Reykjavik Nights (20 page)

‘The tramp?'

‘I don't know. He was just sort of bending over, like I said, and peering around, then he disappeared and popped up again. I've no idea if it was the person you're talking about. I couldn't see him that clearly. All I saw was a man busy with something over there.'

‘Did you notice where he went afterwards?'

‘No, I only spotted him briefly, then I went home. Though I do remember that the incident came back to me when those boys found the man's body a couple of days later and I heard he'd been living in the pipeline.'

‘Did you tell the police?'

‘The police?'

‘Yes.'

‘No, I didn't.'

‘You didn't think it might have been important when they found the tramp?'

‘No, it didn't even cross my mind.' The man hooked another ball from the bucket and positioned it on the grass. ‘Not for a minute. After all, I didn't know if it was him. Why would I inform the police about some tramp hanging around in the old diggings?'

‘Could you describe him in more detail – the man you saw?'

‘No, not really.'

‘And he was doing something by the pipeline?'

‘I haven't a clue what he was up to but I do recall thinking he must have been searching for something. He was a long way off, though, and I wasn't paying attention. Just caught a momentary glimpse.'

‘Could it have been a woman?'

‘Not sure,' said the golfer. ‘Maybe. Couldn't say.'

‘And this was around the time the tramp was found in the pool? Do you remember when exactly?'

‘Only about two days before. I'm fairly sure it was past midnight.'

‘A figure bending over by the pipeline?'

‘Yes, presumably that tramp. It was an accident, wasn't it?'

‘What was?'

‘His death. There was nothing suspicious about it?'

‘No, I doubt it,' said Erlendur. ‘I expect it was just an accident.'

*   *   *

When Halldóra told him she was pregnant, Erlendur didn't know what to think. The news was so unexpected that he was utterly thrown.

‘Is it mine?' he blurted out as they sat in the cafe.

‘Yours? Of course,' Halldóra answered.

‘Are you…?'

‘I haven't … there's no one else, if that's what you think. Is that what you think?'

‘And you're sure?'

‘Sure? What do you mean? Of course I'm sure. You're the only person it could be.'

‘No, I mean that you're pregnant. You only said you thought you were.'

‘No, I … I didn't know how best to put it, but … there's no doubt,' she said. ‘I've seen a doctor.'

‘But … when…?'

‘In the spring. You'd been to the police party, remember? You don't seem terribly pleased.'

‘It's just such a surprise. What –?'

‘You should have realised how I'd feel,' said Halldóra.

Erlendur sat in silence while her words sank in. There was a loud crash from the kitchen as some plates fell on the floor, and everyone except Erlendur and Halldóra looked up.

‘All that stuff about moving in together…?'

‘I didn't know how to broach the subject,' said Halldóra. ‘I don't know where I am with you. You were so reluctant to meet my parents. And I know almost nothing about you. About your family, for example. We've been seeing each other for two and a half years but I still don't know you at all and you know nothing about me. We meet at pubs, sleep together and go into town but…'

He thought she was going to burst into tears.

‘Either we make it serious or we might as well end it,' she whispered across the table.

Erlendur had no idea what to say.

‘What do you want to do?' she asked and he saw she was welling up. ‘What do you want to do, Erlendur?'

35

The man had already gone over his story twice with the police but had no objection to repeating it yet again. He spoke calmly and deliberately, with a good memory for detail. Erlendur could see why she had fallen for him. Not only was he pleasant and polite, but he was handsome as well, with a dark complexion, a fine head of black hair, neat hands and a friendly smile. He was dressed in a suit and tie, his hair fell sleek to his shoulders and he had a good set of sideburns. Erlendur had found his name, Ísidór, in the police files. When Erlendur phoned, the man had immediately invited him to his office. He ran a small business importing goods from America and had a selection of samples by his desk: candy, potato chips and other unfamiliar treats.

