The Creak on the Stairs Read online

  ‘But if Ása was so sure that Elísabet’s accusations were lies, why bother? Would she really have gone that far to protect Hendrik’s reputation?’

  ‘Not only Hendrik’s – Bjarni’s too. In a small town like this, people are very protective of their reputations, as you said yourself.’ Sævar went over to the garage door and called Hörður, who was standing outside, talking to the technicians.

  Shortly afterwards the garage was full of police officers and members of forensics, and Elma retreated outside onto the pavement. Only then did she notice the crowd that had gathered around the house. Cars had stopped nearby and curious eyes were trying to get a glimpse of what was going on. The news would be all over town in a flash.

  Later that evening Elma parked outside her building. After switching off the engine, she slumped back in her seat. When her phone started vibrating in her pocket and her parents’ number flashed up on the screen, she left it unanswered, unable to face talking to anyone just yet. The moment she closed her eyes, she saw the blood again. The floor of Hendrik and Ása’s bathroom had been covered in a dark-red lake. She couldn’t get the cloying iron stench out of her nose. But the sick feeling in her stomach wasn’t due to the blood. It had started when she spoke to Ása; when Ása had shown her the photos of the girls. She could still hear her sobbing; it seemed to ring louder in her ears now that it was quiet. A symphony of grief and rage. But the grief had weighed more heavily, as Elma was only too aware from her own experience.

  As she went inside, the door of the flat opposite opened.

  ‘Hi.’ It was her neighbour. He leant against the doorpost, smiling at her. ‘I thought I heard you coming home.’

  He must have been listening out for her. Elma groaned under her breath.

  ‘I was just wondering if you were up for a beer?’ he went on. But his smile vanished when he saw Elma’s face. ‘No pressure, though.’

  ‘I think it’ll have to keep,’ Elma said, giving an exaggerated yawn. ‘I’m absolutely shattered.’

  ‘No problem,’ he said with a wink. ‘Just knock on my door if you change your mind.’

  Elma gave him a perfunctory smile and shut her door behind her. Alone at last. She flopped onto the sofa and closed her eyes. She had seen Ása again down at the station later in the evening but the woman had been in no state to provide a more detailed account of what had happened. She had stopped crying and just sat there, staring into space without saying a word. It was as if her mind was far away, completely detached from the upheaval around her.

  Akranes 1992

  She had spent several days converting the pallet into a raft. It had been lying there one day when she went down to the beach. One of the planks was broken but it was an easy matter to mend it. Solla’s husband had been happy to give her some nails and pieces of wood, and lend her his hammer, though he had looked at her a bit doubtfully and asked what she wanted them for. She’d had to think quickly. The raft was her secret.

  Since the weather was mild and dry, she could stay outside all day without getting cold or people thinking it was strange. She hadn’t told anyone what she was planning. She had never told anyone her daddy’s story about Helga sailing to Greenland on a raft. She knew it almost certainly wasn’t possible and that the story was probably made up, but that didn’t really matter. At least she could daydream that she was going away somewhere. Fantasise about sailing over the sea on the raft and drifting ashore in some exciting new place. Far from her mother, far from Sara and Magnea and the man who owned the house. She would be free of all that and this thought alone was enough to raise her spirits. The only hard part was when she thought about Sara. Sara had hurt her more than anyone else. None of the rest would have mattered if Sara had still been her friend.

  She was overcome with rage whenever she thought about Sara. The throbbing in her head drowned out the plashing of the waves and she could feel her fingertips tingling. Usually it helped to kick some loose object. Once she had stamped on the little limpets clinging to the rocks. But at other times it was as if nothing in the world could relieve the restlessness and anger inside her.

  She didn’t hear them arrive because she was standing over the raft, banging in nails with the borrowed hammer.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she heard a voice ask behind her. Turning, she saw them both standing on the rocks above her, Magnea a little to the fore, staring at her provocatively. Sara avoided her eye, keeping her head down.

  ‘Nothing,’ Elísabet answered, turning back to the raft.

  ‘Why’s your mum so ugly?’

