‘We believe one of the adults is the headmaster, Ebeneser,’ said Flóvent. ‘Do you have any idea who the other people are?’
‘No, I... Isn’t that a nurse?’
‘We think so.’
‘I seem to remember Eyvindur talking about a nurse at his school. I used to have him to stay when... when things were difficult at home.’
‘What did he have to say about her?’
‘Oh, only that there was a woman there who was kind to him,’ said Sigfús. ‘No more than that. I have a feeling it was the nurse.’
‘Do you remember her name?’
‘No, I don’t. Don’t recall if he ever told me her name. Only that she treated him well. Was kind to him. They weren’t all kind. I expect that’s why he talked about it. It wasn’t what he was used to at home, poor lad. Totally neglected, he was. Crawling with lice the times I looked after him.’
‘What about his mother?’ asked Thorson.
‘She died before he was confirmed. Didn’t take much notice of him when she was alive, mind you. She was a drunk. But then the wretched woman didn’t have an easy time of it with my brother.’ Sigfús looked back at the picture. ‘This boy here...’ he said thoughtfully, pointing at the other bareheaded pupil.
‘Yes?’
‘He used to knock around with Eyvindur a bit. If I remember right, they used to play together sometimes when the lad was living with me. A foreigner, or he had a foreign sort of name, at any rate.’
‘Could it have been Lunden? Felix Lunden?’
‘Felix? Yes, damn it, that was it.’
‘You mean he and Eyvindur were at the same school?’
‘I think so, yes. As far as I can tell, that’s him — the Lunden boy.’
‘Have you heard where your nephew’s body was found?’ asked Flóvent.
‘Yes, in some flat here in town. I was going to ask you about that. Round at some other salesman’s place, wasn’t it?’
‘It was at the home of a man called Felix Lunden.’
Sigfús stared at Flóvent as if he couldn’t believe his ears. ‘What are you saying? Is it... was it him who shot Eyvindur?’
‘We don’t know.’
‘Isn’t it as plain as day? Where is he? Where is this Felix?’
‘We don’t know that either.’
‘Is he... has he gone into hiding? Damn it to hell! It was him, wasn’t it? He was the one who killed Eyvindur!’
21
There was no answer when they knocked at Rudolf Lunden’s door. Flóvent pressed his face to the windows but couldn’t see any movement inside. Thorson did a circuit of the house but saw no sign of life. The place was locked up and lightless, as if no one had ever lived there. Not even the mild August sun could soften the cold, dark pebble-dash of its walls.
Having drawn a blank, they headed over to the headmaster’s house, only to be told that he was at the school. His wife smiled at these two policemen who had come to see her husband, her eyes flickering towards Thorson’s uniform. In spite of her friendly manner she couldn’t conceal her surprise. It appeared that Ebeneser hadn’t told her about their visit the day before. She made polite but determined efforts to discover why they wanted to see him, but they gave nothing away.
Eyvindur’s uncle had been unable to tell them any more about his nephew’s friendship with Felix Lunden. Eyvindur hadn’t had many friends, he said, and it was rare for anyone to come round to see him. And Eyvindur hadn’t wanted them to anyway. He was ashamed of his home and afraid of his father.
‘Ragnar used to raise his fist to the lad,’ Sigfús had said as they were parting, and they sensed his growing reluctance to talk about his brother. ‘Nothing serious, as these things go,’ he continued, ‘though I suppose that sort of thing’s always serious. Eyvindur was, well, he was scared of Ragnar. That’s another reason why I let him stay with me.’
‘Were they good friends, Eyvindur and Felix?’
‘I expect so, good enough,’ said Sigfús. ‘At least, I remember they used to knock around together.’
‘Did Eyvindur ever mention Felix again after they left school? Recently, for instance? Do you know if they kept in touch?’
‘No, I never heard Eyvindur talk about him.’
That was all they could prise out of the man. Following this encounter, Flóvent was keen to speak to the woman he’d caught sight of in Rudolf’s window, to ask her when the photograph had been taken and why, and he wanted to hear about her dealings with Eyvindur as a boy. He and Thorson both felt that Eyvindur and Felix’s old friendship could hold the key to the mystery — why Eyvindur had been murdered in the flat of ‘the Lunden boy’, as the uncle called him, and why Felix had fled.
‘Why was a doctor’s son playing with a lice-ridden boy from a bad home?’ asked Thorson after they had taken their leave of Ebeneser’s wife. ‘The son of a violent convict and an unfit mother?’
‘It’s not so unlikely in this town,’ said Flóvent. ‘We’re a small community, and people are connected in a variety of ways, though the class divisions here are bigger than many are willing to admit. Their paths are bound to have crossed later on as well, as adults. Especially once they both started working in the same business.’
‘And it all ends with Eyvindur getting shot in the head?’
‘Yes, it ends in disaster.’
‘Surely the most likely explanation is that Felix shot him?’
‘Yes, I think that’s very likely.’
‘Eyvindur must have got hold of a key to his flat.’
‘Maybe.’
‘And Felix caught him in the act...?’
They finally located Ebeneser in a classroom at the school. He was bending down behind the teacher’s desk and nearly jumped out of his skin when the two of them walked in without warning. The classroom was on the small side; all the furniture was designed for the youngest boys, and the three men were out of all proportion to the tiny desks and chairs.
‘You... you here?’ stammered Ebeneser, hurriedly straightening up. ‘I thought... I thought I’d answered all your questions?’
‘Yes, I just need to run a few more things past you,’ said Flóvent, shaking his hand and noticing, as he did so, that the other man’s palm was clammy. The headmaster didn’t look much better than he had on his return from his fishing trip. His hair was still tousled, he was unshaven and his suit could have done with a clean. At that moment a bottle of brennivín rolled out from under the teacher’s desk and came to a halt against one of the legs with a loud clunk.
‘Aha... there... there it is,’ said Ebeneser quickly, as though he had caught somebody out. ‘That sort of thing has no place here.’ Hastily he stooped to pick up the bottle. ‘We can’t be having that. Unfortunately... I knew he kept it here, you see... or I... that is, I suspected him... of having it, and yes, here it... so that’s clear then.’ He placed the bottle on the desk. Then, thinking better of it, shoved it in a drawer.
Flóvent didn’t think Ebeneser had been drinking. If he had, he hid it well. But they had obviously walked in on the headmaster at an awkward moment. Flóvent behaved as if he hadn’t noticed anything: he wanted to keep Ebeneser sweet. Thorson adopted the same approach. They allowed him to stage this little play without comment; after all, it was none of their business.
‘We’re trying to, er... trying to get to grips with the problem,’ said Ebeneser, pulling himself together. ‘I’m sorry you had to witness that. The master in question... he... well, never mind, I wasn’t... really wasn’t expecting to see you here, to be honest. You’ve a knack of taking one by surprise.’
‘We heard you were here,’ Flóvent explained, suddenly remembering that he hadn’t had a moment to check Ebeneser’s alibi. He reminded himself to remedy this the first chance he got.