Erlendur looked round the flat. It contained nothing new. The tables and chairs were probably second-hand, the bedside table too. The single bed in the bedroom had an old spring mattress. He wondered if Gestur had set to work immediately after their talk, obliterating all traces of himself in the flat. There were no shaving things or toothbrush in the bathroom. The flat was completely devoid of personal belongings. The man did not even have a computer, and no bills or letters of any sort were found in the drawers, no papers or magazines, no sign that anyone had ever lived there.
The head of forensics came over to Erlendur. He had two assistants with him.
“What did you say we were looking for?” he asked.
“A child abuser,” Erlendur said.
“He hasn’t exactly left much behind,” the head of forensics pointed out.
“Maybe he was prepared to have to leave at short notice,” Erlendur said.
“I doubt we’ll find so much as a fingerprint.”
“No, but do your best anyway.”
Elinborg was walking silently around the flat when her mobile rang. She spoke into it for a good while before replacing it in her pocket and going over to Erlendur.
“I wish my flat would look like this for once,” she said. “Do you think this Gestur attacked Elias?”
“It’s a possibility like any other.”
“He seems to have done a runner, doesn’t he?”
“Perhaps he got out the cleaning things the moment I left,” Erlendur said.
“It couldn’t just be that he’s terribly house-proud and has gone away for a few days?”
“I don’t know,” Erlendur said.
“Sigurdur Oli can’t find anything on this man,” Elinborg said. “There’s no one of either name on our paedophile register, which goes back decades. He’s running a match of the photo with our visual database. He sent his best regards.”
“Visual database,” Erlendur said. “I hate these clunking terms. Why not just “our picture files”? What’s wrong with that?”
“Oh … let people talk how they like.”
“I suppose I’m tilting at windmills anyway,” Erlendur said.
“It’s not as if he brought children here,” Elinborg remarked.
This was not intended to be ironic. Erlendur knew what she meant. They had entered the homes of paedophiles that looked like a children’s fairytale come true. There was nothing like that here. Not a single sweet wrapper. Not a single computer game.
“Gestur knew Elias, assuming he wasn’t lying,” Erlendur said. “Our search should focus on that. But as you say, if Elias did come in here, Gestur has obliterated all sign of it.”
“He may have some other bolthole where he keeps the chocolate and cakes.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Should we talk to Andres again?” Elinborg asked.
“Yes, we’ll have to,” Erlendur said, without much enthusiasm.
They had tried to gather more information on Gestur while waiting for the search warrant to come through. Erlendur and Elinborg drove over to meet the landlord who owned most of the flats on the staircase at his office in the centre of town. He was a rather manic individual in his thirties who had sold the fishing quota he inherited up north and gone into property dealing in Reykjavik, apparently with some success. He told them he planned to sell off the flats on the staircase, the lettings business was far too stressful, the rental market attracted all sorts. He also rented out flats in another part of town and was involved in constant legal wrangles, evictions and debt collection.
“This Gestur, did he keep up with his payments?” Elinborg asked.
“Always. He’s rented the place for a year and a half and I’ve never had a moment’s trouble with him.”
“Does he pay into an account?”
The landlord hesitated.
“Is it cash in hand?” Erlendur asked. “Does he come here and pay you in person?”
The landlord nodded.
“That’s how he wanted it,” he said. “He was the one who insisted on it. In fact, he made it a condition.”
“You didn’t check his ID number when you took him on as a tenant?” Elinborg asked.
“I must have forgotten.”
“You mean it’s black?” Erlendur asked. “The rent he pays you?”
The landlord did not answer. He cleared his throat.
“Er, does this have to go any further?” he asked hesitantly. They had not told him why the police were asking questions about this particular tenant. “Does the taxman have to find out?”
“Only if you’re a lying scumbag,” Erlendur said.
“It’s …,” the landlord said awkwardly. “I do all sorts of deals, okay. This man came in wanting to know if we could come to an arrangement. He didn’t mind paying the full amount but he didn’t want any paperwork. I told him I would need him to fill in a tenancy agreement but the old guy was very convincing. He said he would pay six months in advance and I could keep three months” payment as a deposit. He paid in cash. Said he was too old for all that electronic nonsense. I believed him. He’s one of the best tenants I’ve ever had. Never late with a single payment.”
“Did you see him at all?” Elinborg asked.
“I’ve met him maybe a couple of times since then. That’s all. Are you going to the tax authorities with this?”
“So the flat wasn’t registered in anyone’s name?”
“No,” the landlord said with a shrug, as if confessing to a minor oversight.
“Tell me something else. Sunee who lives opposite him, does she always pay on time?” Erlendur asked.
“You mean the Thai?” the landlord asked. “Always pays.”
“Cash in hand?” Elinborg asked.
“No, no,” the landlord said. “It’s all above-board. They’re all above-board except for that bloke.”
He paused.
“Well, and maybe two or three others. But no more. And I told her that I’d kick her out double quick if she didn’t pay. I don’t like letting to her sort but the market’s a nightmare, the types you get renting! I’m going to call it a day. Sell the flats. I can’t be doing with it any more.”
That was all they had to go on when they entered the flat. They stood in the living room of the man who called himself either Gestur or Rognvaldur, utterly perplexed. They had no idea where to look for him, did not know who he was. In fact, they had nothing whatsoever to go on but the word of a known criminal.
“Strange how people keep vanishing in this case,” Elinborg said. “First Niran, now this guy.”
“I’m afraid it’ll prove a harder job to track this man down than Niran,” Erlendur said. “It’s as if he’s done the same thing before. As if he’s been forced to do a disappearing act at short notice before.”
“You mean, if he is what Andres says he is?”
“It’s too well prepared somehow,” Erlendur said, “too premeditated. He probably has some other bolthole where he can lie low if something happens to draw attention to him.”
“He doesn’t even keep any personal belongings here,” Elinborg said. “He’s left nothing behind. As if he doesn’t exist — as if he never existed.”
The landlord had told them when handing over the spare key that he himself owned the few bits and pieces that were in the flat. Even the paperbacks in the bookcase were his property. There was an old television in the living room and an ancient radio-cassette player in the kitchen. The television was licensed to the landlord as well.