  The spiteful remark came from Magnea. Elísabet didn’t answer, just pretended not to hear and raised the hammer again.

  ‘Elísabet,’ Magnea snapped.

  When Elísabet didn’t react, she tried again. ‘Elísabet!’ Her voice was loud and hectoring. ‘I asked you why your mum’s so ugly. Was that why your dad died – because he couldn’t stand being with someone so ugly?’

  Elísabet could feel herself growing hot all over. She aimed the hammer and brought it down on the nail again and again. She could hardly hear Magnea’s voice over the clang of metal on metal. Her arm was beginning to ache from the effort.

  Suddenly a shower of sand rained down on her. The grains caught in her hair and slipped down the neck of her T-shirt. She stopped and blinked. The sand had got into her eyes and mouth. She could hear Magnea’s jeering laughter behind her.

  Her hand lifted before she could stop it. Spinning round, she threw the hammer as hard as she could. But it didn’t hit Magnea.

  Sara clasped her forehead and collapsed. Her head hit the rocks and a bright red river of blood started pouring down over them.

  ‘What have you done?’ Magnea’s voice was shaking and she glanced round, terrified.

  Elísabet didn’t move. She stood there rigid, watching as Magnea pushed at Sara. There was no reaction.

  ‘What have you done?’ Magnea said again. She was crying now.

  Elísabet didn’t answer. She didn’t know how long it was before either of them moved again. They just stood there waiting. Waiting for Sara to move or for someone to come, but no one came. And Sara didn’t move.

  ‘We’ll go to prison,’ Magnea whispered. ‘You’ll go to prison.’

  ‘Shut up, Magnea,’ Elísabet hissed. She began to drag the raft over to Sara, then tried to lift her body onto it. ‘Help me,’ she ordered Magnea, who was just standing there, gaping.

  Eventually the two of them managed to heave the inert body onto the raft. Elísabet pulled off her shoes, then began to drag the raft down to the sea. The water was up to her waist before the pallet finally started to float and slowly began drifting away from shore. She waded back to the beach, where Magnea stood watching, her face red and swollen from crying. Elísabet went up to her and looked her in the eye. Magnea had stopped crying apart from the odd sob.

  Then they walked away in different directions, without looking back.

  Wednesday, 6 December 2017

  Ása looked completely different next morning. Elma was disconcerted to find her sitting there with her head held high. Elma could have sworn she was smiling slightly.

  Hörður had asked Elma and Sævar to conduct the interview on the grounds that he knew Ása too well, and Elma had been privately relieved. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust her boss but on this point she agreed with him. When she arrived, Hörður had been on the phone to Bjarni, whose voice could be heard blaring out of the receiver. Elma couldn’t help feeling sorry for her boss as he patiently fielded Bjarni’s questions.

  ‘I hope you weren’t too uncomfortable last night,’ Elma began, smiling at Ása, although the circumstances were anything but pleasant.

  ‘Not in the slightest,’ Ása said formally. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever slept better.’ She coughed discreetly, then started talking. ‘The day my daughter vanished, the weather was beautiful. It had rained the night before and the trees were beginning to put out their leaves with that lovely scent of spri
ng – it was just glorious. I remember going out in the garden that morning, weeding the spring onions and watering the seeds I’d just planted. Then I had a cup of coffee on the deck and enjoyed the fact I could sit outside.’ She paused and looked at them both in turn, her expression suddenly clouded with pain. ‘I’d always thought I’d sense it if something bad happened. You know, you hear about this connection – that parents can sense it when something bad happens to their children. Maybe that’s why I’ve always felt so guilty. I’ve always felt as if I should have known … I should have sensed that something was wrong. But I hadn’t the faintest idea. It was a lovely day until that evening. I didn’t start wondering where she was until then.’

  Ása broke off her account to ask for a glass of water, then resumed: ‘We found her shoes on the beach but we never found her. My darling girl was never found. I still see her as she was dressed that morning, in her pink dress and her favourite white tights with the pink hearts on them.’ Tears began sliding down Ása’s cheeks and she quickly wiped them away with her shawl, then asked for a tissue and blew her nose. ‘Just imagine it. She’ll stay like that forever. Forever nine. Never grown up.’

