Girls Who Lie Read online

  Hörður poured coffee into the cup she was holding out, then nodded at the car. ‘What’s up with him?’

  ‘He’s a bit under the weather.’

  ‘Under the weather?’

  ‘Yes…’ Elma smiled ruefully. ‘Apparently he had a good time last night.’

  Hörður shook his head. ‘Isn’t he a bit old for that sort of nonsense?’

  ‘That’s what I said.’ Elma took a wary sip of coffee. It was still scalding hot.

  ‘It doesn’t look good,’ Hörður said after a short silence. He turned his gaze back to the lava field, where the forensic technicians were moving around in their blue overalls. Although it was still daylight, they had set up lights to illuminate the interior of the cave.

  ‘No, the body looks as if … well, as if it’s been lying there for months.’

  ‘Could the person have fallen?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ Elma said. ‘Not given the angle of the cave. It wouldn’t be a long enough drop, would it? It’s more like she crawled in there, not wanting to be found. And perhaps she never would have been if the boys hadn’t thought the cave would make a good hiding place.’

  ‘So she might have gone in there to die?’

  ‘Exactly. Maybe she didn’t want anyone to have to stumble on her body.’

  ‘Are we sure it’s a woman?’

  ‘Yes, fairly sure,’ Elma said. The remaining tufts of hair on the skull had been long and the coat had looked like a woman’s. The trainers had been small too, probably no more than a size thirty-six. Elma wouldn’t have been able to squeeze into them herself. ‘But I don’t know if it’s Maríanna. It seems likely, though. I mean, it’s not like many women have gone missing in recent months or years.’

  ‘No, Maríanna’s the only one who hasn’t turned up.’ Hörður threw his cup in a litter bin that had been installed next to a bench. He adjusted his hat and rubbed his hands together.

  It felt like ages before they heard a distant cry and raised their eyes. A member of the forensics team was beckoning to them. Hörður hurried over while Elma rapped on the passenger window of the car. She nearly winced when she saw how awful Sævar looked. His face, which had been white as a corpse, now appeared positively grey. His eyes were red and puffy, and he was shaking. Nevertheless, he got out, making a pathetic effort to smile.

  ‘Do you want my scarf?’ she offered, though she was freezing herself.

  ‘No, I—’

  ‘Sure you do.’ She took it off and wrapped it round Sævar’s neck, trying to hide the shiver that assailed her as the wind clutched at her bare neck with icy fingers. ‘It suits you.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Again, he tried and failed to smile.

  ‘Come on. Not long now and you’ll be able to crawl back into bed,’ she said, giving him a nudge as they set off side by side.

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘No, actually.’ Elma laughed. ‘We’ll probably need to go back to the office afterwards. But I’ll stop off at a petrol station on the way home so you can buy yourself something deep fried.’

  ‘Oh, God. Don’t even talk about it.’

  ‘That bad, is it?’

  Sævar never normally turned down the offer of junk food. Elma had seen him put away two deep-fried hot dogs with cheese and chips, followed by crisps for pudding, and still have room for more.

  ‘I’m never going to drink again,’ Sævar announced with a groan.

  ‘They’ve found an ID,’ Hörður told them when they reached the cave. The man from forensics handed over a clear plastic bag containing an ID card that had obviously got wet in the damp cave. Although the black print had faded, the name was still visible: Maríanna Þórsdóttir.

  ‘How long is it since she went missing?’ he asked.

  ‘She vanished at the beginning of May,’ Hörður replied. ‘That makes it more than seven months.’

  ‘Well, it looks to me as if the body’s pretty well preserved, all things considered,’ the man said. ‘Especially where it’s protected by the clothes. Everything, that’s to say, except the head and hands. Though there are still some patches of soft tissue on the skull – on the back of the head and neck, for example. We’ve had a look at them and we’re fairly sure there’s a fracture in the skull, so it’s probably best to call out the pathologist. There’ll be a post-mortem, I assume?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Hörður said. ‘Could the fractured skull have been caused by a fall?’

