Arnaldur Indriðason - Silence of the Grave

"If it is a murder," said Erlendur, coming back to earth.

"If it's a murder?" Elínborg asked.

"We know nothing about that," Erlendur said. "Maybe it's an old family burial plot. Maybe they couldn't afford a funeral. Maybe it's the bones of some old bloke who popped off and was buried there with everyone's knowledge. Maybe the body was put there a hundred years ago. Maybe 50. What we still need is a decent lead. Then we can waffle as much as we like."

"Isn't it the law that you have to bury people in hallowed ground?" Sigurdur Óli said.

"I think you can have yourself buried where you please," Erlendur said, "if someone's prepared to have you in their garden."

"What about the hand sticking up out of the ground?" Elínborg said. "Isn't that a sign of a struggle?"

"It seems to be," Erlendur said, "I think something's been kept secret all these years. Someone was hustled away and never supposed to be found. But then Reykjavík caught up with him and now it's up to us to find out what happened."

"If he… let's just say him, the Millennium Man…" Sigurdur Óli said, "if he was murdered all those years ago, isn't it a pretty safe bet that the murderer has died of old age by now? And if he's not dead already he'll have one foot in the grave, so it's ridiculous to track him down and punish him. Everyone connected with the case is probably dead already so we won't have witnesses even if we ever find out what happened. So…"

"What are you driving at?"

"Shouldn't we ask whether we ought to be continuing this investigation in the first place? I mean, is it worth it?"

"You mean just forget it?" Erlendur asked. Sigurdur Óli shrugged indifferently. "A murder's a murder," Erlendur said. "It doesn't matter how many years ago it was committed. If this is a murder, we need to find out what happened, who was killed and why and who the murderer was. I think we ought to approach this like any other investigation. Get information. Talk to people. With luck we'll stumble onto a solution."

Erlendur stood up.

"We're bound to pick up something. Talk to the chalet owners and their grandmothers." He looked at Elínborg. "Find out whether there was a house by those bushes. Take an interest in it."

He bade them an absent-minded farewell and went out into the corridor. Elínborg and Sigurdur Óli looked each other in the eye and Sigurdur Óli nodded towards the door. Elínborg stood up and went after Erlendur.

"Erlendur," she said, stopping him.

"Yes, what?"

"How's Eva Lind doing?" she asked hesitantly.

Erlendur looked at her and said nothing.

"We heard about it here at the station. How she was found. It was a terrible thing to hear. If there's anything Sigurdur Óli or I can do for you, don't hesitate to ask."

"There's nothing to be done," Erlendur said wearily. "She's just lying in the ward and no one can do a thing." He hesitated. "I went through that world of hers when I was looking for her. I knew some of it because I've had to find her in those places before, those streets, those houses, but I never cease to be surprised at the life she leads, the way she treats herself, abuses herself. I've seen the crowd she hangs around with, the people she turns to in desperation, people she even does indescribable things for." He paused. "But that's not the worst thing. Not the hovels or the small-time crooks or the dope dealers. It's right, what her mother said."

Erlendur looked at Elínborg.

"I'm the worst part of all this," he said, "because I was the one who let them down."

When Erlendur got home he sat in an armchair, exhausted. He called the hospital to ask about Eva Lind and was told that her condition was unchanged. They would contact him as soon as any change occurred. He thanked them and rang off. Then sat staring into space, deep in thought. He thought about Eva Lind lying in intensive care, about his ex-wife and the hatred that still coloured her life, about the son he only spoke to when something was wrong.

Through his thoughts he felt the deep silence that reigned in his life. Felt the solitude all around him. The burden of monotonous days piling up in an unbreakable chain that enveloped him, tightened around him and smothered him.

Just as he was about to fall asleep his thoughts turned to his childhood, when the days grew brighter again after the dark winter and life was innocent and free from care and concern. Although it was rare, he could sometimes escape into the peacefulness of the past and then, for a brief time, he felt good.

If he could block out the loss.

He woke with a start when someone had already been ringing him for a good while, first the mobile in his pocket and then the home telephone on the old desk which was one of the few pieces of furniture in the sitting room.

"You were right," Elínborg said when he finally answered. "Oh, sorry, did I wake you?" she asked. "It's only ten," she added apologetically.

"What was I right about?" Erlendur said, not fully awake.

"There was a building on that spot. By the bushes."

"Bushes?"

"The redcurrant bushes. In Grafarholt. It was built in the 1930s and demolished around 1980. I asked the City Planning Office to contact me as soon as they found out and they've just been on the phone, they worked all evening looking for it."

"What sort of building was it?" Erlendur asked, tired. "A house, a stable, kennel, chalet?"

"A house. A kind of chalet or that sort of thing."

"From what time?"

"Before 1940."

"And who was the owner?"

"His name was Benjamín. Benjamín Knudsen. A merchant."

"Was?"

"He died. Years ago."

Many of the chalet owners on the north side of Grafarholt were occupied with their spring chores when Sigurdur Óli cruised around the hill looking for a good enough road to drive up. Elínborg was with him. Some of the people were pruning their hedges, others were weather-coating their chalets or mending fences, or had saddled horses and were setting off for a ride.

It was high noon and the weather was calm and beautiful. After talking to several chalet owners without making any headway, Sigurdur Óli and Elínborg slowly worked their way towards the houses nearest to the hill. In such fine weather they were in no hurry. Enjoyed a jaunt away from the city, strolling in the sunshine and talking to the chalet owners who were surprised to be visited by the police so early in the day. Some had heard on the news about the skeleton being found on the hill. Others had absolutely no idea.

"Will she survive, or…?" Sigurdur Óli asked when they got into the car for the umpteenth time and drove on to the next chalet. They had been talking about Eva Lind on their way out of town and returned to the topic at regular intervals.

"I don't know," Elínborg said. "I don't think anyone knows. The poor girl," she said, heaving a deep sigh. "And him," she added. "Poor Erlendur."

"She's a junkie," Sigurdur Óli said seriously. "Gets pregnant and gets stoned without a care in the world and ends up killing the baby. I can't feel sorry for people like that. I don't understand them and never will."

"No one's asking you to feel sorry for them," Elínborg said.

"Oh, really? When people talk about that crowd all I ever hear is what a hard time they have. From what I've seen of them… "He paused. "I can't feel sorry for them," he repeated. "They're losers. Nothing else. Wankers."

Elínborg sighed.

"What's it like being so perfect? Always smartly dressed, clean-shaven and neatly groomed, with that degree from America, unbitten nails, not a care in the world other than being able to afford those flashy clothes? Don't you ever get tired of it? Don't you ever get tired of yourself?"

"Nope," Sigurdur Óli said.