Arnaldur Indriðason - Hypothermia

Leonóra regarded Sólveig in silence.

‘Couldn’t you have saved him?’ Sólveig asked.

‘There was nothing we could do. The boat was rocking uncontrollably and it was all we could do to stop ourselves falling in. The boat drifted away from Magnús and by the time we had got it back under control he had vanished.’

‘Oh my God!’ Sólveig gasped.

‘See what you’ve done?’ Leonóra said.

‘Me?’

‘The girl is inconsolable. She blames herself for what happened to her father. For the quarrel. All of it. She’s internalised the whole thing. She imagines that she’s somehow responsible for her father’s death. How do you think that makes her feel? How do you think she feels? How do you think I feel?’

‘You must talk to a doctor, a specialist. She needs help.’

‘I’ll look after María. And if you take this any further I’ll deny the whole thing.’

‘Why are you telling me, then?’

‘You’re not going to get off scot-free. I want you to know that. You’re as responsible as I am!’

Erlendur stared at Sólveig for a long time without speaking after she had finished her story.

‘Why didn’t you go to the police?’ he asked finally. ‘What stopped you?’

‘I felt… I felt as if I bore some of the responsibility myself, as Leonóra said. For what happened. She was quick to point it out to me. “It’s your fault,” she hissed at me. “It’s your fault. All of it. You’re to blame.” All her anger was directed at me. I was out of my mind with fear and grief and a strange kind of concern for Leonóra. The whole thing was just too much for me, much too much. It was such a shock. I was completely unprepared. And then there was poor little María. I couldn’t bring myself to tell the truth about her mother. I couldn’t do it.She…’

‘What?’

‘It was so unreal that I could hardly believe it, could hardly believe it had happened.’

‘You wanted to protect the girl?’ Erlendur said.

‘I hope you understand my position. I didn’t want to punish anyone. It was an accident, however you look at it. It didn’t occur to me to doubt what Leonóra said. She told me she never let María leave her side except when she was at school.’

‘It can’t have been pleasant living with this knowledge,’ Erlendur said.

‘No, you’re right, it hasn’t been pleasant. So imagine how it must have been for them, especially for María. When I heard that she’d committed suicide… somehow it didn’t come as a surprise. I’ve… I’ve blamed myself for letting it happen. For letting Leonóra get away with what she did. Get away with not telling anyone about this.’

‘What were they quarrelling about on the boat?’

‘Magnús said he was going to leave her no matter what she said. It was what he’d told me. He’d had enough of the way she rode roughshod over him, couldn’t stand her any longer, said all that remained was for them to agree on custody of María. Leonóra said she’d see he never got access to the girl. He could forget it. They fought over María right in front of her. No wonder she thought it was all her fault.’

‘Did you ever meet Leonóra or María again after that?’

‘No. Never. Neither of them.’

‘Were there no witnesses?’

‘No. They were completely alone at the lake.’

‘No visitors?’

‘No.’

‘Or tourists?’

‘No. No tourists. That was the week before, when Magnús and I were alone at the holiday cottage. We used it twice, as far as I can remember, to meet in secret. That time he bumped into a woman and told me about her afterwards because she was studying the lakes around the city; she was fascinated by lakes. This was right by the cottage. She was looking at a map and was on her way up to Lake Sandkluftavatn. It stuck in my mind because I’d never heard the name before.’

‘Was she in a car?’ Erlendur asked.

‘Yes, I think so.’

‘What kind of car?’

‘It was yellow.’

‘Yellow? Are you sure?’

‘Yes. They’re called Mini-somethings, aren’t they? I saw it driving away through the birch scrub.’

‘And you think the person driving this car was the woman that Magnús had met?’ Erlendur asked, on the edge of his seat now.

‘I think so. It was right by the cottage.’

‘A Mini? Do you mean an Austin Mini?’

‘Yes, that’s it, isn’t it? Tiny little cars.’

‘A yellow Austin Mini?’

‘Yes. Why?’

Erlendur was on his feet.

‘On its way to Sandkluftavatn?’

‘Yes. Goodness, what’s the matter?’

‘Was there anyone with her?’

‘I don’t know. What’s the matter? What have I said?’

‘Could there have been a young man with her?’

‘I don’t know. Who are these people? Do you know them? Do you know who these people are?’

‘No,’ Erlendur said. ‘Possibly. No, hardly. Did you say Lake Sandkluftavatn?’

‘Yes, Sandkluftavatn.’

What did he know about Lake Sandkluftavatn? He had driven past it with Eva Lind without paying it any particular attention. It was about an hour’s drive from Reykjavík, beside the road just north of Thingvellir, between the mountains Ármannsfell and Lágafell, before the ascent to Bláskógaheidi Moor. It was overlooked by the unmistakable bulk of Mount Skjaldbreidur to the north-east.

The diver, whose name was Thorbergur, was familiar with the lakes of south-west Iceland, having explored many of them. He had once worked for the fire brigade and had assisted the police with smuggling cases, as well as diving from the country’s docks in search of missing people. He had been available when a person was reported missing and search parties were organised to comb the beaches and drag the sea and lakes. But eventually he retired from diving for a living and became a mechanic instead, starting up his own garage, which was now his main occupation. Erlendur had sometimes taken the Ford to him for servicing. Thorbergur was six foot five and had always reminded Erlendur of a giant, with his red hair and beard, long swimmer’s arms and strong teeth that often used to gleam through his beard as he was a humorous man and was quick to smile.

‘You have divers working for you,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you go to one of them? I’ve given up. You know that.’

‘Yes, I know,’ Erlendur said. ‘I just thought of talking to you because… you still have the equipment, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘And the inflatable?’

‘Yes. The little one.’

‘And you still go diving sometimes, even though you’ve stopped working for us?’

‘Very occasionally.’

‘This is not, how shall I put it, an official investigation,’ Erlendur explained. ‘More like a spot of private dabbling. I’d pay you out of my own pocket if you could be bothered to do this.’

‘Erlendur, I can’t go taking your money.’

Thorbergur sighed. Erlendur knew why he had stopped working for the police. The final straw had come one day when he had dived for the body of a woman who’d been found in Reykjavík harbour. She had been missing for three weeks and her body was badly decomposed when Thorbergur found it. He didn’t want to run the risk of seeing such horrors again. He didn’t want to wake up in the middle of the night gasping because the woman, or some nightmarish figure like her, wouldn’t stop invading his dreams.

‘It’s an old missing-person case,’ Erlendur said. ‘From way back. Involving youngsters. Possibly two of them. There was a breakthrough yesterday after decades of impasse. Admittedly, it’s based on very slight evidence but I felt I should at least talk to you. For the sake of my conscience.’

‘In other words, you want to shift the guilt on to me,’ Thorbergur said.