Flóvent thought of how he’d hauled the man down to the prison to grill him about Felix, and felt overwhelmed with guilt. He had resorted to that course of action because he had been riled by the doctor’s manner, by his arrogance, his hypocrisy. Flóvent’s conscience had been bothering him ever since, not only because the man was handicapped but because he hadn’t applied for a warrant and privately doubted the legality of his action. The news that Rudolf might have a weak heart, on top of everything else, left him feeling doubly perturbed. He wondered if the doctor was in hospital because of him.
The housewife could tell him less about Brynhildur Hólm, though she was aware that Rudolf employed a housekeeper as well as benefitting from the services of a maid twice a week — unlike her and her husband: they’d lost their household help to the British. The woman had been forced to do all the chores herself ever since. She knew nothing about Rudolf’s housekeeper, not even her name. This was the first time she’d heard it. But then, she remarked, Rudolf and that Brynhildur Hólm weren’t ones for mixing with their neighbours — they didn’t so much as give you the time of day in the street. And they didn’t have many visitors, though she’d noticed a few comings and goings, usually in the evening, and the visitors in question stayed late, at least until long after she herself had retired for the night. It seemed to Flóvent that the housewife kept a remarkably close eye on everything that happened in her street, but he kept his thoughts to himself.
He thanked the woman for her help and had just got back into his car when he spotted the maid walking up to Rudolf’s house. He had been meaning to talk to her again but hadn’t had a chance. She was closing the door behind her when he called out to her. The girl recognised him immediately. There were a couple of questions he needed to ask her, he said. Would that be all right? She was a little taken aback but opened the door halfway and informed him that Rudolf wasn’t in.
‘Yes, I know. It was you I came to see, miss,’ said Flóvent. ‘Last time I was here you said something about a row between Rudolf and his brother-in-law Ebeneser. Do you remember?’
The girl shook her head.
‘You said you’d heard them arguing about some boys. Do you know who the boys were?’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Could they have been schoolboys?’
The girl shook her head again.
‘Friends of Felix, perhaps?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t help you, sir. I really shouldn’t have mentioned it. I don’t know why I did.’
‘It was out of a sense of loyalty, wasn’t it, miss?’ said Flóvent. ‘You wanted to explain Rudolf’s behaviour. Is he always that difficult?’
‘His health has gone downhill recently,’ said the girl. ‘He’s not well and he’s not happy about... I’m sorry, I can’t help you any more. Please excuse me.’
She pushed the door to and was about to close it when Flóvent put out a hand to stop her.
‘Does he employ a housekeeper?’
‘Yes, Brynhildur,’ said the maid. ‘Maybe you could talk to her, sir, but she’s not here at the moment. I’ve really got to go now. Good day.’
‘Do you know where she is, miss?’
‘No, I’m afraid not.’
It turned out that Rudolf Lunden had been admitted to the Department of General Medicine at the National Hospital, but Flóvent was told that it should be safe to speak to him as long as he kept his visit short. When he arrived, he found Rudolf asleep in a double room in the large hospital building on Hringbraut. He was alone; the other bed was empty. Flóvent wasn’t sure how to occupy himself while he waited for Rudolf to wake up. The last thing he wanted was to disturb his sleep. The wheelchair was nowhere to be seen and there were no personal items on his bedside table, only two periodicals that belonged to the hospitaclass="underline" Andvari and the literary journal Skírnir. After Flóvent had paced up and down the corridor and in and out of the room for a while, his curiosity got the better of him and he picked up the copy of Skírnir, which was lying open on top of the other journal. The issue was from 1939 and featured articles on a variety of literary and ethnographic subjects. Rudolf seemed to have put it down in the middle of a piece on the origin of the Icelanders, in which the author advanced the theory that they were descended from the Heruli tribe, who had originated in an area near the Black Sea and moved north during the Migration Age.
Hearing Rudolf groan and seeing that he was stirring, Flóvent quickly replaced the journal and got to his feet. The doctor recognised him the instant he opened his eyes.
‘What... what are you doing here?’ he asked hoarsely. ‘I do not want you here.’ Plainly Rudolf had not forgiven Flóvent for the way he had been treated. His gaze was contemptuous, his tone uncivil.
‘I was sorry to hear you’d been admitted to hospital, sir,’ said Flóvent politely, choosing his words with care. He had rehearsed them out in the corridor while Rudolf was sleeping. ‘I’d just like to ask you a few more questions, but I’ll try to be brief. I don’t wish to disturb you. We’ve uncovered one or two things in the course of our inquiry that I feel it’s only right to put to you. I’m afraid the matter’s rather urgent. I know your situation’s difficult, but I do hope you’ll have patience with me.’
‘I insist that you leave this instant,’ whispered Rudolf, sending Flóvent a ferocious look. ‘Have you come to arrest me? To carry me out of the hospital by force?’
Flóvent shook his head. Making an effort to be respectful, he explained that he had tried to visit him at home, but had only just learnt that he was in hospital.
If he thought Rudolf would be at all mollified by his meek tone, he was mistaken. The doctor’s eyes flashed with animosity and when Flóvent asked again if he might put a few questions to him, Rudolf’s response was a flat refusal. He added that he had hired a lawyer who was preparing a formal complaint about the way the police had treated him, and that Flóvent would be hearing from him shortly. He’d had no grounds for forcibly conveying the doctor to the prison and no legal right either.
‘I felt I had no alternative, sir,’ said Flóvent. ‘You refused to speak to me. In my experience, a trip to the prison tends to make people more cooperative. I’m afraid I wasn’t aware of your... condition. I wish you had said something.’
‘You are a fool,’ snapped Rudolf. ‘An uneducated fool, with no manners.’
It was on the tip of Flóvent’s tongue to retort ‘Which reminds me, I wanted to ask about your son’, but he thought better of it. The temptation to ask whether Felix was a disappointment to him was almost irresistible. He was burning to ask this and more questions in the same vein, but couldn’t risk giving the man a heart attack. He doubted the doctors would have sanctioned his visit if they had realised that he was from the police, so he thought he’d better make it quick.
‘You are being extraordinarily difficult, sir,’ Flóvent remarked instead.
‘You are simply not up to your job.’
‘Aren’t you the least bit worried about Felix? About where he’s hiding? Or about his state of mind?’
‘Whatever worries I may or may not have are none of your business. I am asking you to leave!’
‘Unless, of course, you know where he is. Do you, sir?’
Rudolf didn’t answer.
‘Are you aware that Felix sometimes goes by the name of Felix Rúdólfsson rather than Lunden?’
‘That’s the first I’ve heard of it. Why should he do that? What a load of nonsense. Is that all you’ve come here to tell me?’
‘Are you familiar with the name Eyvindur Ragnarsson?’
Again Rudolf didn’t answer.
‘He’s the man we found in your son’s flat. Do you recognise the name?’