Hilma - Eight Chapters - English

Sverrisson and according to his card he worked at a software company in Reykjavík as a specialist in client-side solutions.

Hilma raised an eyebrow, she understood what that meant.

The card didn’t have a photo but Tryggvi had drawn a head on it. Hilma was unsure about whether Tryggvi lacked any artistic skills or whether it was deformed on purpose. Though the face was too wide and there was no size relations in regards to facial features, it somehow managed to portray a recognizable image. A doodle that someone would draw on a nearby piece of paper while talking on the phone. The eyes were tiny, the mouth almost lip-less and the ears seemed three sizes too big. Some kind of head-wear was drawn on top of the head, probably a cap. Then he’d added two fangs that jutted from the upper lip and horns on the man’s forehead. Beneath Ingvar’s name and title was written Dumbo the devil. Hilma snapped a photo of the card with her phone camera and put it back in the wallet.

“We’re wrapping up here,” called Halldór in a half-muffled voice. He wore a surgical mask on his face and was covered in a white over-all with a hood, and was pulling the latex gloves off of his fingers. Hilma nodded to him and walked towards the ladder. She saw where Oddgeir was still searching in the snow. He’d given up on saving his pant sleeves, but still took the slow and easy steps through the snow – his steps were more crooked and he was using his hands now to search the snow.

Forensics were packing up their gear, so Hilma was safe to step inside and have a look around. The house was filled with that cold cement smell. Maybe she imagined it, but she felt like the fine cement dust got in her nostrils when she breathed in.

She went through the house and though she couldn’t guess what every room’s purpose was, some of them were pretty obvious: A large and spacious kitchen that was open 39