‘Do you think there was something fishy about it?’
‘It sounds to me as if you think so,’ said Erlendur, turning the tables. ‘Or you wouldn’t have reacted the way you did to my questions about Matthildur. After all, it was you who directed me to Hrund in the first place — when I said I was from the police.’
‘I don’t know any more than I’ve told you,’ said Bóas, backtracking. ‘I was just giving you the story from my perspective. I’ve no idea what did or didn’t happen.’
‘So — a puzzling incident and that’s all there is to it?’ said Erlendur.
‘That’s all there is to it as far as I’m concerned,’ said Bóas. ‘Will you be seeing Ezra again?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Erlendur, certain now that Bóas had not come bearing gifts purely out of the goodness of his heart. It amused him how the old farmer feigned a lack of interest in the case, while utterly failing to hide his avid curiosity.
‘I could go over there with you if you’d like,’ Bóas offered.
‘Thanks, but no. I wouldn’t want to take up your time.’
‘Don’t worry about that,’ Bóas said quickly. ‘It’s just that I know the old boy and I might have more luck persuading him to talk.’
‘Somehow I doubt that, now I’ve met him,’ said Erlendur. ‘With all due respect. Anyway, I’ve no idea if I’m going to see him again.’
‘Well, just let me know if I can help,’ said Bóas, preparing to leave. Plainly, he was not going to make any headway with Erlendur.
‘Thank you again for the coffee and pastry.’ Erlendur escorted him to the door, for all the world as if Bakkasel were his home again.
29
This time there was no sound of hammering from the shed below Ezra’s house and nobody answered when he knocked. After rapping three times, he pressed his ear to the door. Ezra’s car was there and had clearly not been moved since his last visit, as the snow still lay in a thick layer over the bonnet and roof. There were footprints running from the house to the drive and down to the shed, but as far as Erlendur could work out they were not recent. He wandered down to the shed where he had found Ezra pounding hardfiskur. Loosening the small wooden toggle of the fastening, he pushed the door open and it swung inwards with a chilly creaking. Nothing had changed: there was the stone, the stool and a heap of unworked fish. The shed was crammed with a lifetime’s accumulated junk: tools and gardening equipment, old scythes, a tractor’s engine block, hubcaps and the rusty bumper of some ancient vehicle. A stack of logs stood in one corner, and two pairs of threadbare overalls hung from nails on the wall.
Erlendur went over to the dried fish, tore off a small piece, put it in his mouth and chewed it with cool deliberation as he inspected the shed. It appeared that Ezra had not left the house in the last twenty-four hours. When Erlendur arrived, he had seen no tyre tracks running up from the road. Picking up the mallet that Ezra used to beat the fish, he weighed it in his hand.
Still holding the mallet, he walked back up to the house and knocked on the door again. No response. It was locked when he tried it and he remembered that it had been open before. He shook the handle, convinced the old man was at home.
He tried calling Ezra’s name at the window, again with no result. All was quiet apart from the chattering of the birds that flocked around the house. He returned to the front door. The top half consisted of small, square panes of glass, covered inside by a curtain. Erlendur was about to raise the mallet to the pane nearest the lock when the door was wrenched open and Ezra appeared in the gap.
‘What the hell are you doing with that mallet?’ he demanded, glaring at Erlendur.
‘I. .’ Erlendur did not get any further. This hostile reception was in stark contrast to his last visit.
‘What do you want?’ snapped the old man.
‘I wanted to talk to you.’
‘And what are you doing with that? You weren’t planning to break in, were you?’
‘I had a feeling you were at home and was worried you might have had an accident,’ replied Erlendur. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m much obliged to you,’ said Ezra. ‘But clearly I’m fine. Now bugger off and leave me alone!’
‘Why do you — ’
Ezra slammed the door in Erlendur’s face, rattling the small panes. Erlendur stood there calmly, the mallet still in his hand. Then, turning away, he walked back down to the shed and replaced it on the workbench. He had not been lying to Ezra. His police experience and the recent incident with Hrund had taught him that the elderly could get into all sorts of difficulties without being able to raise the alarm.
Glancing around the shed again, he noticed a pair of battered wooden skis with leather straps and long bamboo poles. He had not seen their like for years and realised they must be very old. He ran an appreciative hand down them.
There was a crunching outside the door and Ezra appeared, an ugly expression on his face and a shotgun in his hand. Its barrel was pointing at the ground. Ezra was dressed as he had been at the front door, in slippers, vest and trousers held up by narrow braces.
‘Get the hell out of here,’ he said.
‘Don’t be an idiot.’
‘Get out,’ repeated Ezra, raising the gun.
‘What’s happened? What are you afraid of?’
‘I want you to get lost. You’re trespassing on my property.’
‘Who’ve you been talking to?’ asked Erlendur. ‘What’s changed? I thought we could have a chat.’
‘She rang me — Ninna did — and warned me about your snooping,’ said Ezra. ‘I don’t want you poking your nose into my affairs.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Erlendur. ‘I can understand that.’
‘Good. Then you can bugger off back to Reykjavík.’
‘Don’t you want to find her? Aren’t you even curious about her fate? About what really happened?’
‘Leave me alone,’ said Ezra furiously. ‘Stop prying and get lost!’
‘Tell me one thing first — did Jakob know about you two?’
‘For Christ’s sake!’ shouted Ezra. ‘Give over, will you? Give over and bugger off!’
Raising the gun again, he aimed it at Erlendur.
‘All right, keep your hair on,’ said Erlendur. ‘Don’t make things any worse for yourself. I’ll leave. But you know I’ll have to report this. You can’t go around waving guns at people. I’ll have to talk to the police in Eskifjördur. They’ll come down and confiscate it. They may even contact the firearms unit in Reykjavík and fly them out here. Next thing you know, the press will be having a field day. You’ll find yourself all over the seven o’clock news.’
‘Who the hell do you think you are?’ demanded Ezra. His voice, lowered now, was filled with doubt and amazement at the man who was standing in his shed, bold as brass, fiddling with his skis and making threats. ‘Who the hell do you think you are?’ he repeated.
Erlendur did not answer.
‘I’m warning you — I won’t hesitate to use it.’ Ezra brandished the shotgun. ‘I mean it, I won’t hesitate!’
Erlendur stood, unmoving, and watched the old man.
‘Don’t you care whether you live or die?’ exclaimed Ezra.
‘If you were going to shoot me, Ezra — if you thought it would solve anything — you’d have done it by now. Why don’t you go back inside before you catch cold? It’s not healthy to stand out here dressed like that.’
Ezra blinked at him, not yet ready to give up.
‘What the hell do you think you know about me?’ he asked. ‘What are you implying? You know nothing. You understand nothing. I want you to go. I don’t want to talk to you. Can’t you get that into your thick skull?’
‘Tell me about Matthildur.’
‘There’s nothing to tell. Ninna fed you a pack of lies. You shouldn’t listen to a word she says.’