Whale Fjord

Seven

‘Now, are you sure you don’t want to stop and interview some hidden people?’ Vigdís said with a grin as they were driving along the side of the fjord back to Reykjavík. ‘For a moment there I thought we were back in Bolungarvík. Same MO.’

Several years before, Magnus had been involved in a case in the West Fjords, where someone had been killed in a landslide and the locals had been adamant that the hidden people had done it, hidden people being invisible inhabitants of the Icelandic countryside with special powers.

‘I liked that old woman,’ Magnus said. ‘Refreshingly down to earth. Unlike her son.’

‘Do you want me to check missing persons?’

‘Not yet. Hopefully, Edda will soon be able to give us a steer on which century we’re looking at.’

‘Or find the bullet that killed them,’ Vigdís said. ‘Shall we check out the Laxahóll brother and sister?’

‘Yes. Let’s go and see that Gudni now. And I’ll send the Englishwoman an email — see if she can shed a light on things.’

Magnus was driving along the edge of Hvalfjördur. ‘It’s hard to imagine now, but you know this fjord was crammed with Allied ships during the war?’ he said. ‘They used this as a staging point for the Arctic convoys to Russia. And as a base for attacking German U-boats.’

Vigdís groaned. ‘Time for another history lecture. I didn’t know you did World War Two as well as the sagas.’

‘I’m just saying there would have been a lot of British servicemen around here. And Americans after 1941. Although if the brother and sister were killed at the beginning of the war, that would be before most of the facilities were built.’

Vigdís was about to reply when her phone chirped. ‘Hi, Olla... What?... Are you sure?... Is Erla OK?... I’m coming home right now.’

‘What is it?’ said Magnus.

‘My neighbour. She saw Mum tip over the pushchair when she took Erla outside. She thinks she’s drunk.’

Magnus put his foot down.

Vigdís lived in Hafnarfjördur, a fishing port about fifteen kilometres on the other side of Reykjavík from Hvalfjördur. As she battled through the traffic, conflicting thoughts swirled around her brain. Why had she let Mum look after Erla? Was Erla really OK? How long had Mum been drinking? Why, oh why had she let her near the baby?

She always knew it would be difficult being a single mother. If you were well organized — and Vigdís was — everything was all right as long as everyone did what they were supposed to do. But as soon as something went wrong — like Erla getting a cold so she couldn’t go to day care, for example — Vigdís was left in a panic, scrambling just to get through the day.

If she had a partner, things would be easier. But although Vigdís knew who Erla’s father was, he had no idea he had a daughter, and Vigdís wanted to keep it that way.

Her flat was on the second floor of a modern four-storey apartment block not far from the busy harbour. She ran up the stairs and threw open the door. Erla was watching PAW Patrol on TV in the living room, her grandmother, Audur, sitting next to her.

‘Ah, you’re home, love.’

Vigdís rushed over to her daughter, picked her up and squeezed her. The little girl giggled. ‘Ow!’ she protested, but she didn’t mean it.

Vigdís put her down on the armchair away from her grandmother.

Audur was smiling up at her. She was small and pale, with short, stringy blonde hair, a tiny pert nose and a pointed chin. ‘You’re back early. What’s wrong, love?’

Vigdís bent down and inhaled. ‘You smell of gin!’

‘No, I do not,’ said Audur, attempting another unsteady grin.

Vigdís went into the kitchen. The bottle of red wine was still there. But not the three-quarters-full bottle of gin.

‘Where is it?’ she demanded.

‘Where is what?’

‘The gin bottle.’

‘What gin bottle?’

Erla giggled, pointed at the corner of the sofa and said: ‘Bottle.’

Vigdís hurled the cushion on to the floor. There was the bottle, nearly empty.

She picked it up and waved it at her mother. ‘Mum! How could you?’

Erla started to cry. Vigdís ignored her.

‘It wasn’t me,’ said Audur unconvincingly. ‘You must have left it there.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Mum. I’m not letting you near my child alone ever again, do you understand?’

Her mother’s face crumpled. ‘Oh, please, Vigdís,’ she said, a tear leaking from an eye. ‘I only had a small drink.’

‘The bottle was nearly full!’

Audur began to sob.

‘Go!’ Vigdís pointed to the door. Erla was screaming now.

‘Vigdís, please.’

‘I said go! And don’t drive home.’ Audur lived in Keflavík, thirty kilometres away. ‘I’m going to call a cab. Go downstairs and wait for it outside the front door.’

‘Vigdís?’

‘Now!’

Audur bent to say goodbye to Erla, but Vigdís snatched her daughter away. ‘Now!’

Audur took her bag and left the apartment. Vigdís whipped out her phone and, still holding a weeping Erla, called a local taxi company. They said they could have someone pick up her mother outside the building in five minutes.

Vigdís shushed Erla and tried to get her settled in front of the TV. She was angry at her mother, but she was angrier at herself. She wondered when Audur had started drinking again. Maybe she had never really stopped?

What an idiot Vigdís had been! And she had left the bottle of gin out in the kitchen. That was dumb too.

She went over to the window to look for the taxi. It hadn’t arrived yet, but she saw Audur climb into her silver Kia, parked on the side street in front of Vigdís’s apartment block. Vigdís banged on the window, but her mother couldn’t hear her.

The Kia reversed rapidly and then drove off.

Right into a jogger.

He was a tall man in his twenties. He had been crossing the quiet street. His body was tossed over the bonnet.

Vigdís put her hand to her mouth and let out a yelp.

The Kia stopped briefly. And then accelerated away.

Vigdís grabbed Erla and sprinted out of her flat and down the stairs. She ran out into the road to the man.

He was lying on the street, his face pressed to the ground, blood dribbling out of his nose. His eyes were closed. He was wearing earbuds; Vigdís eased one of them out of his ear. A podcast was still playing, a tinny murmur.

‘Are you OK?’

No response. He was out cold. But not dead. Probably not dead.

Vigdís dialled 112 and demanded an ambulance. She knew they would send a police car as well, but she didn’t ask for that. Thankfully, Erla seemed bemused, not distressed: she didn’t understand what was happening.

A couple of passers-by joined her. He was still breathing! She was sure he was still breathing.

His eyes flickered as he came round. He winced. ‘Oww.’

He tried to get up but winced some more. ‘Stay there,’ said Vigdís. ‘The ambulance will be here in a minute.’

But sure enough, it was a police car which arrived first, Lúdvík and María from the Hafnarfjördur police station.

‘Hi, Vigdís,’ said Lúdvík. ‘What happened?’

‘Hit and run,’ said Vigdís, without thinking.

‘Did you see it?’

‘Not directly. I live just up there and I was looking out of the window. I didn’t really see it.’

‘And they didn’t stop?’

‘Drove right off,’ said Vigdís. ‘I think the vehicle was silver. Small. Don’t know the make. As I said, I didn’t really see it.’

‘Did any of you see anything?’ Lúdvík asked the small crowd of people that had gathered to gawk.

They all shook their heads as first the taxi and then the ambulance arrived. Within a couple of minutes, the jogger was on his way to hospital.

And Vigdís realized she had just lied to the police.