Whale Fjord

Six

September 2023

‘Two people disappeared from Laxahóll?’ said Magnus. ‘That’s the farm just up the road, isn’t it?’

‘That’s right,’ Frída, the old lady, said. ‘It caused a huge fuss. It was a few years before I was born — I think at the beginning of the war — but people round here were still talking about it when I was growing up.’

‘And who were these two?’

‘A brother and a sister. Marteinn Hálfdánsson and his sister Kristín.’

‘Were they children? How old were they?’

‘Oh, no, they were adults. In fact, Kristín was a widow with a young son. I think Marteinn was younger. No one knows what happened. There were a lot of British soldiers and sailors around here during the war, and some people said it had something to do with them. But it was a mystery.’

‘Did the police investigate?’

‘I assume so. I don’t know. But they must have done, mustn’t they? And perhaps the British Army as well?’

‘You don’t know it’s them, Mum,’ said Jón. ‘It could be Gerdur.’

The old woman ignored him, as did Magnus and Vigdís.

‘Does that family still own Laxahóll?’ Vigdís asked.

‘Oh, no. They sold up in the 1970s. And then the people who bought it sold it on to some folks from Reykjavík.’

‘There’s a high-end fishing lodge there now,’ said Jón. ‘The Selá is good for salmon. They charge a fortune.’ He shrugged. ‘Laxahóll has always had the fishing rights on the river, even for the stretch that runs by Selvík.’

‘What about descendants? Are any of the family left?’

‘Well, there’s Jón,’ said Frída, nodding towards her son, the farmer. ‘There was another brother, Sigurdur, who I married. He came to farm here. He’s Jón’s father.’

Magnus raised his eyebrows. ‘So that means you were quite a bit younger than him?’

‘Oh, yes. I was only nineteen when I married Siggi, and he was in his forties. He was married himself at the time.’ She sighed. ‘I suppose I should feel guilty, but at nineteen Siggi really turned my head, and he would have left his wife anyway.’

‘Divorce happens,’ said Jón gruffly. ‘My father was a good man.’ He glared at Magnus as he said this, as if daring the detective to contradict him.

‘He was indeed,’ said Frída, with a smile. She fetched a photograph from the dresser. It was a colour picture of a pretty young blonde woman with a small dark-haired man almost twice her age. He had a roguish smile. ‘That’s him,’ she said. ‘And me.’

‘Did your families fall out over this?’ Vigdís asked.

‘I’ll say,’ said Frída. ‘Siggi was kicked out of Laxahóll and came to farm with my family here. With no heir to take over the farm apart from Gudni, Hálfdán sold out and moved to Borgarnes. He died pretty soon after. That’s why we don’t really know the details of Marteinn and Kristín’s disappearance.’

‘And who is Gudni?’ Magnus asked.

‘Gudni was Kristín’s little boy. I told you she was a widow.’

‘What happened to him?’

‘He stayed on at Laxahóll after she died. Siggi and Hálfdán and Siggi’s first wife looked after him. But he wasn’t interested in farming. He became an engineer.’

‘Do you know if he is still alive?’

‘Yes, or at least he was last Christmas. He sends us a Christmas card every year. I can get you his address. Somewhere in Grafarholt, I think.’

‘That would be very helpful,’ said Magnus.

‘I can also give you the address of an Englishwoman who came over here a few years ago. She was asking about Kristín. She said her father had known her during the war and had told her all about her. She was a nice lady.’

Frída turned to her son. ‘You remember her, don’t you, love? Jón had to do the translation,’ she explained. ‘I don’t speak English, but he does.’

‘I do remember her,’ said Jón. ‘She came here one afternoon — I’d say in 2017. She seemed to know all about Laxahóll, but when she went up there to ask them questions, they sent her down here. Not that we could be of any help.’

‘As I said, all this happened several years before I was born in 1945,’ the old woman added.

‘Did your husband say much about the disappearances?’ Vigdís asked.

‘No,’ said Frída. ‘It upset him too much. It made him angry.’

‘I assume he has passed away now?’ said Magnus.

‘Oh, yes. Twenty years ago. He would be a hundred and one now! Let me get those addresses.’

She shuffled off out of the kitchen, and returned a minute later with a dog-eared address book and read out an address for Gudni Thorsteinsson in Grafarholt, and for the Englishwoman, whose name was Louisa Sugarman, as well as an email address.

Magnus and Vigdís were just about to leave when Magnus’s phone rang.

‘Hi, Edda. What have you got?’

‘We’ve found the other skull. And you know what?’

‘Tell me.’

‘It has a bullet hole in it.’