8

Erla was a good-looking woman, and Sigurdís noticed that she also looked physically fit, someone who clearly took care of herself. Dark hair fell in waves over her slim shoulders. She had beautiful grey eyes, ringed with black eyeliner. Sigurdís imagined they would usually be sparkling, but today they looked sadly blank – the eyes of a woman in sorrow and shock.

Garðar introduced himself and Sigurdís, before offering their condolences and their apologies for intruding on such a painful moment. ‘I’m afraid Óttar’s death is being investigated as a murder,’ he went on, ‘so we have to speak to everyone as soon as possible, as part of our investigation.’

Erla’s tasteful apartment was in one of the grand old apartment buildings in the west of Reykjavík. Erla’s apartment was on the main floor, and beautiful broad steps, with carved cement handrails on both sides, led up to the front door. Erla showed them in, and Sigurdís noticed that clothes were scattered around the apartment, and that pictures plucked from albums had been spread out over a table in the living room. These were both recent and older pictures. Some were of Óttar and Erla, and others were of two little girls. Sigurdís’s eyes wandered to one photo of the two little girls, each in what seemed to be her mother’s arms, dressed in eighties outfits, or so Sigurdís guessed. It was a bright, happy scene, and had been taken in front of a building that looked familiar, but Sigurdís could not place.

Erla was wearing fashionable beige pyjamas and carried herself like a ballerina. She wore no make-up, and it was obvious that she had been crying. She coughed and gestured towards the sofa, inviting them to sit down. Then she apologised for the mess and began picking up the pictures with trembling hands, before disappearing with a stack of them into the bedroom.

‘Would you like coffee?’ she asked as she returned, but they declined. So she sat down opposite them and offered a strained smile.

Garðar led the questioning, and encouraged Erla to tell them about the events of the last couple of days. She told them about the surprise birthday party she had planned, and how Óttar had failed to turn up to it. Hadn’t even called. And she confirmed that the last contact she’d had with him had been on Wednesday evening, two days ago now, when she had spoken to him and led him to believe there would be just a small gathering around the barbecue the following day for his fiftieth birthday. Garðar asked her to tell them a bit about her relationship with Óttar, and her face crumpled. He had been the love of her life, she told them, and now she felt like she’d been completely cast adrift. Then she burst into tears, unable to hold them back anymore.

‘Is there anyone who comes to mind who could have wanted to do him harm?’ Garðar asked when the tears had subsided.

‘No, but I don’t know a lot about what goes on in his work life. I did notice that there were people who sometimes called him at weekends or in the evenings, and some of them clearly weren’t happy. But we had an agreement to not talk any more than necessary about work while we were together. We just wanted to relax and enjoy life. We’re good at that,’ Erla said, and the tears erupted again. ‘We were good at that. I guess I’m going to have to get used to saying “we were” from now on.’ She dabbed at the tears with the sleeve of her pyjama top. ‘Anyway, I didn’t make a habit of telling him about my work either. I’m a lawyer, and that’s mostly the kind of work best left at the office. You’d go mad if you didn’t. So we liked to have our separate existence – just the two of us and no interruptions.’ She stared into space now. ‘But you see where that led,’ she said in a low, flat voice. ‘I can’t even tell you what he was busy with at work, or who called him when we were at home.’

Looking around, as Erla spoke, Sigurdís saw framed pictures on the walls of people from various time periods. She noticed a hook where one picture seemed to be missing, and it occurred to her that this might have been one of Óttar that Erla couldn’t bear to have in view.

‘Do you have any leads?’ Erla was on her feet now, fidgeting with the string of her pyjamas, her eyes shifting from one of them to the other.

‘Unfortunately not,’ Garðar said. ‘So far all we can tell you is that he lost his life late on Wednesday evening due to a heavy blow to the head. This wasn’t immediately fatal, and he may have lain there for some time before being overcome by his injuries. We found his jacket and shoes close by, but there’s no sign of his phone. Do you know what type of phone he had?’

‘Some kind of Samsung that the Ministry provided. He always had it with him, so it’s strange if it wasn’t on him. Could someone have taken it? The person who did this to him?’

‘We don’t know at this point,’ Garðar replied.

‘Can you tell us a bit about Óttar’s friends?’ Sigurdís asked. ‘Is there someone we could talk to about him that might be able to help?’ She judged this was the right kind of question to ask at this point, but still glanced at Garðar to see his reaction.

‘He didn’t have many friends,’ said Erla, sitting down again. ‘But he did have a very large circle of acquaintances. When I was organising his birthday party and tried to find some childhood friends from his high school and college years, I did think it was odd that it was so difficult to track anyone down. And I couldn’t find anyone who had been at primary school with him. He always said he hadn’t maintained contact with anyone from those days, though, and Thrúður said she couldn’t think of anyone in particular to invite. I finally found a few people who were at the Commercial College with him, and two of them turned up, although I didn’t get the feeling that they had been in any way his close friends. Maybe they went out on the lash now and again, but nothing more than that.’

