‘You’re not Birkir.’
‘No.’
There was a note in his voice Elínborg did not like. ‘What do you mean, no?’
‘Oh, forget it. You don’t want to hear it, anyway.’
‘What don’t I want to hear?’
‘Nothing.’
‘I told Birkir that if he wanted to meet his natural father, that was absolutely fine. Of course it was. But it was an awful shock when he suddenly decided to go and live with his father. In Sweden! I thought we were his family but he obviously didn’t agree with me, or with your dad. In the end Birkir went his own way.’
‘You forced him to leave.’
‘That is just not true, Valthór.’
‘That’s what he says. And he’s dropped out of touch. We hardly hear from him, and he never speaks to you. You think that’s OK, do you?’
‘Birkir was at a difficult age, just like you are now. Do you really believe it’s all my fault? I hope he’s changed his opinion now that he’s older.’
‘He told me he never felt like one of the family.’
Elínborg was dumbstruck. ‘What?’
‘Birkir felt the difference.’
‘What difference?’
‘You never treated him the same as the rest of us. He always felt he was in the way. As if he was just a visitor.’
‘Did Birkir say that? He never said anything about it to me.’
‘Do you think he’d say something like that to you? He told me when he left, and said I must keep my mouth shut.’
‘But that’s nonsense. He has no right to talk like that.’
‘He can say what he wants.’
‘Look, Valthór, you know perfectly well that Birkir was always one of the family. I know it was hard on him, losing his mum. It wasn’t easy for him to come here to live with his uncle — and with me, who he didn’t know at all. And then you kids came along. I always understood the position he was in and I always, always did my best to make him happy. We never treated him any differently from you three. He was one of our children. You can’t imagine how much it hurts to know that he says that about us.’
‘I wish he hadn’t left,’ said Valthór.
‘So do I,’ said Elínborg.
Elínborg lay in bed, wide awake. She glanced at her alarm clock: 02.47.
She started counting down: 9,999. 9,998 …
She really must sleep.
Konrád led her into the living room, as he had done the day before. He limped ahead of her, apparently quite calm and unruffled. Elínborg was alone; she was not expecting any trouble. She had been delayed slightly at the station when the DNA results for the hairs found on the shawl and in Runólfur’s bed came in.
‘I thought I’d told you everything I know yesterday,’ said Konrád once they were seated.
‘We’re always receiving new information,’ answered Elínborg. ‘Perhaps I could start by telling you about a man …’
‘Would you like coffee?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘Quite sure?’
‘Yes. I just want to tell you about the man who was killed in Thingholt,’ she said. Konrád nodded. He placed his bad leg up on a footstool and listened. She told him the known facts. Runólfur had been born in a little coastal village just over thirty years ago. His mother still lived there, while his father had died in an accident several years before. The community was dying: the young generation were all moving away, and Runólfur himself had left as soon as he had the chance. He did not have a close relationship with his mother, who had a reputation as a harsh woman and a strict disciplinarian and, on the rare occasions that he returned, he barely visited her. He settled in Reykjavík where he trained at technical college, and once he was qualified he started work as a telecoms engineer. He did not marry or have children and his only known relationships with women were one-night stands. He lived in rented flats and apparently moved quite frequently. Through his work he came into contact with a lot of people, in their homes and workplaces, and was invariably regarded as hard-working and reliable. He seemed to have had an interest in comic-book and film superheroes. Nothing was known of any other interests.
Konrád listened in silence. She wondered whether he grasped what she was doing by presenting these facts to him. He might have asked What’s all this got to do with me? but he said nothing. He merely sat there, frowning, as Elínborg continued with her account of Runólfur.
‘We believe — and we have evidence of this — that Runólfur, having met women through his work, sometimes ran into them later at bars around town. It’s possible that the women were of a similar type: young, single, and dark-haired. Perhaps he encountered them by chance, but we do know of one case where he had found out from the woman in question which bar she generally went to.
‘Runólfur had acquired a date-rape drug, Rohypnol, and he was carrying it when he was murdered — when his throat was slashed with a razor-sharp blade. The pills were found in his pocket. We have a theory about how he got hold of them. It appears very likely that Runólfur had been with a young dark-haired woman when he was killed. She left a shawl at his home.’
The police had been waiting for the results of the DNA tests, which showed that the hairs from the shawl matched the hairs from Runólfur’s bed.
‘I’ve got the shawl here,’ Elínborg continued. She opened her bag, removed the shawl, and spread it out. ‘It’s beautiful. When it was found it had a very strong smell, which is almost gone now. A smell of Indian cuisine — tandoori.’
Konrád did not say a word.
‘We’re pretty sure that there was a woman with Runólfur when he was killed. We think he met her in the same way as he did other women, by setting up a supposedly chance encounter at a bar. We believe he initially went to her home to install telephone or TV equipment, a fibre-optic connection or broadband, whatever telecoms engineers do. He may have returned shortly afterwards on the pretext that he had left some small thing behind, like a screwdriver or a torch. He had a pleasant manner and would have made conversation easily. They were of a similar age. They would have chatted about this and that, and he would have steered the conversation towards certain subjects in order to elicit information from her. She told him which were her usual bars and he also learned that she was unattached, lived alone and was a university student. That background knowledge made it easier to approach her later in public. By that time she must almost have felt she knew him.’
‘I don’t know why you’re telling me all this,’ said Konrád. ‘I can’t see that it has any relevance to me.’
‘No,’ replied Elínborg. ‘I understand, but I still want to ask your opinion. We have various small clues that I want to ask you about. Runólfur persuaded the woman to go home with him. He had the drug in his pocket, and it’s very likely that he slipped something in her glass while they were still at the bar. Or he may not have drugged her until they got to his flat.’ Elínborg glanced at the graduation photo of Konrád’s daughter, which she had examined the day before. ‘We don’t know what happened there,’ she said. ‘What we do know is that Runólfur was killed, and the young woman who was with him left the scene.’
‘I see,’ said Konrád.
‘Do you know anything about it?’
‘As I told you, I didn’t notice anything when I passed through. I’m sorry.’
‘How old is your daughter?’
‘She’s twenty-eight.’
‘Does she live alone?’
‘She rents a place near the university campus. Why do you ask?’
‘Is she interested in Indian cookery?’
‘She’s interested in all sorts of things,’ answered Konrád.
‘Do you recognise this shawl?’ asked Elínborg. ‘You can pick it up if you like.’
‘There’s no need,’ said Konrád. ‘I don’t recognise it. I’ve never seen it before.’