“Investigation? Bugger your investigation,” Elin shouted. “Where are you taking the body?”
“To Reykjavik.”
“And when are you bringing it back?”
“Two days from now.”
“Look what you’ve done to her grave,” Elin said in a puzzled tone of resignation, as if she hadn’t yet completely taken in what had happened. She walked past Erlendur towards the headstone and what remained of the fencing, the vase of flowers and the open grave.
Erlendur decided to tell her about the message that was found in Holberg’s flat.
“A note was left behind at Holberg’s place when we found him,” Erlendur said, walking after Elin. “We couldn’t make much of it until Audur entered the picture and we talked to her old doctor. Icelandic murderers generally don’t leave anything behind but a mess, but the one who killed Holberg wanted to give us something to rack our brains over. When the doctor talked about the possibility of a hereditary disease the message suddenly took on a certain meaning. Also after what Ellidi told me in the prison. Holberg has no living relatives. He had a sister who died at the age of nine. Sigurdur Oli here", Erlendur said, pointing to his colleague, “found the medical reports about her — Ellidi was right. Like Audur, Holberg’s sister died of a brain tumour. Very probably from the same disease.”
“What is it you’re saying? What was the message?” Elin asked.
Erlendur hesitated. He looked at Sigurdur Oli who looked first at Elin and then back at Erlendur.
“I am him,” Erlendur said.
“What do you mean?”
“That was the message: ’I am him’ with the final word, ’him’, in capitals.”
“I am him,” Elin repeated. “What does that mean?”
“It’s impossible to say really but I’ve been wondering if it doesn’t imply some kind of relation,” Erlendur said. “The person who wrote ’I am him’ would have felt he had something in common with Holberg. It could be a fantasy by some nutcase who didn’t even know him. Just nonsense. But I don’t think so. I think the disease will help us. I think we have to find out exactly what it was.”
“What kind of relation?”
“According to the records, Holberg didn’t have any children. Audur wasn’t named after him. Her last name was Kolbrunardottir. But if Ellidi’s telling the truth when he says Holberg raped more women besides Kolbrun, women who didn’t come forward, it could be just as likely that he’s had other children. That Kolbrun wasn’t the only victim who had his child. We’ve narrowed down the search for a possible victim in Husavik to the women who had children over a certain period and we’re hoping something will come out of this soon.”
“Husavik?”
“Holberg’s previous victim was from there, apparently.”
“What do you mean by a hereditary disease?” Elin said. “What sort of disease? Is it the one that killed Audur?”
“We have to examine Holberg, confirm that he was Audur’s father and piece everything together. But if this theory is correct, it’s probably a rare, genetically transmitted disease.”
“And did Audur have it?”
“She may have died too long ago to give a satisfactory result but that’s what we want to find out.”
By now they had walked to the church, Elin by Erlendur’s side and Sigurdur Oli following behind them. Elin led the way. The church was open; they went in out of the rain and stood in the vestibule looking out at the gloomy autumn day.
“I think Holberg was Audur’s father,” Erlendur said. “Actually I have no reason to doubt your word and what your sister told you. But we need confirmation. It’s vital from the point of view of the police investigation. If a genetic disease is involved which Audur got from Holberg, it could be somewhere else too. It’s possible that the disease is linked to Holberg’s murder.”
They didn’t notice a car driving slowly away from the cemetery along the rough old track of a road, its lights switched off and barely visible in the darkness. When it reached Sandgerdi it picked up speed, the headlights were switched on and it had soon caught up with the van carrying the body. On the Keflavik road the driver made sure he kept two or three cars behind the van. In this way, he followed the coffin all the way to Reykjavik.
When the van stopped in front of the morgue on Baronsstigur he parked the car some distance away and watched as the coffin was carried into the building and the doors closed behind it. He watched the van drive away and saw when the woman who’d accompanied the coffin left the morgue and got into a taxi.
When everything was quiet again, he drove away.
19
Marion Briem opened the door for him. Erlendur hadn’t said he was coming. He’d come straight from Sandgerdi and decided to talk to Marion before going home. It was 6 p.m. and it was pitch dark outside. Marion invited Erlendur in and asked him to excuse the mess. It was a small flat, a sitting room, bedroom, bathroom and kitchen, and it was an example of how careless people can be when they live alone, not unlike Erlendur’s flat. Newspapers, magazines and books were spread all over, the carpet was worn and dirty, unwashed dishes were piled up beside the kitchen sink. The light from a table lamp made a feeble attempt to illuminate the dark room. Marion told Erlendur to sweep the newspapers on one of the chairs onto the floor and take a seat.
“You didn’t tell me you were involved in the case at the time,” Erlendur said.
“Not one of my great achievements,” Marion said, taking a cigarillo from a box, with small, slight hands, a pained expression, a large head on what was in other respects a delicately built body. Erlendur declined the offer of one. He knew that Marion still kept an eye on interesting cases, sought information from colleagues who still worked for the police and even occasionally chipped in on them.
“You want to know more about Holberg,” Marion said.
“And his friends,” Erlendur said and sat down after sweeping the pile of newspapers aside. “And about Runar from Keflavik.”
“Yes, Runar from Keflavik,” Marion said. “He was going to kill me once.”
“He’s not likely to today, the old wreck,” Erlendur said.
“So you met him,” Marion said. “He’s got cancer, did you know that? A question of weeks rather than months.”
“I didn’t know,” Erlendur said, and visualised Runar’s thin and bony face. The drip on the end of his nose while he raked up the leaves in his garden.
“He had incredibly powerful friends at the ministry. That’s why he hung on. I recommended dismissal. He was given a warning.”
“Do you remember Kolbrun at all?”
“The most miserable victim I’ve seen in my life,” Marion said. “I didn’t get to know her well, but I do know she could never tell a lie about anything. She made her accusations against Holberg and described the treatment she got from Runar, as you know. It was her word against his in Runar’s case, but her statement was convincing. He shouldn’t have sent her home, panties or no panties. Holberg raped her. That was obvious. I made them confront each other, Holberg and Kolbrun. And there was no question.”
“You made them confront each other?”
“It was a mistake. I thought it would help. That poor woman.”
“How?”
“I made it look like a coincidence or an accident. I didn’t realise… I shouldn’t be telling you this. I’d reached a dead-end in the investigation. She said one thing and he said something else. I called them both in at once and made sure they’d meet.”
“What happened?”
“She had hysterics and we had to call a doctor. I’d never seen anything like it before, or since.”
“What about him?”
“Just stood there grinning.”
Erlendur was silent for a moment.