He asked if there had been any progress in the inquiry and Erlendur said no, that he was looking into it unofficially at the request of a relative. The man asked no further questions but seemed keen to discuss the case.

When they first met, Ísidór didn't know Oddný was married. He had never seen her before that night at Rödull. They got talking and he bought her a drink. She explained that she had been out with work mates at another bar but had moved on to Rödull by herself. Before long she asked if he was married. He told her he was divorced and didn't have any children. She said she didn't have any children either, but he never thought to ask if she was married.

‘She didn't look like she was,' Ísidór said, smoothing his tie. ‘At least I didn't get that impression.'

They had shared a taxi to his place in Breidholt. At the time he was having a small house built on the northern side of the hill and it was still unfinished, with painted concrete floors and a makeshift kitchen. They had slept together and arranged to see each other again.

‘As I explained to the police last year, it came as a nasty surprise when she told me she was married. It was our third date. She said we couldn't go on seeing each other; she'd have to break it off. Of course I demanded to know why and then it came out. You can imagine how shocked I was. It was totally unexpected.'

‘Did she explain why she hadn't told you to begin with?'

‘I think she was just using me to get back at him,' said Ísidór. ‘Did he send you, by any chance?'

‘No, definitely not,' said Erlendur. ‘Why did she want to get back at him?'

‘Unhappy marriage, I suppose.'

‘Did she discuss it with you at all?'

‘Yes, when she broke up with me. She said she was planning to leave him but couldn't do it yet. She needed more time. Said it was too soon. She couldn't just go from one man to the next. I talked to her later, after her husband found out. She told me he'd gone completely mental.'

‘That's understandable, isn't it?'

‘Maybe. He threatened her.'

‘Any idea how exactly?'

‘No, but I had the feeling she was afraid of him. Of course I told the police but they saw no reason to take action.'

‘You weren't happy when she broke up with you,' pointed out Erlendur.

‘No, I wanted … I believed she was in real danger and –'

The phone rang and he answered it, took down an order, then explained he was in a meeting and hung up.

‘Weren't you the one who told her husband about the affair?' asked Erlendur.

‘I wanted to help her,' said Ísidór. ‘I thought I was acting in her best interest. That's all.'

‘But hadn't she asked you to keep the relationship secret?'

‘Not in as many words.'

‘Wouldn't it have been better to err on the side of caution, though?'

‘Look, naturally I wasn't happy, and I rang her a few times. Once her husband answered and wanted to know who I was. I told him the truth, that Oddný and I were having an affair.'

‘But she'd ended it by then. She'd stopped seeing you.'

‘I happen to believe it was against her will,' said Ísidór.

‘You must have known how much trouble it would cause, telling him.'

‘Like I said, I thought I was helping her. She'd told me her marriage was on the rocks, but she didn't dare do anything about it.'

‘She decided not to leave him.'

‘It was a big disappointment,' said Ísidór.

‘Were you aware that he used to beat her up?'

Ísidór nodded.

‘That's why she wanted to leave him. Before our brief affair.'

‘Do you think he could have harmed her?'

‘That's for the police to find out,' said Ísidór. ‘They have all this information but say they have no evidence against him. In my opinion they're dragging their feet.'

‘A witness saw her speaking to an unknown man just before she left Thórskaffi. Any idea who it might have been?'

‘No,' said Ísidór.

‘It wasn't you?'

‘No. I was at home that evening. Had an early night. I didn't hurt her; I tried to help her.'

‘What do you think happened?'

‘Ask her husband.'

‘What's that supposed to mean?'

‘I was shocked when I heard she'd disappeared. I'm not saying he killed her or anything. It's my belief the poor woman committed suicide and he was partly responsible. The police were quick to take that view, and I reckon they were right. But I gather there's not much they can do about it.'

‘Did she seem suicidal?'

‘Well, unsurprisingly she was depressed about her situation, but it never occurred to me she'd go that far. No, I never got that sense. Not when she was with me.'

