45

Sigurdís had prepared carefully for her conversation with Erla. Garðar had been very supportive and had given her some guidance on interview techniques that could come in useful. Although this wasn’t a formal interrogation, there were particular methods for extracting information during a conversation. When Sigurdís was nervous she tended to be impulsive and bombarded people with questions that could make them defensive right off the bat. She couldn’t do that this time. This interview was the single most important of her career so far.

She was going through her notes at her desk when Unnar sat down next her. ‘It’s important that you manage this well, as we don’t want the case to come to grief on some technicality,’ Unnar said thoughtfully. He had offered to come with her, but they, and Garðar, had agreed that Erla was most likely to open up if Sigurdís were to meet her alone. ‘I’ll be by the phone, so call me if you need anything or if you could do with some support.’

Erla had told Sigurdís to come and meet her at her home. It wasn’t easy to find a parking spot near Erla’s home in the western part of the city. She parked outside the University Cinema, and walked briskly to Viðimelur. It was starting to get dark already, with gusts of autumn wind and rain, and she was practically soaked through by the time she stood at Erla’s door.

Every light in the apartment looked to be switched off and the curtains were drawn across the windows. Sigurdís cursed to herself, certain that Erla wasn’t home, and was surprised when the door swung open almost as soon as she had pressed the doorbell. Erla stood in the dark, looking back at her, and invited her in. She was nothing like the Erla Sigurdís had met previously. She had lost a great deal of weight. Her hair was greasy and pulled into an untidy ponytail. In the light cast by the streetlamps outside, Sigurdís could see black patches under her eyes. She wore a shapeless grey T shirt, black leggings and a red dressing gown.

Erla went ahead of her into the living room, and stood by the window, arms folded, as Sigurdís walked in.

‘Sorry for the state of me,’ she said in a low voice, indicating her clothes. ‘I haven’t been to work for a few weeks. My partners wanted me to take time off, sick leave.’

Sigurdís looked around the apartment without responding. It was in the same state of disarray as Erla herself. A duvet lay bunched up on the sofa, glasses containing varying amounts of water stood on the table and there was one plate, on which lay a single slice of stale, untouched bread. The same picture Sigurdís had seen in Erla’s office lay on the table – the smiling girl. This one wasn’t in a frame, but lay unprotected on the table, a little creased.

‘What was your cousin’s name?’ Sigurdís asked.

‘Anna Guðrún,’ Erla said as she turned to look at her with empty eyes. ‘She was the other half of me. After she was gone I did everything to live for both of us.’

Erla took a seat in a chair facing the sofa and gestured for Sigurdís to sit down. Sigurdís moved the duvet aside and sat down. She was nervous, painfully aware of how important this conversation might be. She wasn’t used to questioning people in depth, and wished she had some of Garðar’s long experience, or even Unnar’s. It would have come in useful under these circumstances.

Erla looked at her in silence, and it was welcome. Sigurdís used it to calm her thoughts, knowing that she needed to take her time, as Erla seemed to be in no state to be pressed too hard. After a moment, Sigurdís felt that she was ready.

‘I’ve been to Minnesota, Erla,’ she said gently.

Erla stood up, came across to the sofa and sat next to Sigurdís, with her back against the armrest and her legs folded beneath her. She pulled the duvet towards her and held it tight against her belly.

‘Then you know that I spoke to Carla,’ she said at last, and Sigurdís could see Erla tremble.

‘Yes Erla, I know now.’

After Carla had finished telling Sigurdís her story, she had confessed that Sigurdís hadn’t been the first Icelander to call her. Someone claiming to be Óttar’s girlfriend had contacted her earlier in the year.

‘Why didn’t you tell us that you spoke to Carla?’

Erla’s shoulders slumped. Sigurdís wasn’t certain of how much Erla knew about Carla and Óttar, or even Stephen, and it was important to find out.

‘I can see you’re not feeling well, Erla. This is clearly weighing heavily on you. So how about you just tell me what you know? I have plenty of time, so go at your own pace.’

Erla looked at her with eyes full of doubt, and then it seemed that something inside her gave way and she began to tell her story.

Last winter it had seemed to Erla that her life could not be better. Work was going well and her boyfriend was perfect. He would turn fifty in July and she wanted to do something special for him, so she decided to bring people together for a surprise party. There was another reason behind her wanting to do this: she wanted to develop a better understanding of him, get to know his friends and not least, the people he had known during the course of his life. She took the idea to Thrúður and Stefanía. They both approved of it and promised not to say a word and also to help her organise the party. So it came as a surprise when they began to discourage her when she told them that she wanted to find some friends and colleagues from his school years, especially from his time in America. They even tried to tell her that it was only relatively recently that he had become gregarious. Erla found this dubious, somehow, and couldn’t help starting to dig for more information. But she found it difficult to find any friends of his from school, and only tracked down a few people who had been in the same year as him at the Commercial College.

Erla made herself more comfortable on the sofa and pulled her knees up to her chin. Her arms were wrapped around her legs and the duvet had slipped so that one end lay on the floor. She rocked to and fro a little as she continued her narrative.

At around this time, when she was looking for old friends of Óttar’s, she arrived at his flat a little ahead of him one evening. It always looked like a showcase apartment to her – everything in its place – so she was surprised to see a note on the counter next to the bathroom basin. He had written a name, Stephen, and a phone number with a +1 prefix, indicating that it was a US number. She took the slip of paper, put it on the kitchen worktop and asked Óttar when he finally arrived home who it was. Óttar glanced at the piece of paper, and replied with a cheerful smile that this was an old friend from his university years in Minnesota. He had found the note in an old briefcase and meant to throw it away, but had forgotten as he rushed out the door that morning.

