Arnaldur Indridason - The Draining Lake

His trip to East Germany produced nothing. No matter how he searched, he could not find a scrap of information about Ilona. Her file had probably been destroyed, he was told. Possibly she had been sent to a labour camp or gulag in the old Soviet Union, so there was a slim chance that he could find some record of her in Moscow. It was also conceivable that she had died in police custody in Leipzig or in Berlin if she had been sent there.

Nor did he find any information in the Stasi files about whichever traitor had turned his beloved girlfriend over to the security police.

He sat and waited for the police to call. He had done that all summer; now it was autumn and nothing had happened yet. Certain that the police would knock on his door sooner or later, he sometimes wondered how he would react. Would he act nonchalantly, deny the accusations and feign surprise? It would depend on what evidence they had. He had no idea what this might be, but imagined that it would be substantial, if they had managed to trace a lead to him in the first place.

He stared into space and drifted back once again to his years in Leipzig.

Four words from his last encounter with Lothar had remained etched into his mind right up to the present day and would remain there for ever. Four words that said it all.

Take a closer look.

Erlendur and Elinborg arrived unannounced, knowing very little about the man they were going to see, except that his name was Hannes and he had once studied in Leipzig. He ran a guest house in Selfoss and grew tomatoes as a sideline. They knew where he lived, so they drove straight there and parked outside a bungalow identical to all the others in the little town, apart from not having been painted for a long time and having a concreted space in front of it where a garage was perhaps supposed to stand. The garden around the house was well kept, with hedges and flowers and a small birdhouse.

In the garden was a man they took to be in his seventies struggling with a lawnmower. The motor would not catch and he was clearly out of breath from tugging at the starting cord, which as soon as he released it darted back into its hole again like a snake. He did not notice them until they were standing right next to him.

“A heap of old junk, is it?” Erlendur asked as he looked down at the lawnmower and inhaled smoke from his cigarette. He had lit up the moment he got out of the car. Elinborg had forbidden him to smoke on the way. His car was awful enough anyway.

The man looked up and stared at them, two strangers in his garden. He had a grey beard and grey hair that was starting to thin, a tall and intelligent forehead, thick eyebrows and alert brown eyes. On his nose sat a pair of glasses that might have been in fashion a quarter of a century before.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Is your name Hannes?” Elinborg asked back.

The man said yes and gave them a probing look.

“Do you want some tomatoes?” he asked.

“Maybe,” Erlendur said. “Are they any good? Elinborg here is an expert.”

“Didn’t you study in Leipzig in the 1950s?” Elinborg said.

The man regarded her blankly. It was almost as if he did not understand the question, and certainly not the reason it was being asked. Elinborg repeated it.

“What’s going on?” the man said. “Who are you? Why are you asking me about Leipzig?”

“You first went there in 1952, didn’t you?” Elinborg said.

“That’s right,” he said in surprise. “So what?”

Elinborg explained to him that the investigation into the skeleton found in Kleifarvatn in the spring had led to Icelandic students in East Germany. This was merely one of many questions raised in connection with the case, she told him, without mentioning the Russian spying device.

“I… what… I mean…” Hannes stuttered. “What does that have to do with those of us who were in Germany?”

“Leipzig, to be absolutely precise,” Erlendur said. “We’re enquiring in particular about a man called Lothar. Does that name ring a bell? A German. Lothar Weiser.”

Hannes stared at them in astonishment, as if he had just seen a ghost. He looked at Erlendur, then back at Elinborg.

“I can’t help you,” he said.

“It shouldn’t take very long,” Erlendur said.

“Sorry,” Hannes said. “I’ve forgotten all that. It was so long ago.”

“If you could please…” Elinborg said, but Hannes interrupted her.

“Please leave,” he said. “I don’t think I have anything to say to you. I can’t help you. I haven’t talked about Leipzig for a long time and I’m not going to start now. I’ve forgotten and I won’t stand for being interrogated. You’ll gain nothing from talking to me.”

He returned to the starter cord of his lawnmower and tinkered with the motor. Erlendur and Elinborg exchanged glances.

“What makes you think that?” Erlendur said. “You don’t even know what we want from you.”

“No, and I don’t want to know. Leave me alone.”

“This isn’t an interrogation,” Elinborg said. “But if you want we can bring you in for questioning. If you’d prefer that.”

“Are you threatening me?” Hannes said, looking up from the lawnmower.

“What’s wrong with answering a couple of questions?” Erlendur said.

“I don’t have to if I don’t want to and I don’t intend to. Goodbye.”

Elinborg was on the verge of saying something which, judging from her face, would have been quite a scolding, but before she had the chance Erlendur took her by the arm and dragged her off towards the car.

“If he reckons he can get away with that kind of bullshit—” Elinborg began when they were sitting in the car, but Erlendur interrupted.

“I’ll try to smooth things over and if that doesn’t work it’s up to him,” he said. “Then we’ll have him brought in.”

He got out of the car and went back to Hannes. Elinborg watched him walking off. Hannes had finally started the lawnmower and was cutting the grass. He ignored Erlendur, who stepped in front of him and switched off the machine.

“It took me two hours to start that,” Hannes shouted. “What’s all this supposed to mean?”

“We’ve got to do this,” Erlendur said calmly, “even if it’s no fun for either of us. Sorry. We can do it now and be quick about it, or we can send a patrol car round for you. And maybe you won’t say anything then, so we’ll send for you straight away the next day and the day after that, until you’re one of our regulars.”

“I don’t let people push me around!”

“Nor do I,” Erlendur said.

They stood facing each other with the lawnmower between them. Neither was going to yield. Elinborg sat watching the standoff from the car, shook her head and thought to herself: Men!

“Fine,” Erlendur said. “See you in Reykjavik.”

He turned away and walked back towards the car. Frowning, Hannes watched him.

“Does it go in your reports?” he called out after Erlendur. “If I talk to you.”

“Are you afraid of reports?” Erlendur said, turning round.

“I don’t want to be quoted. I don’t want any files about me or about what I say. I don’t want any spying.”

“That’s all right,” Erlendur said. “Neither do I.”

“I haven’t thought about this for decades,” Hannes said. “I’ve tried to forget about it.”

“Forget about what?” Erlendur asked.

“Those were strange times,” Hannes said. “I haven’t heard Lothar’s name for ages. What’s he got to do with the skeleton in Kleifarvatn?”

For a good while Erlendur just stood looking at him, until Hannes cleared his throat and said they should maybe go inside. Erlendur nodded and waved Elinborg over.