Arnaldur Indridason - Voices

“I don’t know.”

“Have you spoken to the father?”

“I’ve just come from seeing him.”

“And?”

“Naturally, we’re not the best of friends. He hasn’t been allowed to see the boy since we burst into their home and turned everything upside-down. He showered me with abuse and—”

“Did he say anything about his wife, the boy’s mother?” Erlendur butted in impatiently. “He must have suspected her.”

“And the boy hasn’t said a thing,” Elinborg continued.

“Except that he misses his father,” Erlendur said.

“Yes, apart from that. So his father finds him in his room upstairs and thinks he’s crawled home from school in that state.”

“You visited the boy in hospital and asked if it was his father who assaulted him, and he made some reaction that convinced you it was.”

“I must have misunderstood him,” Elinborg said, her head bowed. “I read something into his manner…”

“But we have nothing to prove it was the mother. We have nothing to prove it wasn’t the father.”

“I told him, the boy’s father, that I’d been to the hospital to talk to his wife and that we know nothing about her whereabouts on the day of the assault. He was surprised. As if it never occurred to him that she could escape from the hospital. He’s still convinced it was the boys in the school playground. He said the boy would tell us if his mother had assaulted him. He’s convinced of that.”

“So why doesn’t the boy name her?”

“He’s in a state of shock, poor thing. I don’t know.”

“Love?” Erlendur said. “In spite of everything she’s done to him.”

“Or fear,” Elinborg said. “Maybe a huge fear that she’ll do it again. Either way he might be keeping quiet to protect his mother. It’s impossible to say”

“What do you want us to do? Should we drop the charges against the father?”

“I’m going to talk to the State Prosecutor’s office and find out what they say”

“Start with that. Tell me another thing, did you phone the woman who was with Stefania Egilsdottir at this hotel a few days before Gudlaugur was stabbed?”

“Yes,” Elinborg said vacantly. “She asked her friend to vouch for her but when it came to the crunch she couldn’t go through with the lie.”

“You mean lie for Stefania?”

“She began by saying that they’d been sitting here, but she was very hesitant about it, and she was such a bad liar that when I said I had to bring her down to the station to make a statement she started crying over the phone. She told me how Stefania phoned her, they’re old friends from a music society, and asked her to say they were together at this hotel if she was asked. She said she refused, but Stefania appears to have some hold over her and she won’t tell me what it is.”

“It was a poor lie from the start,” Erlendur said. “We both knew she let it slip out. I don’t know why she’s holding up the investigation like this unless she knows it’s her fault”

“You mean that she killed her brother?”

“Or she knows who did.”

They lingered at their table for a while and talked about the boy, his father and mother and the difficult family circumstances, which prompted Elinborg to ask Erlendur once again what he was going to do for Christmas. He said he was going to be with Eva Lind.

He told Elinborg about his discovery in the basement corridor and his suspicions that Osp’s brother was somehow involved, a delinquent with endless money problems. He thanked Elinborg for the invitation and told her to take off the rest of the time until Christmas.

“There isn’t any time until Christmas” Elinborg smiled, and shrugged as if Christmas no longer mattered, what with all the cleaning and cookies and in-laws.

“Will you get any Christmas presents?” she asked.

“Maybe some socks,” Erlendur said. “Hopefully.”

He hesitated before saying: “Don’t upset yourself about the boy’s father. These things always happen. We feel certain, convinced even, then something always comes along that erodes it.”

Elinborg nodded.

Erlendur followed her through the lobby and they exchanged farewells. He planned to go up to his room to pack. He’d had enough of the hotel. He was seriously beginning to miss his “hole with nothing in it”, his books, his armchair and even Eva Lind lying on the sofa.

He was standing waiting for the lift when Osp surprised him.

“I’ve found him,” she said.

“Who?” Erlendur said. “Your brother?”

“Come with me,” Osp said, heading for the stairs to the basement. Erlendur hesitated. The lift doors opened and he looked inside. He was on the trail of the murderer. Perhaps Osp’s brother had come to turn himself in at her urging: the lad with the chewing tobacco. Erlendur felt no excitement about it. None of the expectation or sense of triumph that accompanied solving a case. All he felt was fatigue and sadness because the case had stirred up all manner of associations with his own childhood, and he knew he had so much left to come to terms with in his own life that he had no idea where to begin. Most of all he wanted to forget about work and go home. Be with Eva Lind. Help her to get over the troubles she was dealing with. He wanted to stop thinking about others and start thinking about himself and his own people.

“Are you coming?” Osp said in a low voice, standing on the stairs and waiting.

“I’m coming,” Erlendur said.

He followed her down the stairs and into the staff coffee room where he had first spoken to her. It was as squalid as ever. She locked the door behind them. Her brother was sitting at one of the tables and leaped to his feet when Erlendur walked in.

“I didn’t do anything,” he said in a high-pitched voice. “Osp says you think I did it, but I didn’t do anything. I didn’t do anything to him!”

He was wearing a dirty blue anorak with a rip on one shoulder that revealed the white lining. His jeans were black with grime and he was wearing scruffy black boots that could be laced up to the calves, but Erlendur saw no laces in them. His fingers were long and filthy, clutching a cigarette. He inhaled the smoke and blew it back out. His voice was agitated and he paced back and forth in the corner of the kitchen like a caged animal, cornered by a policeman who was poised to arrest him.

Erlendur looked over his shoulder at Osp, who was standing by the door, then back at her brother.

“You must trust your sister to come here like this.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he said. “She told me you were cool and just wanted some information.”

“I need to know about your relationship with Gudlaugur,” Erlendur said.

“I didn’t stab him,” he said.

Erlendur sized him up. He was halfway between adolescence and adulthood, peculiarly childlike but with a hardened expression that displayed anger and bitterness towards something that Erlendur could not even begin to imagine.

“No one is suggesting you did,” Erlendur said reassuringly, trying to calm him down. “How did you know Gudlaugur? What relationship did you have?”

He looked at his sister but Osp just stood by the door and said nothing.

“I did him favours sometimes and he paid me for it,” he said.

“And how did you know each other? Have you known him for a long time?”

“He knew I was Osp’s brother. He thought it was funny that we’re brother and sister, like everyone does.”

“Why?”

“My name’s Reynir.”

“So? What’s funny about that?”

“Osp and Reynir. Aspen and Rowan. Brother and sister. Mum and Dad’s little joke. Like they’re into forestry”

“What about Gudlaugur?”

“I first saw him here when I came to meet Osp. About half a year ago.”