  The man grimaced a little. ‘Unlikely. You’ve seen the way the cave is angled. You have to crawl to get to where the body’s lying. If you ask me, the blow was caused by something else.’

  Hörður thought for a moment. ‘Yes, right,’ he said. ‘We’ll call out the pathologist.’

  Elma saw that Sævar was having difficulty swallowing his disappointment. Waiting for the pathologist to drive up from Reykjavík would mean hanging around for at least another two hours in this bitter cold.

  Darkness arrived from the east, reaching out with terrifying swiftness across the sky towards the setting sun. They had watched the forensics team at work all day. By the time the pathologist arrived, dusk was already falling. But, in the event, he required less than an hour to assess the situation and take a few samples before the body could be transported to Reykjavík, where the post-mortem would take place the following day.

  Both pathologist and forensics team were in agreement that the injuries to Maríanna’s skull could not have resulted from a fall. Moreover, there was a large, dark patch on the front of her shirt, which might well have been blood. The body was so badly decomposed that it was hard to be certain, but there were various indications that her death was suspicious. Nevertheless, it struck them as odd that Maríanna’s remains hadn’t been put in a bin bag or covered with a blanket. Or at least hidden with a pile of rocks. The person who had dumped her there had simply trusted that no one would find her.

  After what felt like an interminable day, Hörður, Elma and Sævar had headed back to the police station in Akranes to decide their next steps. Elma was now sitting in the meeting room cradling her fourth mug of coffee. She’d almost finished the packet of biscuits that had been lying unopened on the table when they arrived. Sævar sat opposite her and yawned as he pushed away his laptop. The colour had returned to his cheeks, though he had subsisted on nothing but fizzy drinks all day. He glanced at his watch and then at Elma. Feeling his gaze on her, she looked up.

  ‘What?’ In the yellow glow of the ceiling lights she suddenly felt sleepy too and had to smother a yawn with her hand.

  ‘Shouldn’t we talk to Maríanna’s daughter?’

  ‘I’ll take care of that,’ Elma said. The girl’s name was Hekla. She had been taken in after her mother’s disappearance by a couple called Bergrún and Fannar, who had fostered her when she was younger and later looked after her every other weekend. Elma didn’t know exactly how the girl had come to be fostered by them in the first place, though she was aware that Maríanna had had a few problems. Bergrún and Fannar had been very helpful during the search for her back in the spring and more than willing to provide Hekla with a permanent home.

  ‘Is there anyone else we should be in touch with?’ Sævar asked.

  ‘Well, Maríanna’s father lives in Reykjavík,’ Elma said, remembering. ‘But, as far as I can recall, her brother and mother are dead. She didn’t have any other close family.’

  Elma reached down to pat Birta, who was sitting at her feet. Sævar’s dog usually made a beeline for her when he brought her into the office, which had been pretty much every day since he’d split up with his girlfriend of seven years. He didn’t have the heart to leave the dog alone at home, so she had become almost part of the furniture at the police station. The ex-girlfriend had already got together with another man, and they were expecting a baby. Sævar claimed he was happy for them, but Elma doubted this was entirely genuine. He didn’t seem that pleased about Birta’s preference for Elma either, however much he joked about it. El
ma had seen him staring fixedly at the dog lying at her feet, as if silently commanding her to come to him. But Birta ignored his summons, as she did any other orders he gave her in Elma’s presence. Instead, the dog would turn an enquiring gaze on Elma and wait for a command from her.

  ‘I’ll speak to her father,’ Sævar said, his eyes on Birta.

  ‘Whatever you think,’ Elma replied, and got up. Birta instantly sprang up too and followed Elma obediently into the office where she settled down again at her feet.

