‘No, of course not,’ said Sigurdur Óli. ‘So you’ve never heard of swingers’ parties either?’
Ebeneser shook his head.
‘Where swinging is another word for wife-swapping.’
‘I’ve no idea what you’re on about,’ said Ebeneser.
‘So you and Lína have never taken part in wife-swapping?’
‘That’s disgusting,’ Ebeneser said. ‘We’ve never done anything like that. How dare you!’
‘I’ll make a deal with you,’ Sigurdur Óli said. ‘You give me the photos that you and Lína took of yourselves having sex with other people and I’ll try to pretend I never heard anything about it.’
Ebeneser did not respond.
‘Other people,’ Sigurdur Óli said, as if struck by a new idea. ‘Who were these other people? I only know of the one couple but of course you’ve been blackmailing people all over town, haven’t you?’
Ebeneser stared at him again.
‘Someone’s had enough of your shitty little games and meant to intimidate you with a debt collector. Is that it, Ebbi?’
Ebeneser decided not to put up with this any longer. He stood up.
‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,’ he said and stormed out of the visitors’ lounge, back down the corridor to Lína’s room.
Sigurdur Óli watched him go. Ebeneser needed time to absorb how much he knew and to consider his offer. Sigurdur Óli smiled grimly to himself. He was a pretty experienced police officer but could not immediately recall having met such a consummate liar before — nor one more adept at getting himself into deep water.
10
Bergthóra had already arrived and was sitting at the table, reading the menu, when Sigurdur Óli turned up a few minutes late. She had chosen an Italian restaurant in the centre of town and he headed straight there after spending the day assisting Elínborg, who was bearing the brunt of the inquiry into the Thingholt murder. He would have liked to have gone home first for a shower and a change of clothes but there had been no time. Although he usually enjoyed eating out, he was rather dreading this encounter.
He kissed her on the lips and took a seat. Bergthóra looked tired. The last few months had been hard on her. The IT company she ran, in which she owned a large stake, had recently gone through a rocky patch, resulting in a great deal of extra work for her. Their separation had taken its toll too, on top of their failure to have children.
‘You look well,’ she said to Sigurdur Óli as he sat down.
‘How are you?’ he asked.
‘Oh, fine. Meeting in restaurants like this feels like dating again. I can’t get used to it. You should have come round to mine; I could have made us something.’
‘Yes, it does feel a bit like the old days,’ Sigurdur Óli agreed.
They pored over the menus. It was not like the old days and they both knew it. They were weighed down by the awareness of their failed relationship, of the wasted years, of the feelings that were no more, of the shared life that had unravelled. They were like weary receivers winding up a bankruptcy; all that remained was to tie up the loose ends and settle the final claims. Because Bergthóra had a tendency to become emotional about the way things had turned out, Sigurdur Óli had chosen to meet her at a restaurant.
‘How’s your father?’ she asked, her eyes on the menu.
‘OK.’
‘And your mother?’
‘Fine.’
‘Is she still with that bloke?’
‘Saemundur? Yes.’
They chose what they were going to eat and agreed to share a bottle of Italian red. There were few other midweek diners. Soothing music emanated from somewhere over their heads, interspersed with the sounds of clattering and laughter from the kitchen.
‘How’s life on Framnesvegur?’
‘OK, though the flat’s still half empty,’ Sigurdur Óli said. ‘Has anyone been round to view our place?’
‘There were three viewings today. One man said he’d get in touch. I’ll miss the flat.’
‘Naturally. It’s a great flat.’
Neither of them spoke. Sigurdur Óli wondered if he should tell her about Hermann and his wife, and decided to give it a go in the hope that it would lighten the atmosphere. So he told her about his meeting with Patrekur who had unexpectedly brought along his brother-in-law Hermann, and described how the couple’s former hobby had landed them in trouble. Then he described the attack on Lína, the man with the baseball bat and Ebbi in his hiking boots, feigning ignorance.
‘He was literally stunned,’ Sigurdur Óli said. ‘Ebbi’s a guide,’ he added with a grin. ‘He could do with some guidance right now.’
‘Do people really get up to that sort of thing?’ Bergthóra sighed.
‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘I don’t know anyone who goes in for that — wife-swapping, I mean. They must be mad. And to get into such a mess.’
‘Well, this is a bit of a one-off.’
‘It must be hard for Súsanna’s sister, what with her being in politics. To have this come back to haunt them.’
‘Yes, but what kind of idiot is she to put herself in that position in the first place? Especially when she’s in politics. Don’t start feeling sorry for them.’
‘You’re not big on sympathy, are you?’ Bergthóra said.
‘What do you mean?’ Sigurdur Óli demanded.
They were interrupted by the friendly middle-aged waiter who brought over the bottle of red wine, and after showing Sigurdur Óli the label, poured some into his glass. Sigurdur Óli watched him.
‘You’ve already uncorked the bottle?’
The waiter did not understand the question.
‘You’re supposed to do it in front of me,’ Sigurdur Óli said. ‘How do I know how long ago this bottle was opened or what you’ve been doing with it behind the scenes?’
The waiter looked at him in surprise.
‘I’ve only just opened it,’ he mumbled apologetically.
‘Well, you’re supposed to uncork it here at the table, not in some back room.’
‘I’ll fetch another bottle.’ The waiter hurried away.
‘He’s doing his best,’ Bergthóra objected.
‘He’s an amateur,’ Sigurdur Óli said dismissively. ‘We pay a lot to eat here and they’re supposed to know what they’re doing. Anyway, what did you mean when you said I’m not big on sympathy?’
Bergthóra looked at him. ‘All that just now,’ she said. ‘It’s typical.’
‘The poor service, you mean?’
‘You’re just like your mother.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re both so … cold. Such snobs.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake …’
‘I was never good enough for you,’ Bergthóra went on, ‘and she used to make sure I knew it. Whereas your father was always such a sweetheart. I don’t understand how a woman like her could ever have stooped so low as to get involved with a plumber, or how on earth he put up with her for so long.’
‘I’ve often wondered that myself,’ Sigurdur Óli admitted. ‘But Mum really likes you. She told me so. There’s no need to bad-mouth her.’
‘She never showed me any support when we lost … when we had our problems. Never. I got the impression she felt it had nothing to do with her. I felt as if she blamed it all on me — ruining things for you by not being able to have children.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because it’s true.’
‘You’ve never mentioned this before.’
‘Sure I have; you just didn’t want to listen.’
The waiter returned with a new bottle, showed Sigurdur Óli the label and began to remove the cork under his nose. Then he poured some and Sigurdur Óli tasted and approved the wine. The waiter filled their glasses and left the bottle on the table.
‘You’ve never wanted to listen to a word I say,’ Bergthóra said.
‘That’s not true.’
She looked at him, her eyes filling with tears, then picked up a napkin.