‘What about you? You weren't happy when Oddný dumped you.'

‘That was three years before she disappeared,' said Ísidór. ‘I had time to get over it. Let me point out that I've never been a suspect. You can check up on that for yourself.'

‘Are you married now?'

‘No,' said Ísidór, ‘I'm not. I've … actually I'm living with someone, though I don't quite see what that has to do with it.'

‘Did she give you an alibi? Your girlfriend?'

‘Give me…? She didn't need to “give” me an alibi. We were together when Oddný went missing. I didn't do anything to hurt Oddný. Believe me. Not a thing. All I did was bring home to her how shit her life was.'

36

That evening Erlendur was on his way to work when he spotted Thurí at Hlemmur, near the police station. She was among a group of passengers stepping off a bus, the number three from Nes to Háaleiti. Hlemmur, a popular gathering place for the homeless, was the largest bus station in the city and had recently become the headquarters of Reykjavík Transport. Despite its new-found status, however, the station consisted of little more than a stretch of windswept tarmac, now covered in puddles from the rain that had fallen earlier that day. There was also a large, draughty, east-facing bus shelter, where people huddled in bad weather, praying that number ‘Get Me Out of Here' would not be late.

He could see no sign of Thurí's boyfriend Bergmundur, and when he went over to say hello he thought she looked in pretty good shape. She recognised him immediately but was in a terrible mood. It turned out that she had been harassed on the bus and rather than put up with it had decided to get off early at Hlemmur and wait for the next one.

‘Bastards!' She sniffed loudly.

‘What happened?'

‘There was a bunch of little wankers taking the piss out of me on the bus. I gave them what for. Bloody bastards!'

‘Do you often have problems with … bastards like that?' asked Erlendur.

‘What's it to you?' she countered, her hackles still up from her recent encounter.

‘Oh, nothing, I just thought –'

‘Yeah, well, think what you like.'

Erlendur was early; his shift did not start for another hour. He had intended to spend the time digging around in the police archives, but instead asked Thurí if she wanted a coffee. They could go and sit in a nearby cafe. He had been hoping to ask her a few more questions about how she found the earring, and this seemed like a good opportunity.

‘Going to buy me a drink?' she fired back.

‘I don't think they have a licence.'

‘Then you can forget it.' Thurí stalked off towards the bus shelter. It was empty. She sat down on the bench and Erlendur joined her. The floor was studded with lumps of chewing gum and a drift of sweet papers whirled in the wind. In one corner an empty litter bin lay on its side, next to a broken bottle. Obscenities were scrawled over every inch of the walls.

‘Seen anything of Bergmundur recently?' began Erlendur.

‘That dickhead.'

‘I thought you two were friends.'

‘Bergmundur hasn't got any friends. What gave you that idea? He's a pathetic loser. A pathetic bloody loser.'

‘Actually, I was on my way to visit you,' said Erlendur.

‘Oh?'

‘I wanted to ask you more about the earring you found.'

‘Did you get it back from that crook?'

‘I've got it, yes. It's at home.'

‘I wouldn't mind having it back,' said Thurí.

‘Any particular reason?'

‘I wouldn't sell it again,' said Thurí touchily, ‘if that's what you're implying. I didn't mean to sell it. I meant to keep it. But…'

A teenage girl with heavily made-up eyes entered the shelter and eyed them both carefully. Deciding neither looked like a soft touch, she went out again. She was wearing a miniskirt and platforms so high she could barely walk.

‘I wanted to know where you found the earring,' said Erlendur.

‘I already told you that – in the pipeline!'

‘Yes, but where exactly? Do you remember?'

‘Why the hell do you care?'

‘I just want to know.'

‘Not far from the opening.'

‘Right- or left-hand side?'

‘Right, left, what kind of question is that? What does it matter?'

‘It probably doesn't,' admitted Erlendur, ‘but it would be good if you could remember.'