The Girl Who Died by Ragnar Jonasson (ap literature book list .txt) 📕

‘Yes, he knocked on our door that evening.’

‘Are you sure it was the same man?’

‘Absolutely positive. I saw his photo in the paper.’

‘I see.’ The policeman was silent for a moment, then asked: ‘Why are you only ringing us now? If I remember right, it’s more than a week since we published a picture of him.’

‘Yes, er … yes, that’s right,’ Una stammered, ‘but the papers take a while to reach us out here.’

‘I see.’

‘Of course, I don’t know if it has anything to do with his disappearance …’

‘No, of course not. That remains to be seen. Look, there aren’t many people in at this time of the evening, but I’ll have a word with my colleague who’s in charge of the investigation and he might come and pay you a visit. Would you be so good as to give me your address in Skálar?’

Una did so.

‘Then we’ll leave it at that for now,’ said the policeman, and ended the call.

Una had been hoping for some kind of praise or at least thanks, some confirmation from the police that she had done the right thing. Sometimes, it seemed, selfless acts reaped nothing but ingratitude.

XXIII

Una was almost at the top of the attic stairs when she remembered Thrá. Turning round, she decided to take advantage of Salka’s absence to make one more quick phone call.

This time she knew the number off by heart.

‘Hello.’

‘Hi, Sara. It’s Una.’

‘Una, well I never! This is becoming almost a daily occurrence. Did you get my letter?’

‘Yes, I did. I just wanted to thank you. I’m incredibly grateful.’

‘Did you find the man? The missing man?’ Sara’s tone was teasing. She never took anything seriously. It was one of her most attractive qualities and also one of her most infuriating faults.

‘We’ll see,’ Una replied. ‘Actually, I was wondering if I could persuade you to do me another favour.’

‘Sure,’ Sara replied after a brief hesitation. ‘Within reason, of course.’

Una laughed. ‘Of course. But it’s slightly more complicated than the last one, so just say if it’s too much trouble. I think it might be quite important, though.’

‘OK, out with it.’

‘It’s an old incident I’m looking into – an incident that happened in Skálar.’

‘What on earth are you up to over there, Una? I thought you were supposed to be teaching those two girls?’

Una was momentarily silent. Presumably news of Edda’s death hadn’t reached Reykjavík, or else Sara hadn’t made the connection. ‘I teach during the day,’ she said eventually. ‘But I have to keep myself amused somehow in the evenings.’

‘OK, I’ll look into it for you. How long ago did it happen?’

‘In 1927.’

‘In 1927? Are you joking?’

‘No. It’s connected to the house I’m living in and the woman I’m staying with. I really need to know more about it.’

‘What happened?’

‘A girl died – a little girl. Her name was Thrá.’

‘How did she die?’

‘I don’t know, but I have the feeling it, er … that there might have been something suspicious about it.’

‘And where exactly am I supposed to find that information, Una?’

‘Well, I thought, you know, from old newspapers or something. If it ever made it into the news.’

‘Did they even have newspapers in 1927?’

‘Oh, come on, Sara! Of course they did. Would you be able to check it for me?’

Sara sighed. ‘All right, I suppose so, but I’m not promising any-thing. I might be able to find it in the Our Century series. Mum and Dad have got all the volumes. I’ll start there. Then I’ll see if I can go down to the National Library and plough through the newspaper archives. I know we’re friends, Una, but you have to draw the line somewhere.’ This was said in a humorous tone, and Una smiled. Sara always managed to cheer her up.

‘Thanks so much, Sara,’ Una said, genuinely grateful. ‘Give me a call as soon as you find anything.’ She said goodbye.

Conscious of how few people she had on her side right now, Una felt all the more grateful for her friendship with Sara, as far as it went. Perhaps the separation had been good for their relationship, by giving them a chance to miss each other a bit.

Una found herself wondering yet again if she would be better off back in Reykjavík; whether her decision to leave had been a mistake. After all, she reasoned, if there was a risk of her becoming suicidal, as she had sometimes feared, there would be little to prevent her here in Skálar, where no one cared about her or kept an eye on her or bothered to come round and visit. Yet in spite of this she felt that the adversity had, if anything, made her stronger and more determined. And of course she couldn’t be sure of finding work in Reykjavík at this time of year. She had taken a temporary break from her old job and without an income she wouldn’t be able to survive. It wasn’t as if she or her mother had any savings to live off. While they weren’t exactly poor, they both lived pretty much from wage slip to wage slip, and couldn’t afford any leeway. Here in Skálar, on the other hand, Una had finally been able to put a little aside from every pay cheque. Life was cheaper here than in the city, because there was virtually nothing to spend her money on and she got her accommodation for free.

She genuinely enjoyed teaching too, though she couldn’t help wondering sometimes what it would have been like if she’d finished her medical studies and become a practising doctor, rather than an academic like her father. She certainly wouldn’t have been short of money.

Her thoughts returned to the present. There was still no sign of Salka. Before Una went back up to the attic, she took a careful look around to make sure there was nothing to betray the fact that she had used the phone. She felt, absurdly, like a criminal hiding her tracks.

Once upstairs she lay down on the sofa.