‘And?’
‘Nothing doing. He could hardly find the time to talk to me. Too busy booking a chamber orchestra to play at his dinner party.’
Sigurdur Óli heard Saemundur cough from the other room and hoped he was not going to come through.
‘I saw Bergthóra,’ he said. ‘We’ve sorted matters out, once and for all.’
‘Really? What do you mean, once and for all?’
‘It’s over.’
‘Hasn’t it been over for ages? And you’re taking it badly?’
‘I am, actually.’
‘You’ll find someone else. Was it her who broke it off in the end?’
‘Yes, she’s started a new relationship.’
‘Typical,’ said Gagga.
‘What do you mean?’
‘She doesn’t hang about.’
‘You never could stand her.’
‘No,’ his mother replied. ‘You’re probably right. And don’t start having regrets about losing her. It’s a waste of time.’
‘How can you say that? Just admit it, as if it were nothing?’
‘Would you rather I lied to you? You were far too good for Bergthóra. That’s my opinion and I’m not going to hide it.’
A question that had long been nagging at him rose to Sigurdur Óli’s lips.
‘What did you see in Dad?’
His mother looked as if she did not understand the question.
‘Why did you ever get together?’
‘What are you raking up now?’ asked Gagga.
‘You’re so different,’ said Sigurdur Óli. ‘You must have realised. But … what was it?’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, don’t start harping on about that again.’
‘You had more to gain from it, didn’t you?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He paid your way through university.’
‘Look, dear: people get together and break up for no particular reason and the same applies to me and your father. The mistake was probably mine, I admit. Now stop going on about it.’
He was worried that it was too late when he rang the doorbell, as he did not want to drag him out of bed. There was an interminable wait and he was about to steal away when someone took hold of the handle and the door opened.
‘Is that you, Siggi?’ asked his father.
‘Were you asleep?’
‘No, no. Come in, son. Is Bergthóra with you?’
‘No, I’m alone,’ said Sigurdur Óli.
His father was wearing an old blue dressing gown with a narrow plastic tube dangling below the hem. He noticed Sigurdur Óli’s eyes fasten on the tube.
‘I’ve got a catheter,’ his father explained. ‘For the urine. They’re taking it out tomorrow.’
‘Ah, right. So, how are you?’
‘Fine. I’m sorry I haven’t got any food to offer you, Siggi. Are you hungry?’
‘No. I just wanted to look in on my way home, to see if there was anything you needed.’
‘I’m all right. Do you mind if I lie down?’
Sigurdur Óli took a seat. His father lay down on the sofa in the sitting room and closed his eyes: he looked very tired and could probably have done with a longer stay in hospital but thanks to the never-ending cuts, they were sending patients home at the earliest opportunity. Sigurdur Óli looked around at the bookcase and chest of drawers, the old TV set and the framed ‘Master Plumber’ certificate. There were two photos of himself on the table, and a thirty-year-old picture of Gagga and his father. Sigurdur Óli remembered the occasion well; it had been his birthday, the last one at which they had all been together.
He told his father about him and Bergthóra. His father listened in silence to the brief, edited account and Sigurdur Óli waited for his reaction, but it did not come. There was a long pause during which he thought his father had dozed off, and he was just about to tiptoe out when his father half opened his eyes.
‘At least you didn’t have any children,’ he said.
‘Perhaps it would have been different if we’d had children,’ said Sigurdur Óli.
A lengthy silence followed. He was convinced that his father had fallen asleep again and did not dare disturb him, but then he opened his eyes and focused on Sigurdur Óli.
‘They always come out of it worst. You should know that yourself. The children always come out of it worst.’
42
The next day, Sigurdur Óli came across the name of one of the banker Thorfinnur’s closest friends, a man called Ragnar who, according to the police file, had joined the hunt for his body. He taught Icelandic at the teacher training college and was busy taking a class when Sigurdur Óli dropped by shortly after lunch to speak to him. It was Ragnar’s last class that day, he was told, so Sigurdur Óli waited patiently in the corridor outside the college office for the door to open and the students to stream out.
He did not have to wait long. Soon the corridor was full of chattering people armed with bags, laptops and phones, and a raucous cacophony of ringtones. When Sigurdur Óli felt it was safe to enter the classroom, he found Ragnar still in conversation with two students, so he loitered while the teacher finished dealing with the students’ questions. They had obviously failed to acquit themselves adequately, as Ragnar was telling them to pull their socks up.
The students left the room looking chastened and Sigurdur Óli greeted Ragnar. He explained that he was from the police and wanted to ask him about his friend Thorfinnur who had died on Snaefellsnes. Ragnar paused in the act of putting away his laptop in his briefcase. He was fairly short with a shock of red hair and large sideburns, which were back in fashion — not that Sigurdur Óli was aware of the fact — a wide mouth and guileless eyes that blinked continually.
‘At last,’ he said. ‘I thought you lot were never going to get round to it.’
‘Get round to what?’ asked Sigurdur Óli.
‘To investigating it properly, of course,’ said Ragnar. ‘It wasn’t natural what happened to him.’
‘Why do you say that?’ Sigurdur Óli asked.
‘Well, I mean, there was something very odd about it. They go to Snaefellsnes, the four of them, intending to stick together, then suddenly he’s not with them, there are just the two of them, and then he gets lost.’
‘It happens, you know. People are always getting into difficulties, what with the weather and all the natural hazards.’
‘I pointed out all sorts of problems that no one listened to. They let a long time pass before raising the alert. And not everything they said was consistent; they gave different accounts, then corrected themselves about what time they had set off and when they meant to come back. That Sverrir is a complete idiot.’
‘In what way?’
‘He said Thorfinnur shouldn’t have been wandering around there on his own. The two of them were meant to go together, but Sverrir claimed that Thorfinnur asked him to head back and get the car while he carried on. Why? He didn’t explain, just said that Thorfinnur had wanted to plough on alone through the lava field while he fetched the car.’
‘Doesn’t that seem a reasonable explanation of what happened?’
‘I suppose so. But it’s the sort of place where you have to be careful. The weather can turn without warning, and there are dangers everywhere — like cliffs and fissures that you have to watch out for. Especially out west at Svörtuloft. So it seems crazy to leave someone alone out there.’
‘Was Thorfinnur an experienced hiker?’
‘Yes, he was actually. He was quite a keen walker.’
‘Did he ever mention a woman called Lína or Sigurlína? She went on a glacier tour with him and a bunch of other people that same autumn.’
‘No, I don’t think so.’ Ragnar looked at him enquiringly. ‘Is that the woman who was killed, the woman in the news? That was her name, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is there some link? Is that why you’re here? Are the two cases connected?’
‘I couldn’t say,’ said Sigurdur Óli. ‘We’re investigating her activities in order to try and work out what happened, and one of those activities was an expedition to the highlands with a group of bankers and foreign businessmen. You don’t happen to have any idea what your friend was doing with his colleagues — what they were working on?’