her husband during his further education. He was a doctor.

‘I always wanted to study Icelandic,' she said, with a faint smile.

‘Do you know why Oddný dropped out of college after two years?' asked Erlendur.

‘I wasn't surprised,' said Ingunn. ‘She wasn't really interested in studying, and she needed the money. She spent all her time at parties. Didn't revise. So she failed her exams, left college and never regretted it. She was very industrious – worked all the time – but studying just wasn't for her. She was still living with her parents too and wanted to make her contribution, which was only natural as her family was poor. They'd never had much money.'

‘Then a few years later she got married.'

‘That's right, to Gústaf.'

‘Were there any other men before him?'

‘Oh, yes, she'd been out with a few people, but nothing serious until Gústaf came on the scene. They quickly moved in together.'

‘But had no children?'

‘No, she was sad about that. She'd always dreamt of having children. But it didn't happen, unfortunately. She used to talk to me about it sometimes.'

‘Do you know what the problem was?'

‘No, not exactly. She was … he didn't like her discussing it. I remember she touched on the subject once when we were all out together, and he got incredibly angry. That wasn't like him, at least as far as we were aware. I suppose it's not really surprising – it must have been a sensitive issue for him.'

‘She cheated on him once.'

‘Yes, she did.'

‘And was seen talking to an unknown man at Thórskaffi just before she vanished.'

‘Yes, I read about that.'

‘Do you know anything about the man?'

‘No.'

‘Or about any other similar incidents?'

‘You mean other men in her life? No. She didn't necessarily know the man in Thórskaffi, did she?'

‘No, that's true,' said Erlendur. ‘He's never come forward and we know nothing about him. The artist's impression didn't help much. We can't even be sure he's connected to the case. When was the last time you saw Oddný?'

‘The week before she disappeared, at the sewing circle she and I set up with some other friends. We've been meeting up for about ten years. She was her usual cheerful, lively self. She gave me a lift home and … that was the last time I saw her.'

‘Why did your husband want you to talk to the police?'

‘What?'

‘You mentioned earlier that your husband had been encouraging you to contact us. Then you said there'd been enough gossip already.'

Ingunn frowned as if she did not like discussing her friend's affairs. So far she had answered tentatively, wary of his questions, careful to avoid being led into saying more than she intended.

‘I don't know if it's relevant,' she said.

‘What?'

‘Just a comment she made. About six months before she disappeared. But she never referred to it again and the one time I raised it with her, she changed the subject. But … I don't know if it'll make any difference and, like I said, there's been more than enough gossip about her and Gústaf, and her affair. I had to promise never to tell. She was so ashamed; she couldn't bear for it to get around. I kept meaning to contact the detectives in charge of the inquiry and my husband has … I just couldn't bring myself to tell anyone. For her sake, you understand. She was so hurt and angry and crushed by the experience. Angry with him, and with herself for not having done anything about it.'

‘What did she tell you?'

‘I keep trying not to read too much into it. I don't know if it has any bearing on what happened but…'