  Bergrún and Fannar certainly looked good on paper. She was a dentist, he an engineer, and they lived in a house in one of the newer suburbs of Akranes – a dark-grey, boxlike building with a concrete patio. In addition to Hekla, they had a son called Bergur, who they had originally fostered then subsequently adopted. He had just started school. The first time Elma met Bergrún, the woman had told her straight out that the decision to adopt had been taken as a result of repeated miscarriages. Not everyone could bring themselves to take in children who weren’t their own flesh and blood, but there was no sign that Bergrún and Fannar were any less fond of Bergur and Hekla than parents would be of their biological offspring. The couple both came out to greet Elma and Sævar, who’d decided to come along too, and led them into their home, which was covered in photos and artworks, the latter consisting of abstract splashes of paint and the names ‘Hekla’ or ‘Bergur’ spelled out in uneven letters in the corners.

  Hekla herself was sitting at the kitchen table with her school books spread out in front of her. The black hoodie she was wearing was several sizes too big, and her dark hair was caught up in a high pony-tail. She raised her head when they came in and removed the wireless earbud from one ear.

  Elma smiled at her and received a tentative answering smile.

  ‘Shall we take a seat through here?’ Bergrún suggested, gesturing to her right. She let the two detectives go into the living room ahead of her while she waited for Hekla, placing a reassuring hand on the girl’s shoulder as they followed. Bergrún was several centimetres taller than her husband and towered over Hekla, who was quite small for her age. She only came up to Elma’s shoulder, although Elma herself wasn’t particularly tall at a very average 168 centimetres.

  ‘Earlier today…’ Elma began, once they were all sitting down. She watched their expressions change as she reported the discovery of the body near Grábrók, avoiding going into details, just keeping it short and to the point. As she spoke, she tried not to think about the grisly remains that had long ago ceased to resemble the person they had once been.

  ‘Who found the body?’ Fannar asked, shifting to the edge of the sofa. He was a short, fairly nondescript man, with light-brown hair, grey eyes and glasses. From somewhere in the house came the sound of a television; the squeaky voices of cartoon characters.

  ‘Two boys who were playing in the lava field,’ Elma said. ‘Maríanna’s remains will be sent to the pathologist, who will carry out a more detailed analysis tomorrow. After that we’ll hopefully have a better idea of the cause of death.’

  ‘The cause of death? You said she’d…’ Bergrún glanced quickly at Hekla who was sitting beside her, then lowered her voice ‘…that she’d probably vanished of her own accord?’

  There was no sign that her words were having any effect on Hekla, but then the girl had probably heard all kinds of theories about her mother’s disappearance and had had a lot of time to think about them. It was impossible to tell what thoughts were passing through her head at the news. She stared at them impassively, her eyes wide, the corners of her mouth turned slightly down.

  ‘That’s what we guessed at the time,’ Sævar said. ‘But as we couldn’t find her body, it was impossible to confirm. It was just one theory.’

  Bergrún put an arm round Hekla’s shoulders, and the girl leant her head against her. Her gaze shifted away to fix on a glass bowl on the coffee table.

  ‘We’ll be in touch the moment we know any more,’ Elma said.

  ‘We’re reopening the investigation, of course,’ Sævar added. ‘So we wanted to ask you if there was anything you’d remembered – anything that didn’t come up in the spring – that might be important? Anything at all.’

  ‘I just … I don’t know.’ Bergrún looked at her husband. ‘Can you think of anything, Fannar?’

  Fannar shook his head slowly.

  ‘Hekla,’ Elma said gently. ‘You said you saw your mother last on the evening of Thursday, the third of May, am I right? Is there anything else you remember? Any reason she might have for being in Bifröst?’

  Hekla shook her head. ‘She was just like normal.’

  ‘What about in the days before that? Did your mother seem different at all?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Hekla dropped her eyes to her black-painted nails and began to pick at the polish. ‘I mean, she was just, like, happy. I think she was excited about … that man. She was always on the phone.’

  This was exactly what Hekla had told them in the spring. When they examined Maríanna’s laptop, they had found countless messages between her and the man she had been planning to meet. Most had been sent via her social-media accounts, to which the police had been granted access.

