Although Hulda found it hard to believe that Albert could be involved, she couldn’t entirely rule it out. Was it conceivable that he could have murdered both women, both Katja and Elena? And where did his brother come into it?
When her phone started ringing, she sent up a fervent prayer that it wasn’t Magnús yet again. She was still in shock after their last two conversations, still hadn’t managed to piece everything together. Really, she could have done with another day to wrap up this case, a day when she was feeling more herself. And perhaps, she caught herself thinking, loath though she was to admit it, perhaps she could have done with being ten years younger.
Pulling over to the side of the road, she took out her phone and answered, although the caller ID was unfamiliar.
‘Hulda? Hello, this is Baldur, Baldur Albertsson. Albert’s brother.’
‘What? Oh, yes. Hello.’ The timing seemed uncannily apt.
‘Albert said you wanted a word with me …’ He sounded nervous.
‘Yes, I do. It’s about Elena, the Russian girl your brother was representing.’
‘Yes …’
‘Did you know her at all?’
‘Me? No …’ He hesitated, and Hulda waited. ‘No … but I, that is, I met her once or twice. Why do you ask?’
‘Would you mind telling me where you met her?’
‘I collected her from Njardvík a couple of times.’
‘Oh? Why was that?’
‘As a favour to my brother. He needed to see her but hadn’t time to go and collect her himself. He was busy with meetings or something. So I borrowed his jeep and drove over to fetch her. It’s no big deal. We put it down on expenses – you know, the time it took and the cost of the petrol. That’s not a problem, is it? It was all above board, even though, strictly speaking, Albert didn’t do the driving himself. I help him out when I’m free – it’s the least I can do in return for getting to live with him. I like to make a contribution, if I can.’ Baldur’s breathing sounded fast and ragged over the phone.
Was that all it amounted to? Had Baldur simply been doing his brother a favour?
‘Thanks, Baldur. It’s not a problem. I just wanted to check so I can eliminate you from my inquiries. Someone saw you collecting her from Njardvík and I needed to know why, that’s all. Don’t worry, it’s absolutely fine.’
‘OK, thanks,’ he said. ‘I … only, I’m not used to getting mixed up in police investigations.’
‘Quite. Just as well.’
‘You can say that again.’
Hulda still needed to know if Albert had also represented the other Russian girl, Katja.
‘By the way,’ she asked, as casually as she could, ‘is your brother with you, Baldur? I have a couple of questions for him, too.’
There was a silence at the other end of the line.
‘Well … no, he’s not here.’ After a hesitation, Baldur added: ‘I’m not sure where he is, actually.’
‘OK, Baldur, no problem. Thanks for calling.’
She tried Albert’s mobile. She felt a growing sense of urgency about getting hold of him, afraid that, if he was the killer, he might be trying to leave the country or something.
There was no reply.
As she hung up, her thoughts suddenly flew to the Syrian girl, Amena. Something was niggling at the back of her mind. Some comment Amena had let slip … a significant detail that Hulda had overlooked the first time round. Damn it. She’d been more conscientious about taking notes in the old days, and her memory had been better then, too. It was some … something she’d said … Hulda summoned up an image of the girl in her cell. Prostitution, yes: Amena had vehemently denied that Elena had been involved in prostitution. Her denial had been convincing, too. She’d also alerted Hulda to the existence of the other Russian woman, Katja. And she’d referred to the residence permit – that Elena had been granted the right to stay … yes, that was it … it was something related to that. But what the hell was it? The memory still eluded her, remaining tantalizingly just out of reach.
‘Sorry, but could I possibly borrow your phone a minute?’ Bjartur asked, breaking into her thoughts before she could start the car again. ‘Only, I forgot to tell my parents I was going out. And I, well, I don’t have any credit left on mine.’ His face reddened again.
‘Of course.’ She handed him her mobile.
He punched in the number and waited. ‘Hi, Dad, listen … yes, I know … Mum’ll just have to do it herself … No, Dad, I can’t do it now … I’m helping this lady from the police … We’re working on a case …’ He rolled his eyes at her and got out of the car, still talking.
Hulda remembered the days when she would have been referred to as a girl, not a lady.
While he was gone, Hulda seized the chance to switch on the radio and lie back in her seat for a minute. It had been a long day and it wasn’t over yet. But the sky was blue and, after the unpromising start, it had turned into a beautiful sunny evening. Hulda reflected that May was definitely the best time of year in her chilly northern homeland.
After a couple of minutes, Bjartur got back into the car. ‘Sorry about that, we can go on now.’ He smiled. ‘It’s only another half an hour or so.’
They had been driving for an hour already, and Hulda was aware of a gnawing hunger: she’d had nothing to eat since this morning’s Prins Póló biscuits. She was growing increasingly tired, too. Perhaps she could ask Bjartur to drive on the way back. This journey had better not turn out to be a waste of
