“There were barracks all over the countryside,” the old man said. “British and American too. I don’t recall any on the hill here in particular, that was before my time anyway. Quite a way before my time. You ought to talk to Robert.”
“Robert?” Elinborg said.
“If he isn’t dead. He was one of the first people to build a chalet on this hill. I know he was in an old people’s home. Robert Sigurdsson. You’ll find him, if he’s still alive.”
Since there was no bell at the entrance, Erlendur banged on the thick oak door with the palm of his hand in the hope of being heard inside. The house was once owned by Benjamin Knudsen, a businessman from Reykjavik, who died in the early 1960s. His brother and sister inherited it, moved in when he died and lived there for the rest of their lives. They were both unmarried, as far as Erlendur knew, but the sister had a daughter. She was a doctor, and now lived on the middle floor and rented out the flats above and below. Erlendur had spoken to her on the telephone. They were to meet at midday.
Eva Lind’s condition was unchanged. He had dropped in to see her before going to work and sat by her bedside for a good while, looking at the instruments monitoring her vital signs, the tubes in her mouth and nose and veins. She could not breathe unaided and the pump gave out a suction noise as it rose and fell. The cardiac monitor line was steady. On his way out of intensive care he talked to a doctor who said that no change had been noted in her condition. Erlendur asked whether there was anything he could do and the doctor replied that even though his daughter was in a coma, he should talk to her as often as he could. Let her hear his voice. It often did the family as much good to talk to the patient under such circumstances. Helped them to deal with the shock. Eva Lind was certainly not lost to him and he ought to treat her as such.
The heavy oak door finally opened and a woman aged around 60 held out her hand and introduced herself as Elsa. She was slender with a friendly face, wearing a little make-up, her hair dyed dark, cut short and parted on one side; she was dressed in jeans and a white shirt, no rings or bracelets or necklaces. She showed him in to the sitting room and offered him a seat. She was firm and self-confident.
“And what do you think these bones are?” she asked once he had told her his business.
“We don’t know yet, but one theory is that they are connected with the chalet which used to stand next to them, and which was owned by your uncle Benjamin. Did he spend a lot of time up there?”
“I don’t think he ever went to the chalet,” she said in a quiet voice. “It was a tragedy. Mother always told us how handsome and intelligent he was and how he earned a fortune, but then he lost his fiancee. One day she just disappeared. She was pregnant.”
Erlendur’s thoughts turned to his own daughter.
“He went into a depression, lost all interest in his shop and his properties and everything went to ruin, I think, until all he had left was this house here. He died in the prime of life, so to speak.”
“How did she disappear, his fiancee?”
“It was rumoured she threw herself into the sea,” Elsa said. “At least, that’s what I heard.”
“Was she a depressive?”
“No one ever mentioned that.”
“And she was never found?”
“No. She…”
Elsa stopped mid-sentence. Suddenly she seemed to follow his train of thought and she stared at him, disbelieving at first, then hurt and shocked and angry, all at once. She blushed.
“I don’t believe you.”
“What?” Erlendur said, watching her suddenly turn hostile.
“You think it’s her. Her skeleton!”
“I don’t think anything. This is the first time I’ve heard about this woman. We don’t have the faintest idea who’s in the ground up there. It’s far too early to say who it may or may not be.”
“So why are you so interested in her? What do you know that I don’t?”
“Nothing,” Erlendur said, confounded. “Didn’t it occur to you when I told you about the skeleton there? Your uncle had a chalet nearby. His fiancee went missing. We find a skeleton. It’s not a difficult equation.”
“Are you mad? Are you suggesting…”
“I’m not suggesting anything.”
“…that he killed her? That Uncle Benjamin murdered his fiancee and buried her without telling anyone all those years until he died, a broken man?”
Elsa had stood up and was pacing the floor.
“Hang on a minute, I haven’t said any such thing,” Erlendur said, wondering whether he could have been more diplomatic. “Nothing of the sort,” he said.
“Do you think it’s her? The skeleton you found? Is it her?”
“Definitely not,” Erlendur said, with no basis for doing so. He wanted to calm her down at any price. He had been tactless. Suggested something not based on any evidence, and regretted it. It was all too sudden for her.
“Do you know anything about the chalet?” he said in an effort to change the subject. “Whether anyone lived in it 50, 60 years ago? During the war or just afterwards? They can’t find the details in the system at the moment.”
“My God, what a thought!” Elsa groaned, her mind elsewhere. “Sorry. What were you saying?”
“He might have rented out the chalet,” Erlendur said quickly. “Your uncle. There was a great housing shortage in Reykjavik from the war onwards, rents soared and it occurred to me that he might have rented it out on the cheap. Or even sold it. Do you know anything about that?”
“Yes, I think there was some talk of him renting the place out, but I don’t know to whom, if that’s what you’re getting at. Excuse me for acting this way. It’s just so… What sort of bones are they? A whole skeleton, male, female, a child?”
Calmer. Back on track. She sat down again and looked him inquisitively in the eye.
“It looks like an intact skeleton, but we haven’t exposed all of it yet,” Erlendur said. “Did your uncle keep any records of his business or properties? Anything that hasn’t been thrown away?”
“The cellar is full of his stuff. All kinds of papers and boxes that I’ve never got round to throwing away and never been bothered to sort through. His desk and some cabinets are downstairs. I’ll soon have the time to go through it.”
She said this with an air of regret and Erlendur wondered if she might not be satisfied with her lot in life, living alone in a large house that was a legacy from times gone by. He looked around the room and had the feeling that somehow her entire life was a legacy.
“Do you think we…?”
“Be my guest. Look as much as you want,” she said with a vacant smile.
“I was wondering about one thing,” Erlendur said, standing up. “Do you know why Benjamin would have rented out the chalet? Was he short of money? He didn’t seem to have needed money that much. With this house here. His business. You said he lost it in the end, but during the war he must have earned a decent living and more besides.”
“No, I don’t think he needed the money.”
“So what was the reason?”
“I think someone asked him to. When people started moving to Reykjavik from the countryside during the war. I think he must have taken pity on someone.”
“Then he wouldn’t necessarily even have charged any rent?”
“I don’t know anything about that. I can’t believe that you think Benjamin…”
She stopped mid-sentence as if reluctant to articulate what she was thinking.
“I don’t think anything,” Erlendur tried to smile. “It’s far too early to start thinking anything.”
“I just don’t believe it.”