‘Exactly,’ Karen said.
‘Then what did happen?’
‘I don’t know – but she could never have done that.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘I’m just sure. I knew her and I’m certain she would never have committed suicide.’
‘Suicide generally takes people by surprise. The fact that she didn’t tell you anything doesn’t make it impossible that she could have killed herself. There’s no indication to the contrary.’
‘Also, I find it a bit strange that Baldvin should have had her cremated,’ Karen added.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Her funeral’s already been held. Didn’t you know?’
‘No,’ Erlendur said, mentally counting the days since he had first visited the house in Grafarvogur.
‘I never heard her say that she wanted to be cremated,’ the woman said. ‘Never.’
‘Would she have told you?’
‘I think so.’
‘Did you and María ever discuss your funerals – what you wanted done with your remains?’
‘No,’ Karen said stubbornly.
‘So you don’t really have any proof of whether she wanted to be cremated or not?’
‘No, but I just know. I knew María.’
‘You knew María. Have you come to this office to put it on record that you believe there’s something suspicious about her death?’
Karen considered for a moment.
‘I find the whole thing very odd.’
‘But you have no actual evidence to back up your suspicion that something strange occurred.’
‘No.’
‘Then there’s very little we can do,’ Erlendur said. ‘Do you know anything about María’s relationship with her husband?’
‘Yes.’
‘And?’
‘It was okay,’ Karen said reluctantly.
‘So you don’t think her husband had anything to do with what happened?’
‘No. Perhaps someone came to the door of the cottage at Thingvellir. There are all sorts wandering about there. Foreign tourists, for example. Have you checked up on that angle at all?’
‘There’s nothing to suggest it,’ Erlendur said. ‘Did María intend to be at the cottage when you arrived?’
‘No,’ Karen said. ‘Not that we discussed.’
‘She told Baldvin she was going to wait for you.’
‘Why should she have told him that?’
‘Perhaps to be left in peace,’ Erlendur said.
‘Did Baldvin tell you about Leonóra, her mother?’
‘Yes,’ Erlendur said. ‘He said her death had been a terrible loss to her daughter.’
‘Leonóra and María had a special bond,’ Karen said. ‘I’ve never known such a close relationship, ever. Do you believe dreams can tell the truth?’
‘I don’t know if that’s any of your business,’ Erlendur said. ‘With all due respect.’
The woman’s vehemence had taken him by surprise. Yet he understood what drove her. A dear friend had committed an act that she found impossible to understand and accept. If María had been in such a bad way, Karen felt that she, Karen, ought to have known and done something about it. Now, even though it was too late, she still wanted to do something – if nothing else, then at least to have an opinion about the tragic event.
‘What about life after death?’ the woman asked.
Erlendur shook his head.
‘I don’t know what you-’
‘María believed in it. She believed in dreams, that they could tell her something, guide her. And she believed in life after death.’
Erlendur was silent.
‘Her mother was going to send her a message,’ Karen said. ‘You know, if there was an afterlife.’
‘No, I’m not quite sure I follow,’ Erlendur said.
‘María told me that Leonóra was going to let her know if what they talked about so much towards the end turned out to be true. If there was life after death. She was going to send her a sign from the next world.’
Erlendur cleared his throat.
‘A sign from the next world?’
‘Yes. If there turned out to be an afterlife.’
‘Do you know what it was? What sort of sign she was going to give her?’
Karen didn’t answer.
‘Did she do it?’ Erlendur asked.
‘What?’
‘Did she send her daughter a message from the next world?’
Karen gave Erlendur a long look.
‘You think I’m a fool, don’t you?’
‘I really couldn’t say,’ Erlendur said. ‘I don’t know you at all.’
‘You think I’m talking a load of gibberish!’
‘No, but I don’t know how all this concerns the police. Would you care to explain? A message from the afterlife! How are we supposed to investigate something like that?’
‘I think the least you could do is to listen to what I have to say.’
‘I am listening,’ Erlendur said.
‘No, you’re not.’ Karen opened her bag, took out a cassette and laid it on his desk. ‘Maybe this will help you,’ she said.
‘What is it?’
‘Listen to it and then talk to me. Listen to it and tell me what you think.’
‘I can’t…’
‘Don’t do it for me,’ Karen said. ‘Do it for María. Then you’ll know how she felt.’
She stood up.
‘Do it for María,’ Karen said, and left.
Erlendur took the tape home with him that evening. It was an ordinary, unmarked cassette tape. Erlendur had an old radio cassette player. He had never used it to play a tape and didn’t know if it worked. He stood for a long time with the tape in his hand, wondering if he should listen to it.
He found the machine, pressed ‘open’, inserted the cassette, then pressed ‘play’. At first he heard nothing. Several more seconds passed and still nothing happened. Erlendur expected to hear the dead woman’s favourite music, probably church music, since María was religious. Then there was a tiny click and the tape began to hiss.
‘… After falling into a trance,’ he heard a deep masculine voice say.
He turned up the volume.
‘After that I won’t be aware of myself,’ the man’s voice continued. ‘It’s the dead who choose either to speak through me or to reveal things to me. I am merely their channel for making contact with their loved ones. How long it lasts varies according to the nature of the contact.’
‘Yes, I see,’ a high female voice replied.
‘Did you bring what I asked?’
‘I’ve got a jumper that she was very fond of and a ring Dad gave her that she always wore.’
‘Thank you. I’d better take that.’
‘Here you are.’
‘Remind me to give you the tape afterwards. You forgot to take it the other day. It’s easy to forget oneself.’
‘Yes.’
‘Right, let’s see what happens. You’re not afraid, are you? You told me at first that you were a little nervous. Some people are anxious about what might come out in these sessions.’
‘No, not any more. I wasn’t really afraid, just a little uncertain. I’ve never done anything like this before.’
Long pause.
‘There’s a gleam of water.’
Silence.
‘It’s summer and there are bushes and the gleam of water. Like sunlight on a lake.’
‘Yes.’
‘There’s a boat by the lake – does that sound familiar?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s a small boat.’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s empty.’
‘Yes.’
‘Does that sound familiar? Do you know this boat?’
‘Dad had a small boat. We have a holiday cottage by Lake Thingvallavatn.’
Erlendur turned off the cassette player. He realised that the recording was of a seance and he was certain that the high voice belonged to the woman who had killed herself. Not that he knew anything about it, beyond remembering her husband saying that her father had drowned in Lake Thingvallavatn. Hearing her voice felt peculiar somehow, as if he were prying into someone else’s private life. He stood by the cassette player for a long time without moving, until curiosity overcame his doubt and he pressed ‘play’ again.
‘I can smell cigar smoke,’ he heard the medium say. ‘Did he smoke?’