"We don't know yet, but one theory is that they are connected with the chalet which used to stand next to them, and which was owned by your uncle Benjamin. Did he spend a lot of time up there?"
"I don't think he ever went to the chalet," she said in a quiet voice. "It was a tragedy. Mother always told us how handsome and intelligent he was and how he earned a fortune, but then he lost his fiancee. One day she just disappeared. She was pregnant."
Erlendur's thoughts turned to his own daughter.
"He went into a depression, lost all interest in his shop and his properties and everything went to ruin, I think, until all he had left was this house here. He died in the prime of life, so to speak."
"How did she disappear, his fiancee?"
"It was rumoured she threw herself into the sea," Elsa said. "At least, that's what I heard."
"Was she a depressive?"
"No one ever mentioned that."
"And she was never found?"
"No. She. ."
Elsa stopped mid-sentence. Suddenly she seemed to follow his train of thought and she stared at him, disbelieving at first, then hurt and shocked and angry, all at once. She blushed.
"I don't believe you."
"What?" Erlendur said, watching her suddenly turn hostile.
"You think it's her. Her skeleton!"
"I don't think anything. This is the first time I've heard about this woman. We don't have the faintest idea who's in the ground up there. It's far too early to say who it may or may not be."
"So why are you so interested in her? What do you know that I don't?"
"Nothing," Erlendur said, confounded. "Didn't it occur to you when I told you about the skeleton there? Your uncle had a chalet nearby. His fiancee went missing. We find a skeleton. It's not a difficult equation."
"Are you mad? Are you suggesting. ."
"I'm not suggesting anything."
". . that he killed her? That Uncle Benjamin murdered his fiancee and buried her without telling anyone all those years until he died, a broken man?"
Elsa had stood up and was pacing the floor.
"Hang on a minute, I haven't said any such thing," Erlendur said, wondering whether he could have been more diplomatic. "Nothing of the sort," he said.
"Do you think it's her? The skeleton you found? Is it her?"
"Definitely not," Erlendur said, with no basis for doing so. He wanted to calm her down at any price. He had been tactless. Suggested something not based on any evidence, and regretted it. It was all too sudden for her.
"Do you know anything about the chalet?" he said in an effort to change the subject. "Whether anyone lived in it 50, 60 years ago? During the war or just afterwards? They can't find the details in the system at the moment."
"My God, what a thought!" Elsa groaned, her mind elsewhere. "Sorry. What were you saying?"
"He might have rented out the chalet," Erlendur said quickly. "Your uncle. There was a great housing shortage in Reykjavik from the war onwards, rents soared and it occurred to me that he might have rented it out on the cheap. Or even sold it. Do you know anything about that?"
"Yes, I think there was some talk of him renting the place out, but I don't know to whom, if that's what you're getting at. Excuse me for acting this way. It's just so. . What sort of bones are they? A whole skeleton, male, female, a child?"
Calmer. Back on track. She sat down again and looked him inquisitively in the eye.
"It looks like an intact skeleton, but we haven't exposed all of it yet," Erlendur said. "Did your uncle keep any records of his business or properties? Anything that hasn't been thrown away?"
"The cellar is full of his stuff. All kinds of papers and boxes that I've never got round to throwing away and never been bothered to sort through. His desk and some cabinets are downstairs. I'll soon have the time to go through it."
She said this with an air of regret and Erlendur wondered if she might not be satisfied with her lot in life, living alone in a large house that was a legacy from times gone by. He looked around the room and had the feeling that somehow her entire life was a legacy.
"Do you think we. .?"
"Be my guest. Look as much as you want," she said with a vacant smile.
"I was wondering about one thing," Erlendur said, standing up. "Do you know why Benjamin would have rented out the chalet? Was he short of money? He didn't seem to have needed money that much. With this house here. His business. You said he lost it in the end, but during the war he must have earned a decent living and more besides."
"No, I don't think he needed the money."
"So what was the reason?"
