‘That poor man,’ said Lóa.
‘This Kiddi, is that …?’
‘My son. He’d been asking for broadband for a whole year — some wireless Internet thing. So I eventually agreed, and I don’t regret it. It’s such an improvement, having a fast connection. Kiddi said he could set it up himself but it all went wrong, so I rang up and they sent that man.’
‘I see,’ said Elínborg.
‘So what’s this got to do with me, anyway?’ Lóa asked. ‘Why are you asking me about him? Have I …?’
‘We’re trying to get information from people who had any kind of contact with him,’ answered Elínborg. ‘We don’t know much about Runólfur, or how he came to be killed. We have to try to get an idea of the events. He was from a small village and he didn’t have many friends here in Reykjavík, other than colleagues at work. There’s hardly anyone else.’
‘But, I mean, I didn’t know the guy at all. He just came and installed the broadband.’
‘Yes, I know. What did you make of him?’
‘He was fine. He came after five, when I’d got home from work, just like you. He just got on with it, connected us to the Internet. It didn’t take long. Then he left.’
‘And he came just that once?’
‘No, actually he called back the following day, or the day after, because he’d left something behind — a screwdriver, I think. He wasn’t in so much of a hurry that time.’
‘So you chatted, did you, or …?’
‘A bit. He was very pleasant. Nice enough. He told me he went to a gym.’
‘Do you work out too? Did he recognise you from there?’
‘No, he didn’t know me. I can’t be bothered with gyms and I told him so. I bought a year’s gym membership once. Highly optimistic. But I stopped going after a few weeks. He said he was never tempted to give up.’
‘Did you get the impression he was coming on to you?’ asked Elínborg. ‘Did he say anything like that?’
‘No, nothing like that. He was just pleasant.’
‘That’s what everybody says. That he was a good guy.’ Elínborg smiled briefly, and thought to herself that this interview had given her nothing. She was about to go when Lóa took her by surprise.
‘Then, later, I bumped into him in town,’ she said.
‘You did?’
‘I was out for the evening and there he was, all at once. He started talking to me like we were old friends. He was very friendly, wanted to buy me a drink and all that. Really nice.’
‘So you met by chance?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Did he know you’d be there?’
‘No, not at all. It was quite random.’
‘And what happened?’
‘Happened? Nothing did. We just chatted and … nothing.’
‘Were you alone?’
‘Yes.’
‘No one was with you?’
‘No.’
‘When you were chatting here, did you tell him where you like to go for an evening out? What your favourite places were, or anything?’
Lóa thought back. ‘We mentioned it, but only in passing. I never thought … Hang on, are you connecting this to …?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Elínborg.
‘He was talking about nightlife. He said he lived downtown and he asked me what it was like here in the suburbs, in Kópavogur. So we talked a bit about that when he came back that time, for his screwdriver or whatever. So far as I remember, it was something like that.’
‘And did you mention anywhere?’
Lóa thought again.
‘There’s one place I always go.’
‘Which one?’
‘Thorvaldsen.’
‘Is that where you met him?’
‘Yes.’
‘By chance?’
‘It is a bit odd, when you put it like that.’
‘What’s odd?’
‘I had the feeling, somehow, that he’d been waiting for me. I don’t quite know what it was but there was something fake about the way he was so pleased to see me, and surprised to meet me there, and all that. What a pleasant coincidence it was, and so on. He … I don’t know. Anyway, nothing happened. All of a sudden he seemed to lose interest, and then he went off.’
‘You say he offered you a drink?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you accepted?’ asked Elínborg.
‘No. Well, yes, but not an alcoholic one.’
‘Yes? What?’ Elínborg was trying not to push her but she failed abjectly.
‘I’ve given up drinking,’ said Lóa. ‘I can’t. Not a drop.’
‘I understand.’
‘My husband left me, you see, and everything was such a mess, and I thought they were going to take Kiddi away from me, but I managed to stop. I go to meetings, and everything. It’s saved my life.’
‘So Runólfur suddenly lost interest?’ asked Elínborg.
‘Yes.’
‘Because you didn’t want a drink?’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘He offered you a drink, but you didn’t accept, because you don’t drink, and he lost interest.’
‘I had a ginger ale. He bought it for me.’
‘It’s not the same,’ said Elínborg.
‘The same as what?’
‘Alcohol. When he was here, did you tell him you don’t drink?’
‘No, it was none of his business. What are you getting at?’
Elínborg said nothing.
‘So will I never meet anyone ever again, because I don’t drink?’
Elínborg smiled at her reasoning. ‘It’s possible that Runólfur was rather unusual in that respect,’ she said. ‘I can’t say any more.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Haven’t you seen the news?’
‘Sort of.’
‘There have been reports that a particular drug was found in Runólfur’s home. A date-rape drug.’
Lóa gazed at her. ‘That he used?’ she asked.
‘Possibly.’
‘Don’t they put it into alcoholic drinks?’
‘Yes. The alcohol intensifies the effect — it affects the memory as well. It’s more likely to cause amnesia if it’s taken with alcohol.’
Lóa started connecting the dots: the telecoms engineer who came twice to her home, whom she then ran into by chance at a bar in town; the reports of date-rape drugs slipped into women’s drinks; the alcoholism with which she had battled for many years; the soft drinks she always ordered when she went out; how Runólfur suddenly lost interest; his violent death. All at once she saw herself in a bizarre, chilly, terrifying place. ‘I don’t believe it,’ she sighed, looking at Elínborg in astonishment. ‘Are you kidding me?’
Elínborg did not say a word.
‘Was he planning to rape me?’
‘I don’t know,’ answered Elínborg.
‘Bloody hell!’ exclaimed Lóa in a sudden fury. ‘He didn’t find the screwdriver when he came back here. He said he’d left one behind. Looked everywhere. Talked to me as if we were old friends. Maybe there was no screwdriver. Was he having me on?’
Elínborg shrugged.
‘What a bastard!’ said Lóa, staring at Elínborg. ‘I would have killed him, that bloody shit. I would so have fucking killed him! What on earth is wrong with these men?’
‘They’re crazy,’ said Elínborg.
Binna Geirs was short for a far more sonorous name: Brynhildur Geirhardsdóttir. Elínborg thought it suited her: she was tall and heavily built, almost like a trollwife from a book of fairy tales, with long hair cascading down her back like thickets of vegetation. She had a large-featured face with a red nose, a powerful jaw and neck, and long arms. Her legs were like tree trunks. Next to her Fridbert seemed almost elflike: small and puny, with a completely bald head, big protruding ears, and small eyes under furry brows.
Solla had been right; Berti, sometimes known as Shorty for obvious reasons, had moved in with Binna. They were living in a small wooden house — which Binna had inherited from her parents — on Njálsgata near the city centre. She had somehow contrived not to lose it through the many vicissitudes of her life. The once-elegant little house with its traditional corrugated-iron cladding was now dilapidated, with a leaky roof, draughty windows and creeping rust. Looking after her possessions was not one of Binna’s talents.