‘Was Felix a pupil at this school?’ asked Thorson.
‘Felix was here, yes.’
‘You taught him yourself, maybe?’
‘Yes, on occasion.’
‘Was he a good pupil?’
‘He was an exceptional pupil.’
‘He had a promising future, then?’
‘Yes, that’s fair to say.’
‘Yet he ended up as a travelling salesman?’
Ebeneser hesitated, unsure how to take this comment.
‘Weren’t people expecting a little more from him?’ asked Flóvent. ‘With all due respect to salesmen, of course. His occupation must have been rather a disappointment to his family. Wouldn’t you agree?’
‘I imagine his father expected more of him, yes, probably. If that’s what you mean.’
‘But it didn’t do any good?’
‘Felix tried to continue his education but didn’t seem to... er... have what it took any more. He left Reykjavík College without taking his exams and went abroad. To Denmark. To his father’s family. I thought I’d already told you that. He didn’t complete his education there either.’
‘Do you remember a pupil of yours called Eyvindur?’ asked Flóvent. ‘Eyvindur Ragnarsson? He would have been about Felix’s age.’
Ebeneser thought. He was recovering his composure. ‘Eyvindur Ragnarsson? Yes, I remember a boy by that name. He was a pupil here about ten years ago, if memory serves. At the same time as Felix. He had a tough time of it, the poor boy. A difficult home. His father—’
‘Yes, we know all about Ragnar,’ said Flóvent.
‘He was a nasty piece of work,’ Ebeneser went on. ‘An out-and-out criminal. From what I recall, Eyvindur had to be taken away from his parents — temporarily, at least — on more than one occasion. There was always trouble at home. The child welfare authorities had to be brought in. They were forever having to intervene. His mother wasn’t fit to look after him.’
‘Do you remember her?’
‘Not really. She was never around for Eyvindur. Nor was his father, of course. Appalling neglect, I’m afraid. One of the worst cases we’ve seen at this school.’
‘Forgive me for jumping from one thing to another, but why did you say that Felix no longer had what it took?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘You said Felix had tried to continue his education at Reykjavík College but didn’t have what it took any more. What did you mean by that? Did he have what it took before? If so, what changed?’
Ebeneser said he didn’t follow. He eyed the drawer containing the brennivín bottle as if he wished they would go away and leave him to carry on where he had left off. He was afraid he couldn’t help them, he said. He was due at a meeting. If they wanted to discuss these matters further — though why they should was a mystery to him — it would be better if they called and arranged an appointment. He could receive them at the school or at his house at a time that suited them. But now, alas, he was busy, if they would be so kind...
Ebeneser prepared to leave the room. Although the man’s discomfort was plain, Flóvent still hadn’t obtained the information he was after. ‘But we haven’t discussed the boys yet,’ he said.
‘The boys?’ said Ebeneser confused. ‘What boys?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Flóvent. ‘I was hoping you could enlighten me.’
‘Which boys are you referring to?’
‘The boys you were arguing about with Rudolf Lunden.’
22
Ebeneser stared at Flóvent without saying a word. As Flóvent waited patiently for an answer the silence in the little classroom grew more and more oppressive. The three of them seemed to be the only people in the building. There were still a few weeks left before term began and the corridors filled again with children, sunburnt and boisterous after their long summer break. At this time of year the building was cold and silent. It gave Flóvent such a strange empty feeling, walking through the echoing corridors of a school during the summer holidays.
‘I... I’m afraid I’m not with you,’ said the headmaster eventually, folding his arms.
‘You said you hadn’t seen Rudolf lately but we happen to know that’s not true,’ said Flóvent. ‘We know you went to his house recently and we’d be grateful if you’d tell us more about your meeting.’
‘I... as I said, I can’t help you with that...’
‘You did meet?’
‘Well, since you’re so determined to have an answer,’ said Ebeneser, who seemed to have finally made up his mind about what to say, ‘we did meet briefly the other day. I didn’t think there was any need to mention it because... he... It concerned a private matter that I don’t believe is any of your business. I don’t know where you got your information from, but it’s not unusual for me to talk to Rudolf. He’s my brother-in-law. Did he tell you about our meeting?’
‘Is it unusual for you to avoid talking about it?’ chipped in Thorson. ‘You seem very reluctant to do so.’
‘No, it’s not that I’m reluctant. To be frank, it’s simply none of your business,’ said Ebeneser, on a firmer note. ‘Look, can we bring this to a close? I’m extremely busy.’
‘In a minute,’ said Flóvent. ‘What did you two discuss? Your nephew Felix? Who were the boys you were talking about?’
‘There must be some misunderstanding,’ said Ebeneser. ‘We weren’t talking about any boys. Would you mind telling me if you heard that from Rudolf himself? Not that I understand why he would have said such a thing. Where did you get your information?’
‘What did you quarrel about then?’ asked Flóvent, his patience wearing thin. ‘Your mutual enthusiasm for Nazism? I don’t suppose there was much to argue about there. The party meetings you attended?’
Ebeneser looked affronted, as if such questions were unworthy of an answer. Flóvent contemplated hauling him in for questioning at the prison on Skólavördustígur if he remained obdurate, but abandoned the idea. He was probably making a mountain out of a molehill, and anyway it would attract unwelcome attention if news got out that a headmaster and former member of the Icelandic Nazi party was being held by the police in connection with Felix Lunden’s disappearance. Something more substantial than a refusal to cooperate would be required before he could justify resorting to such measures. Still, he decided to test the headmaster’s patience a little further and pulled the school anniversary publication out of his pocket.
‘Are these the boys you were quarrelling about?’ he asked, pointing to the photograph.
Ebeneser took the pamphlet from him, his face impassive. He studied the people in the picture for a while before eventually asking where they had come across it. Flóvent explained that it had turned up in a trunk belonging to one of the boys in the photograph. He had recently died in a tragic incident. He was the man who was found dead in Felix Lunden’s flat — shot in the head. ‘It was Eyvindur,’ he said.
‘Eyvindur?’ whispered the headmaster.
‘Yes.’
‘Was it him? He was the man found dead at Felix’s place?’
‘We finally managed to identify the body,’ said Flóvent.
‘But... Felix? Where is he?’
‘We were hoping you might be able to help us answer that.’
‘Was it Felix who shot him?’ asked the headmaster.
‘We have no other suspects at present,’ said Flóvent.
Ebeneser continued to stare at the photograph. He appeared to be casting around in vain for the right words, and Flóvent sensed that he was growing increasingly flustered.
‘Do you think something might have happened to Felix too?’ Ebeneser asked, finding his voice at last.
‘There’s no evidence of that. Do you mean has he been murdered as well?’