REYKJAVÍK

The search for answers about a missing schoolgirl takes 30 years to pay off.

Fifteen-year-old Lára Marteinsdóttir, who’d contracted to work the summer of 1956 as a domestic helper for former Supreme Court of Iceland barrister Óttar Óskarsson and his wife, Ólöf Blöndal, in their retreat on the little island of Videy, announces one morning that she’s packed her bags and is leaving early to rejoin her parents in Reykjavík. The couple are jolted by her early departure, but her parents are far more jolted when she never shows up. Since not many young women go missing in Iceland, the case, first investigated by police officer Kristján Kristjánsson, swiftly becomes a cause célèbre, but that doesn’t lead to a solution—not in 1956, not in 1966, not in 1976. It’s not until 1986, on the eve of Reykjavík’s 200th anniversary, that Valur Róbertsson, a promising reporter for the struggling weekly Vikubladid, gets a phone call from someone calling herself Julía that so whets his interest in the case that he keeps overpromising developments to editor Dagbjartur Steinsson, who in turn pushes him harder and harder and even leaks a wildly premature announcement of his upcoming scoop to other news outlets. Valur focuses on a quartet of old friends—Óskarsson himself, city councillor Páll Jóhannesson, developer Högni Eyfjörd, and wholesaler Finnur Stephensen, whose dying words to his actress wife were “You have to go to Videy”—who regularly met on the island. When Valur is unable to deliver the goods, his sister, Sunna Róbertsdóttir, puts her dissertation in comparative literature on hold and takes over the investigation just as Ronald Reagan and Mikhail Gorbachev announce their plans to meet in Reykjavík for their historic summit.

A slow-burning, spellbinding whodunit. Agatha Christie, to whom it’s dedicated, would be proud.