"I think someone asked him to. When people started moving to Reykjavik from the countryside during the war. I think he must have taken pity on someone."
"Then he wouldn't necessarily even have charged any rent?"
"I don't know anything about that. I can't believe that you think Benjamin. ."
She stopped mid-sentence as if reluctant to articulate what she was thinking.
"I don't think anything," Erlendur tried to smile. "It's far too early to start thinking anything."
"I just don't believe it."
"Tell me another thing."
"Yes?"
"Does she have any relatives who are still alive?"
"Who?"
"Benjamin's fiancee. Is there anyone I could talk to?"
"Why? What do you want to look into that for? He would never have done a thing to her."
"I understand that. All the same, we have these bones and they belong to someone and they won't go away. I have to investigate all the avenues."
"She had a sister who I know is still alive. Her name's Bara."
"When did she go missing, this girl?"
"It was 1940," Elsa said. "They told me it was on a beautiful spring day."
9
Robert Sigurdsson was still alive, but just barely, Sigurdur Oli thought. He sat with Elinborg in the old man's room, thinking to himself as he looked at Robert's pallid face that he would not want to be 90 years old. He shuddered. The old man was toothless, with anaemic lips, his cheeks sunken, tufts of hair standing up from his ghoulish head in all directions. He was connected to an oxygen cylinder which stood on a trolley beside him. Every time he needed to say something he took off his oxygen mask with a trembling hand and let out a couple of words before he had to put it back on.
Robert had sold his chalet long ago and it had changed hands twice more before eventually it was demolished and a new one built nearby. Sigurdur Oli and Elinborg woke up the owner of the new chalet shortly before noon to hear this rather vague and disjointed story.
They had the office staff locate the old man while they were driving back from the hill. It turned out that he was in the National Hospital, just turned 90.
Elinborg did the talking at the hospital and explained the case to Robert while he sat shrivelled up in a wheelchair, gulping down pure oxygen from the cylinder. A lifelong smoker. He seemed in full command of his faculties, despite his miserable physical state, and nodded to show that he understood every word and was well aware of the detectives' business. The nurse who showed them in to him and stood behind his wheelchair told them that they ought not to tire him by spending too long with him.
"I remember. ." he said in a low, hoarse voice. His hand shook as he put the mask back on and inhaled the oxygen. Then he took the mask off again.
". . that house, but. ."
Mask up.
Sigurdur Oli looked at Elinborg and then at his watch, making no attempt to conceal his impatience.
"Don't you want. ." she began, but the mask came off again.
". . I only remember. ." Robert interjected, wracked with breathlessness.
Mask up.
"Why don't you go to the canteen and get something to eat?" Elinborg said to Sigurdur Oli, who looked again at his watch, at the old man and then at her, sighed, stood up and disappeared from the room.
Mask down.
; ". . one family who lived there."
Mask up. Elinborg waited a moment to see whether he would continue, but Robert said nothing and she pondered how to phrase the questions so that he only needed to answer with a yes or a no, and could use his head without having to speak. She told him she wanted to try that and he nodded. Clear as a bell, she thought.
"Did you own a chalet there during the war?"
Robert nodded.
"Did this family live there during the war?"
Robert nodded.
"Do you remember the names of the people who lived in the house at that time?"
Robert shook his head. No.
"Was it a big family?"
Robert shook his head again. No.
"A couple with two, three children, more?"
Robert nodded and held out three anaemic fingers.
"A couple with three children. Did you ever meet these people? Did you have any contact with them or not know them at all?" Elinborg had forgotten her rule about yes and no and Robert took off his mask.
"Didn't know them." Mask up again. The nurse was growing restless as she stood behind the wheelchair glaring at Elinborg as if she ought to stop immediately and looking ready to intervene at any second. Robert took off his mask.
". . die."
"Who? Those people? Who died?" Elinborg leaned over closer to him, waiting for him to take the mask off again. Yet again he put a trembling hand to the oxygen mask and took it off.
"Useless. ."