  Elma studied Hekla. The girl was hard to read. She didn’t really respond much and didn’t speak unless asked a direct question. Elma had had the same impression of her during the original inquiry. It was hard to engage with the girl; hard to get her to reply to questions with anything more than the bare minimum. She had neither wept nor shown any other signs of distress. Of course, every child was different, and there was no one correct way to react in a traumatic situation. Clearly, Hekla wasn’t someone who showed her feelings. Besides, the circumstances around Maríanna’s disappearance had been a little unusual. They hadn’t been sure whether she was coming back or not. In some respects, a missing-person case was tougher on a family than the death of a loved one. The element of uncertainty complicated the grieving process, leaving friends and relatives in limbo, unsure if they would ever get closure.

  ‘What now?’ Bergrún asked.

  ‘As Sævar said, we’re reopening the investigation,’ Elma replied. ‘We’ll be in touch the moment anything new turns up or we need any further information from you.’

  They said goodbye and Bergrún accompanied them to the door.

  ‘I think Hekla would benefit from trauma counselling,’ she said, glancing round to check that the girl wasn’t within earshot. ‘It’s hit her hard.’

  ‘Of course,’ Elma said. ‘I’ll make sure someone gets in touch with you. That goes without saying.’

  Bergrún nodded.

  ‘How do you feel Hekla’s been getting on otherwise?’ Elma asked.

  ‘Getting on?’

  ‘In the last few months, I mean. Has she adjusted well to her new circumstances?’

  ‘Yes, very well, considering,’ Bergrún said. ‘But she doesn’t know how to deal with the whole thing, and I get the sense she’s a bit confused. That’s why I feel it wouldn’t hurt to seek professional help. Her relationship with Maríanna wasn’t like a normal parent-child relationship. Hekla often didn’t want to go home after her weekends with us, and we’d have to persuade her.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Yes,’ Bergrún continued. ‘So in a way this has been good for Hekla. I’m not saying it’s good that Maríanna died – absolutely not. But Hekla’s circumstances have changed for the better, and I know she’s happy to be able to live with us permanently at last.’

  Elma smiled politely, though she found the comment a bit odd and inappropriate, to say the least. It was obvious that Bergrún and Fannar were more comfortably off than Maríanna: they had a bigger house and a nicer car. But, as far as Elma was aware, Maríanna hadn’t had a damaging effect on Hekla, although she’d needed a bit of support from social services.

  ‘When did you first foster her?’

  Bergrún smiled. ‘When she was three, just a tiny little thing. She was such an adorable ch
ild that all I wanted to do was cuddle her and never let her go.’

  Five Months

  I wasn’t always this empty. As a child I was full of emotions – anger, hate, love, sadness. Perhaps I had too many emotions and that’s why there are none left now. It’s the numbness in my body and soul that makes me do all kinds of things that other people might find horrible. But I don’t care. It’s like there’s no emotion left inside me except a boiling, churning, red rage that I can’t control. Just like when I was a child and my fingers would tremble and my face grow hot. I always felt like a balloon that would go on expanding and expanding until it burst with a loud bang. Sometimes I took my anger out on my parents, sometimes on a doll called Matthildur. She had no hair, and her eyelids closed when she was tipped up. I wasn’t interested in pushing her around in a doll’s pram like my friends, let alone in dressing her up and giving her a bottle full of white liquid that looked like milk.

  Once I flew into a terrible rage. I don’t know why. I expect it was connected to something my parents did or didn’t do. But that’s irrelevant. All I remember is slamming my bedroom door and trying in vain to fight back the tears of rage. As I stood in the middle of the room, my gaze fell on Matthildur, sitting on my bed in her smart dress. Her eyes were staring vacantly into space and she wore that stupid smile, as if she was always happy. I picked her up and, without stopping to think, smashed her head against the wall, over and over again until my hands hurt and I was out of breath with the effort. In the end I let go and she dropped to the floor. Then I stood there, feeling the numbness spreading through my body. I didn’t know if it felt good or bad. My anger had gone, but when I looked at the doll lying on the floor with a streak of pink paint on her forehead, I felt as if I had done something wrong. I stooped and picked her up and held her tightly, rocking her against me and chanting over and over: Sorry, sorry.