  ‘What did Elísabet say when she came round to see you that day?’ Sævar asked.

  ‘She murdered Sara.’ Ása’s face grew hard.

  Elma gaped at her. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Just what I said. That’s what she came to tell me. She said she’d lost her temper with Sara. She threw a hammer at her, and Sara fell over and hit her head. Elísabet said she was so scared by what she’d done that she lifted Sara’s body onto the raft and watched the waves carrying her further and further out to sea. She watched her disappear and didn’t do a thing. Just watched my little girl until she was out of sight, then walked off. And all these years she never said a word. Not until just over a week ago.’

  Elma and Sævar exchanged glances. This wasn’t what they had been expecting at all.

  ‘Just imagine what it was like,’ Ása said, raising her voice. ‘No one believed me. I knew it wasn’t an accident. I always knew. But that Elísabet – there was something wrong with her. I told you when you came to see me yesterday. There was something evil inside her.’

  ‘Did Hendrik know that Elísabet had come round?’ Elma asked. She clearly remembered what Ása had said when she visited her. But it had never occurred to her that this was what she had been talking about.

  Ása shook her head. ‘No, of course he didn’t.’

  ‘What did you do after Elísabet told you?’

  ‘What did I do? The moment she told me I froze. Every single nerve in my body seemed paralysed. Then she started making excuses, claiming she was abused as a child. That some man used to come into her room in the evenings and do things to her. Then she told me that she’d seen the same man at Sara’s funeral. To think that she actually dared to show her face there. Anyway, she said she’d seen the man there with me. That he was Sara’s father. And then she said that … that Sara had told her things she hadn’t understood at the time but did now. That Sara had been forced to do the same things by her father, Hendrik. That’s when I threw her out. I didn’t know how she dared to come round to my house and accuse me of letting something like that go on under my roof. I’d convinced myself I was the sort of mother who would have noticed if something like that happened. I was so angry. I don’t think I’ve ever been so angry in my life.’

  ‘Did she leave after that?’

  Ása nodded. ‘Oh yes, she left.’

  ‘How did you know she would be at the lighthouse?’

  ‘I was on my way round to Bjarni’s with a meat thermometer. He and Magnea were having a dinner party and he’d asked if he could borrow ours. I spotted her outside their house and watched her get into her car. I thought … I thought she’d gone to talk to Bjarni about it. Then I realised she’d stop at nothing. She was going to spread those lies about me … about our family, all over town. So I followed her. I saw her get out of her car by the lighthouse. It was raining and the sea was rough, so I suppose that was why she didn’t hear me until the car hit her. I didn’t even think, I just put my foot down and headed straight for her. I didn’t brake until after the blow.’

  Elma suddenly remembered the woollen thread that they had found in the car. Ása’s shawl was made of rough wool. Everything was falling into place.

  ‘I did it for Sara,’ Ása continued. ‘I did it for my children.’ She sighed. ‘I’m sorry if Elísabet had a difficult childhood. And I’m devastated that Hendrik should have played a part in that. I’ll never forgive him. But he hurt my Sara too and knowing that is more painful than anything else. I can’t believe Elísabet never spoke a word about it all those years. Can you imagine how I’ve suffered? It’s eaten me up inside, not knowing what happened to my little girl. And all this time Elísabet knew but didn’t say a word. That’s another thing I couldn’t forgive her for.’

  Elma handed her another tissue and Ása blew her nose again.

  ‘Did you deliberately try to conceal the evidence by disposing of her in the sea?’ Sævar asked.

  Ása folded the tissue neatly and put it down in front of her. ‘To be honest, I didn’t care. I managed to drag her down to the beach but I’m an old woman and couldn’t get very far. I hoped the sea would wash her away. I thought God would make sure that she disappeared forever, just like my Sara. There would have been a kind of justice in that, don’t you think?’

  ‘Are you sure she was dead?’ Elma asked, ignoring Ása’s comment. There was nothing just about this case.