Elinborg could tell that he was having trouble speaking and she strained with all her might to urge him on. She stared at him and waited for him to say more.
Mask down.
". . vegetable."
Robert dropped his mask, his eyes closed and his head sank onto his chest.
"Ah," the nurse said curtly, "So now you've finished him off for good." She picked up the mask and stuck it over Robert's nose and mouth with unnecessary force as he sat with his head on his chest and his old eyes closed as if he had fallen asleep. Maybe he really was dying for all Elinborg knew. She stood up and watched the nurse push Robert over to his bed, lift him like a feather out of the wheelchair and lay him down there.
"Are you trying to kill the poor man with this nonsense?" the nurse said, a strapping woman aged about 50 with her hair in a bun, wearing a white coat, white trousers and white clogs. She glared ferociously at Elinborg. "I should never have allowed this," she muttered in self-reproach. "He'll hardly live until the morning," she said in a loud voice directed back at Elinborg, with an obvious tone of accusation.
"Sorry," Elinborg said, without being completely aware why she was apologising. "We thought he could help us about some old bones. I hope he's not feeling too bad."
Lying flat out now, Robert suddenly opened his eyes. He looked around as if gradually realising where he was, and took off his oxygen mask despite the nurse's protests.
"Often came," he panted, ". . later. Green. . lady. . bushes. ."
"Bushes?" Elinborg said. She thought for a moment. "Do you mean the redcurrants?"
The nurse put the mask back on Robert, but Elinborg thought she detected a nod towards her.
"Who was it? Do you mean yourself? Do you remember the redcurrant bushes? Did you go there? Did you go to the bushes?"
Robert slowly shook his head.
"Get out and leave him alone," the nurse ordered Elinborg, who had stood up to lean over to Robert, but not too closely so as not to provoke her more than she already had.
"Can you tell me about it?" Elinborg went on. "Did you know who it was? Who used to go to the redcurrant bushes?"
Robert had closed his eyes.
"Later?" Elinborg continued. "What do you mean later?"
Robert opened his eyes and lifted up his old, bony hands to indicate that he wanted a pencil and piece of paper. The nurse shook her head and told him to rest, he had been through enough. He clutched her hand and looked imploringly at her.
"Out of the question," the nurse said. "Would you please get out of here," she said to Elinborg.
"Shouldn't we let him decide? If he dies tonight. ."
"We?" the nurse said. "Who's we? Have you been looking after these patients for 30 years?" she snorted. "Will you get out before I have you removed."
Elinborg glanced down at Robert who had closed his eyes again and seemed to be asleep. She looked at the nurse and reluctantly started moving towards the door. The nurse followed her and shut the door behind her the moment Elinborg was out in the corridor. Elinborg thought of calling in Sigurdur Oli to argue with the nurse and inform her how important it was for Robert to tell them what he wanted to say. She dropped the idea. Sigurdur Oli was certain to enrage her even more.
Elinborg walked down the corridor and could see Sigurdur Oli in the canteen devouring a banana with an apish look on his face. On her way to join him, she stopped. There was an alcove or TV den at the end of the corridor and she retreated into it and hid behind a tree that was planted in a huge pot and stretched all the way up to the ceiling. She waited there, watching the door, like a lioness hiding in the grass.
Before long the nurse came out of Robert's room, breezed down the corridor and through the canteen for the next ward. She did not notice Sigurdur Oli, nor he her as he chomped on his banana.
Elinborg sneaked out of her hiding place behind the tree and tiptoed back to Robert's room. He was lying asleep in the bed with the mask over his face just as when she had left him. The curtain was closed, but the dim glow of a lamp shed light into the gloom. She went over to him, hesitated for a moment and looked around furtively before bracing herself to prod the old man.
Robert did not budge. She tried again but he was sleeping like a log. Elinborg assumed he must be in a very deep sleep, if not simply dead, and she bit her nails while she wondered whether to prod him harder or disappear and forget the whole business. He had not said much. Only that someone had been hanging around the bushes on the hill. A green lady.