‘And his friends from university?’

‘He studied engineering in America, so I wouldn’t know about them. I can’t think of anyone he has stayed in touch with.’

‘Where did he study in America?’

‘The University of Minnesota. A really good university. I’m surprised Thrúður didn’t tell you about that. She’s so proud of him, she announces it to anyone within earshot.’

‘She hasn’t been able to say much since we informed her of Óttar’s death,’ Sigurdís said.

‘She worshipped him.’ Erla let out a long sigh and stared at the wall ahead of her. ‘At any rate, she called all the time and they had a conversation every evening about what kind of a day he’d had. She must be devastated.’ She looked back at Garðar. ‘Have you spoken to Stefanía, his sister?’

‘Only briefly. She’s in shock and hasn’t been able to say much either,’ Garðar said. ‘Now, would you mind if we had a look around the flat? Sometimes it can help us …’

Erla nodded and flapped a hand to show they could do what they wanted, probably relieved to get a break from the interview. Sigurdís and Garðar stood up, and together they went from room to room. It was obvious that little housework had been done over the last few days. There was mess in every room. In the kitchen, Sigurdís saw a broken wine glass lying on the floor, beneath a red splash on the wall. She pointed it out to Garðar, who said that it was red wine, probably. Moving into the bathroom, they saw that the shower curtain had been torn down and its rail lay on the floor, the plastic heaped on top of it.

Garðar frowned questioningly at Sigurdís, then walked back into the living room. ‘Did Óttar actually visit you on Wednesday?’ he asked Erla. ‘Did he come here, and was there … a disagreement between the two of you?’

His tone was sharper than it had been so far, and Erla looked shocked at Garðar’s questions.

‘No. No, he didn’t. We only spoke on the phone.’ The phone company should be able to confirm, thought Sigurdís and made a mental note to check.

‘So what happened here?’ Garðar pressed. ‘Why’s the shower curtain on the floor, and why does it look like someone threw a wine glass at the wall in the kitchen?’

Erla stood up and went to the window, looking away from them as she said, ‘I was looking at a picture of us together and I was so furious at what has happened, I smashed the glass against the wall. I was going to see if a shower would calm me down, but ended up wanting to just curl up in the bottom of the bath. I caught the curtain as I collapsed.’ She spun round to face them now. ‘Look, I haven’t been able to sit, stand or lie down since this nightmare began. It’s all so unreal.’

Garðar put his hands out in a placating gesture. ‘We understand, we really do,’ he said, his voice back to his previous calm tone. ‘Is there a priest you’d like us to contact for you? Someone else we could call?’

‘No. My friends are all coming over later on. They’re worried about me because I haven’t been answering the phone. So they sent a text telling me that they’re all coming together this afternoon, and I can’t escape them.’ She shrugged helplessly.

Sigurdís sat back down on the sofa. She had a question about the days leading up to the death, and she thought it was the right time to ask it. ‘Has there been anything about Óttar’s behaviour that has attracted your attention recently? Anything he might have been worried about?’ She noticed a little nod from Garðar as he observed Erla carefully.

‘No. But, you know he had been noticeably affectionate and cheerful. I was convinced there was a proposal on the way, or at least a suggestion that we move in together. We were so well suited – or so I thought. He was the love of my life. I know I’ve told you that already, but it’s true.’ She turned to gaze out of the window as if looking into a world of her own. ‘I felt that life was going so well for us … But somehow it never seems to pan out as you imagine.’

Erla slumped down into a chair before continuing.

‘One thing we had in common was that Óttar and I both grew up without a father. My father had two girlfriends when he got my mother pregnant. The other girlfriend got pregnant at around the same time, and that was when she found out that she wasn’t the only woman in my father’s life. So she gave him an ultimatum, and in the end, he chose her over my mother, and they’re still married today. Mum cut off all communication with him and moved in with her brother in Höfn in Hornafjörður, which was where I was born and grew up. Mum’s brother and his wife had been living there for a few years already, and they had a daughter who was a year older than me. They helped Mum enormously. We had a lovely flat in the basement of their house that my uncle fitted out for us. We were all very close – my cousin and I were brought up like sisters.’

Erla stopped a moment, put a hand to her face and blinked several times. ‘But then my uncle and aunt split up. She moved to Reykjavík, taking my cousin with her. I missed her terribly because we had always been so close. And then …’ Erla stopped, coughed. Her face twitched. ‘And then she died. She fell in with a bad crowd of youngsters here in the city. And things turned from bad to worse until … until she was found dead … And now it’s all happening again …’ And with that she again dissolved into tears.

Sigurdís could feel the old stone in her gut. This poor woman, who was so beautiful, but living with so much misfortune. She looked over at Garðar and saw that he was getting restless. He had clearly decided it was time to go. He moved over to Erla and placed a hand lightly on her shoulder, telling her she would be welcome to get in touch if she had any questions, or if anything that might be useful to the investigation were to come to mind.