  ‘That was the worst part,’ Ása said and for the first time since she had opened her mouth, she seemed reluctant to go on. ‘I thought she was dead, but then…’

  ‘And then?’ Elma prompted.

  ‘She started moaning,’ Ása said, a sudden tremor in her voice. ‘But by then it was too late to stop.’

  Elma found it hard to picture Ása with her hands round Elísabet’s neck. But then she found it equally impossible to imagine this dainty little woman lugging Elísabet’s body over the rocks.

  ‘What about her car?’ Sævar asked.

  ‘That was quite a good idea of mine, don’t you think?’ Ása smiled dully but didn’t wait for a response. ‘Elísabet’s car keys were in her bag. I took them, then later threw them in the sea. I still had the keys to our old neighbours’ house – as you know we’ve recently moved; we used to live nearby. Anyway, I knew they were abroad. Of course I realised the car would be discovered eventually but I won myself some time to cover my tracks, didn’t I?’ Ása stopped to catch her breath and adjusted the shawl round her neck. ‘Anyway, I’m tired of talking. You should have all you need by now. You couldn’t do me a tiny favour, could you?’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I’d really like to have my knitting stuff here. You see, I’m expecting a grandchild and I’m knitting a dress, a pink one. I’m sure it’s a girl.’ As she said this Ása’s face lit up for the first time since they had entered the room.

  ‘Well, the case is more or less solved,’ Hörður said. ‘If neither Hendrik nor Tómas are prepared to confess, it’ll be impossible to establish which of them abused the girls or what exactly happened. The victims are both dead and we have nothing to go on but the photos and Rúnar’s claim that Tómas used to go up to Elísabet’s room. And since Rúnar was probably drunk at the time, his testimony won’t be enough to prove anything.’

  Elma knew Hörður was right. The case was solved: Ása had confessed to Elísabet’s murder and there was nothing more they could do. In the next few days, forensics would run tests on the woollen thread found in Elísabet’s car to see if it came from Ása’s shawl. They had her confession and there was nothing to suggest that she’d had an accomplice, yet they were still puzzled as to how Ása had managed to drag Elísabet’s body all that way. Still, she flatly denied that anyone else had helped her, and Elma knew that people were capable of performing the most extraordinary feats under press
ure. The case was solved, yet she wasn’t satisfied that justice had been done.

  ‘Naturally we’ll summon them both for questioning. The only possibility would be if one of them were to confess, but I find that highly unlikely.’

  Elma nodded glumly. She was sitting by Hörður’s desk, immersed in paperwork.

  ‘What about Sara?’ she asked.

  ‘What about Sara?’ Hörður glanced up. ‘It’s nearly thirty years since she died in what appears to have been an accident. Even if Elísabet was telling the truth, it comes down to the same thing – they’re both dead.’

  ‘But what about—?’

  ‘Elma, Elísabet’s husband Eiríkur is on his way here and after that I need to talk to the press. Take the rest of the day off. Go for a swim or a walk or whatever. You deserve it.’ He smiled dismissively, as if he couldn’t wait to get Elma out of his office. She bit her lip and got up. When she turned back in the doorway to add something, Hörður was already on the phone.

  Her mother answered a few seconds after she’d selected her number, as if she’d been sitting waiting by the phone. Elma felt a pang of guilt for not having returned her call the previous evening. She was well aware that her mother was dying of curiosity but she couldn’t tell her anything, though she had the feeling her mother wished she was more like Dagný in that respect.

  ‘Hi, Mum,’ she said, giving her mother just enough time to return her greeting before carrying on: ‘Remember when you said that Hendrik’s brother, Tómas, used unscrupulous methods to collect the rent? What did you mean by that?’ She had suddenly remembered what her mother had said when they were walking in the cemetery.

  ‘Why are you asking?’ her mother asked, her voice alive with curiosity, but when Elma wouldn’t reveal her reasons, she gave in and said: ‘He used to sleep with the women. There were rumours about him taking advantage of single mothers who couldn’t pay the rent. I don’t know how much truth there was in it but that’s what you used to hear. And that Hendrik knew but turned a blind eye to it. Why do you ask? Does it have anything to do with…?’