She was turning to leave when Robert suddenly opened his eyes and stared at her. Elinborg was unsure whether he recognised her, but he nodded and she felt sure she detected a grin behind his oxygen mask. He made the same sign as before to ask for a paper and pencil and she searched in her coat for her notebook and pen. She put them in his hands and he started writing in big capitals with a shaky hand. It took him a long time and Elinborg cast a terrified look towards the door, expecting the nurse to enter at any moment and start shouting curses. She wanted to tell Robert to hurry, but did not dare to pressure him.
When he had finished writing, his pallid hands slumped onto the quilt, and the book and pen with them, and he closed his eyes. Elinborg picked up the book and was about to read what the old man had written when the cardiac monitor that he was connected to suddenly started to beep. The noise was ear-piercing when it broke out in the silent room and Elinborg was so startled that she jumped back. She looked down at Robert for a moment, unsure of what to do, then rushed straight out of the room, down the corridor and into the canteen where Sigurdur Oli was still sitting, his banana finished. An alarm rang somewhere.
"Did you get anything out of the old sod?" Sigurdur Oli asked Elinborg when she sat down beside him, gasping for breath. "Hey, are you okay?" he added when he noticed her puffing and panting.
"Yes, I'm fine," Elinborg said.
A team of doctors, nurses and paramedics came running through the canteen and into the corridor in the direction of Robert's room. Soon afterwards a man in a white gown appeared, pushing in front of him a piece of equipment that Elinborg thought was a cardiac massage device, and went down the corridor as well. Sigurdur Oli watched the crowd disappear around the corner.
"What the hell have you been up to now?" Sigurdur Oli said, turning to Elinborg.
"Me?" Elinborg muttered. "Nothing. Me! What do you mean?"
"What are you sweating like that for?" Sigurdur Oli asked.
"I'm not sweating."
"What happened? Why is everyone
running?"
"No idea."
"Did you get anything out of him? Is he the one who's dying?"
"Come on, try to show a bit of respect," Elinborg said, looking all around.
"What did you get out of him?"
"I haven't checked yet," Elinborg said. "Shouldn't we get away from here?"
They stood up and walked out of the canteen, left the hospital and sat down in Sigurdur Oli's car. He drove off.
"So, what did you get out of him?" Sigurdur Oli asked impatiently.
"He wrote me a note," Elinborg sighed. "Poor man."
"Wrote you a note?"
She took the book out of her pocket and flicked through it until she found the place Robert had written in it. A single word was jotted there, in the trembling hand of a dying man, an almost incomprehensible scribble. It took her a while to puzzle out what he had written in the notebook, then she became convinced, although she did not understand the meaning. She stared at Robert's last word in this mortal life: CROOKED.
*
That evening it was the potatoes. He did not think they were boiled well enough. They could equally have been over-boiled, boiled to a pulp, raw, unpeeled, badly peeled, over-peeled, not cut into halves, not in gravy, in gravy, fried, unfried, mashed, sliced too thick, sliced too thin, too sweet, not sweet enough. .
She could never figure him out.
That was one of his strongest weapons. The attacks always occurred without warning and when she was least expecting them, just as often when everything seemed rosy as when she could sense that something was upsetting him. He was a genius at keeping her on tenterhooks and she could never feel safe. She was always tense in his presence, ready to be at his beck and call. Have the food ready at the right time. Have his clothes ready in the morning. Keep the boys under control. Keep Mikkelina out of his sight. Serve him in every way, even though she knew it was pointless.
She had long ago given up all hope that things would get better. His home was her prison.
After finishing dinner he picked up his plate, surly as ever, and put it in the sink. Then went back to the table as if on his way out of the kitchen, but stopped where she still sat at the table. Not daring to look up, she watched the two boys who were sitting with her and went on eating her meal. Every muscle in her body was on the alert. Perhaps he would leave without touching her. The boys looked at her and slowly put down their forks.
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