When he went off to his study to put away his briefcase and the documents he had brought home from work, Erla pounced on the opportunity and snapped a photo of the number with her phone, convinced that she had found a friend of his in America who would want to be here for his birthday. A few minutes later, she noticed that the slip of paper was gone from the kitchen counter.

A few weeks afterwards, when she was preparing a guest list, she started to make calls, and included the number she had found at Óttar’s place. A young man answered, and confirmed that his name was Stephen, but he didn’t know anyone called Óttar. Erla pressed him, telling him that she had found his number in Óttar’s apartment, explaining why she was calling, and Stephen had told her it would be best to speak to his mother. He gave her Carla’s number, then quickly hung up.

At this point Erla seemed so overcome that Sigurdís didn’t dare take her eyes off her. She was concerned that Erla would faint, harm herself, or just crumble and blow away like dust. After a short pause, Erla reached for one of the glasses of water on the table and sipped at it. Her hand shook so violently that the water slopped out. Sigurdís reached for the glass, gently took it from her and placed it on the table. Erla again bunched the duvet in her arms and held it tight as she gazed at Sigurdís from eyes that brimmed with tears.

‘You know about the relationship with Carla, right?’

Sigurdís nodded and put a hand on her arms, stroking it gently with her thumb.

‘Yes, I do now. But it would help if you could tell me what she told you.’

Erla had been more cheerful than usual the day she had called Carla. This was in the middle of May, a beautiful spring day with summer approaching. She had concluded a large merger, and that morning the competition authority had given it the green light. She had clinked glasses with her colleagues and clients, then, when everyone had gone home, she decided to stay on at the office and finally put some more effort into organising the birthday party. She felt guilty over having left this unfinished, and was concerned that she had left it too late for people to organise a trip to Iceland to celebrate an old friend’s birthday, if she were even to find any of Óttar’s old friends.

The effects of the prosecco they had drunk earlier helped her prepare her pitch. She hadn’t expected Carla to pick up the phone on the second ring, so she took a deep breath and apologised for troubling her before going on to the reason for the call. Carla had been silent, before saying that she knew nobody who had been at university with Óttar. Erla found Carla oddly cold, and had the feeling that she had come up against a barrier. She then told Carla that she was Óttar’s fiancée and that he was such a wonderful person that she really wanted to do something special for his fiftieth birthday. None of this had any effect on Carla, who said again that she couldn’t help her.

‘Then why was your son’s phone number among Óttar’s things?’ Erla asked, almost without meaning to.

Carla hadn’t answered the question, but asked after a long pause if she and Óttar had any children. This had taken Erla by surprise, and she replied that they were childless, for the moment, at least. Carla said she was relieved to hear it. This time it was Erla’s turn to be silent. For a moment she was lost for words.

‘Why do you say that?’ she asked.

Carla took a deep breath. ‘I can hear that you’re very fond of Óttar,’ she said, ‘but there are clearly things you don’t know.’ Erla protested, asking what Carla meant. There was silence on the line for a moment then Carla took another deep breath. ‘Before I tell you any more,’ she said, ‘I want you to promise you won’t mention a word of this to him. I don’t want any repercussions that might affect my son. I also won’t tell anyone about this conversation.’

Trembling, Erla gave Carla her word.

Then Carla proceeded to tell her that Óttar wasn’t the man he appeared to be, and she should be wary of him. This angered Erla, but Carla continued and told her how Óttar had treated young girls during his time in Minnesota. She told her to prepare herself well and to end the relationship before he left her hurt. He wasn’t a good man. Carla wanted nothing on her conscience. She knew, at least, that she had warned Erla as soon as she’d discovered she was in a relationship with him.

‘Are we talking about the same man?’ Erla gasped.

‘Yes. If he has Stephen’s number, then there’s no doubt.’

While she had related all this, Erla had slid down to the floor and was now sitting with her back against the sofa and her knees against the heavy table. She had pulled the duvet down with her and still held it crushed against her chest. It was clear that her misery wouldn’t allow her to sit still. Her anxiety seemed to be like oil burning beneath her skin. A feeling Sigurdís knew all too well.

Sigurdís decided it was best to join her on the floor and sat next to her so that their shoulders touched.

‘Then I realised that Óttar was Stephen’s father,’ Erla said, her voice quivering as she turned to look at Sigurdís. ‘Carla was thirteen when he got her pregnant. Thirteen!’

She gasped for breath, and buried her face in the duvet to smother a scream. Sigurdís placed an arm around her shoulders, but Erla raised her head and shook it off.

‘Please don’t … I can’t handle being touched. It feels just revolting. I slept with that man.’ She shuddered at the thought. ‘I even slept with him after that phone call.’

They sat for a while without a word being said. Sigurdís couldn’t imagine how it must feel to make such a discovery about someone so close; someone you trusted. But she had to ask why Erla hadn’t confronted Óttar after that call.

‘There was something else Carla said that made me need to figure some things out before I could do that,’ Erla said in a voice so low that Sigurdís could barely hear her. She longed to know what was coming, but she tried to remain impassive as she waited for her to continue. ‘She asked me if, when we were lying there together after sex, he called me his sweet, or even his whole bowl of sugar.’