Outrage

34

For seven hours Edvard sat in an interview room while his home was searched, without result. Elínborg questioned him repeatedly about the period when Runólfur had lodged with him, and before long Edvard admitted that he had rented a room to Runólfur temporarily while he was flat-hunting. That was around the time of Lilja’s disappearance. Edvard also confirmed that Runólfur had been working at the dry dock, a short walk away, but he claimed to have no idea if Lilja had come to his home and met Runólfur. He maintained that he knew nothing of whether Runólfur might have harmed the girl — and that he himself had certainly not touched her.

‘Did you give Lilja a lift to Reykjavík?’

‘No.’

‘Did you drop her off at the shopping centre?’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘What did you and Lilja talk about on the way to town?’

‘I didn’t drive her anywhere.’

‘She was looking for a birthday present for her grandad — did she mention that at all?’

Edvard said nothing.

‘What else did you discuss? Did she talk about visiting you?’

Edvard shook his head.

‘Did you offer her a lift back to Akranes?’

‘No.’

‘Why did you offer girls from the college lifts into Reykjavík? What did you want from them?’

‘I didn’t.’

‘We know you did — at least once.’

‘That’s not true. She’s lying.’

‘Did Runólfur get you to offer Lilja a lift?’

‘No. I never gave her a lift.’

‘Did you ever hear Runólfur talking about Lilja?’

‘No. Never.’

‘Did you talk to him about Lilja?’

‘No.’

‘Did you kill Lilja in your home?’

‘No. She was never there.’

‘Was there anything odd about Runólfur’s behaviour around that time?’

‘No. He was always exactly the same.’

‘Did you suggest to Lilja that she might like to call round after she’d finished her shopping?’

Edvard did not answer.

‘Did she have some reason to visit you?’

Edvard still did not speak.

‘Did she know where you lived?’

‘She could easily have looked me up in the phone book. I don’t know.’

‘Did Runólfur kill Lilja in your home?’

‘No.’

‘Did he dispose of her body at the dry dock?’

‘The dry dock?’

‘Well, that was where he was working.’

‘I’ve no idea what you’re on about.’

‘Did you help him get rid of the body?’

‘No.’

‘Did you suspect that Runólfur was involved in her disappearance? Has it been preying on your mind ever since?’

Edvard hesitated.

‘Did you suspect …?’

‘I don’t know anything about what happened to Lilja. Nothing whatsoever.’

Elínborg went on questioning Edvard for hours but got no more out of him.

She had no hard evidence, nothing to support her theory that Lilja had been killed by Runólfur at Edvard’s house six years before. And, even if she was right, Edvard might have remained ignorant of it. He could be lying, but it would be difficult to prove.

The previous day Elínborg had brought Valdimar to Reykjavík, where he had been remanded in custody. Konrád and Nína were released, and were reunited with the rest of the family in Elínborg’s office at police headquarters. The eldest son had flown home from San Francisco. The reunion was not a joyful one: Nína was still traumatised by having believed that she had killed a man and although she and her father had now been exonerated, she would nonetheless have to confront her demons.

‘There’s someone I think you should meet,’ said Elínborg. ‘Her name’s Unnur.’

‘Who is she?’

‘She knows what you’ve been through. I’m sure she’ll want to meet you, too.’

They shook hands on parting. ‘Just let me know, and I’ll put you in touch with her,’ said Elínborg.

She escorted Edvard off the premises, then went to her car. Instead of driving home she headed for Thingholt, to Runólfur’s flat. She had the keys with her. Before long the place would be handed back to the landlord and new tenants would move in. As she drove, Elínborg’s mind went to Erlendur: that morning she had received a disquieting phone call.

‘Is that Elínborg?’ said a jaded male voice. ‘I was told I should speak to you. It’s about a rental car that’s standing outside the churchyard here.’

‘Where?’

‘Here in Eskifjördur. It’s parked by the churchyard. There’s no one in it.’

‘And what’s that got to do with me?’ asked Elínborg.

‘I ran the number and found out it was a rental vehicle.’

‘Yes, so you said. Are you with the police there?’

‘Yes, sorry — didn’t I say? It was hired to someone who I’m told works with you.’

‘Who?’

‘It’s rented to someone called Erlendur Sveinsson.’

‘Erlendur?’

‘The rental company says he’s with Reykjavík CID.’

‘Yes, he is.’

‘Do you know what he’s doing over here?’

‘No,’ answered Elínborg. ‘He went on leave a fortnight ago. He said he was going to the East Fjords, but that’s all I know.’

‘I see. The car’s been here for a while. It was parked in front of the church gate so we had to move it, but we haven’t been able to trace the driver. I mean, it’s all right, but I felt I should check, since it was left there — by the churchyard.’

‘I’m sorry. I can’t help you at all.’

‘No, well, never mind. Thank you.’

‘Goodbye.’

Elínborg switched on the lights in the kitchen, living room and bedroom of Runólfur’s flat. She thought about the phone call from Eskifjördur but did not know what to make of it.

The crime scene had not been disturbed. Now Elínborg knew exactly what had taken place that night: how Nína had been brought there; how Valdimar, on his quest for revenge, had disturbed Runólfur during the rape; how Konrád had arrived on the scene to find his daughter in a state of confusion and despair. Elínborg could not make up her mind: had Runólfur got what he deserved? She did not really believe in poetic justice.

Elínborg had only a vague idea of what she was looking for; although she did not expect to find anything, she felt it was worth a try. Forensics had already combed through Runólfur’s home but Elínborg was looking for evidence of a different nature.

Starting in the kitchen, she opened every drawer and cupboard, examining pots and pans, bowls and cutlery. She searched the fridge and the freezer, stirred through an old tub of vanilla ice cream, went through the contents of a small wardrobe by the entrance, checked under the fuse-box cover and tapped at the parquet floor, looking for a secret hiding place. She ransacked the living room, turned an armchair upside down, removed all the cushions, took every item from the shelves. She examined the collectible superhero figures and gave them an experimental shake.

In the bedroom she lifted up the mattress, searched the two bedside tables, then opened the wardrobe and took out the clothes, examining each garment before laying it on the bed. She placed the shoes on the floor, stepped inside the wardrobe, and tapped at the sides and floor. She envisaged the dead man and the evil which flowed through him like a river of darkness — deep and cold and merciless.

Elínborg took her time, searching every inch of the flat. By the time she had finished it was the middle of the night.

She had not found what she was looking for.

No clue to the fate of the missing Akranes girl.