“I can’t remember how it was. We never registered. We were homeless. Others were always prepared to pay more than us, then I heard about Benjamin’s chalet and spoke to him. His tenants had just moved out and he took pity on me.”
“Do you know who the tenants were? The ones before you?”
“No, but I remember the place was spotless when we moved in.” Hoskuldur finished his cup of coffee, refilled it and took a sip. “Spick and span.”
“What do you mean, spick and span?”
“Well, I remember Elly specifically commenting on it. She liked that. Everything scrubbed and polished and not a speck of dust to be seen. It was just like moving into a hotel. Not that we were rough, mind you. But that place was exceptionally well kept. Clearly a housewife who knew her business, my Elly said.”
“So you never saw any signs of violence or the like?” Erlendur asked, having kept silent until now. “Bloodstains on the walls for example.”
Elinborg looked at him. Was he teasing the old man?
“Blood? On the walls? No, there was no blood.”
“Everything in order then?”
“Everything in order. Definitely.”
“Were there any bushes by the house when you were there?”
“There were a couple of redcurrant bushes, yes. I remember them clearly because they were laden with fruit that autumn and we made jam from the berries.”
“You didn’t plant them? Or your wife, Elly?”
“No, we didn’t plant them. They were there when we moved in.”
“You can’t imagine who the bones belonged to that we found buried up there?” Erlendur asked.
“Is that really why you’re here? To find out if I killed anyone?”
“We think a human body was buried there some time during the war or thereabouts,” Erlendur said. “But you’re not suspected of murder. Far from it. Did you ever talk to Benjamin about the people who lived in the chalet before you?”
“As it happens, I did,” Hoskuldur said. “Once when I was paying the rent and praised the immaculate condition the previous tenants had left the house in. But he didn’t seem interested. A mysterious man. Lost his wife. Threw herself in the sea, I heard.”
“Fiancee. They weren’t married. Do you remember British troops camped on the hill? Or Americans rather, that late in the war?”
“It was crawling with British after the occupation in 1940. They set up barracks on the other side of the hill and had a cannon to defend Reykjavik against an attack. I always thought it was a joke, but Elly told me not to make fun of it. Then the British left and the Americans took over. They were camped on the hill when I moved there. The British had left years before.”
“Did you get to know them?”
“Hardly at all. They kept themselves to themselves. They didn’t smell as bad as the British, my Elly said. Much cleaner and smarter. Elegant. So much more elegant than them. Like in the films. Clark Gable. Or Cary Grant.”
Cary Grant was British, Erlendur thought, but didn’t bother to correct a know-it-all. He noticed that Elinborg ignored it as well.
“Built better barracks too,” Hoskuldur went on undaunted. “Much better barracks than the British. The Americans concreted the floors, didn’t use rotten planks like the British did. Much better places to live. Everything the Americans touched. All much better and smarter.”
“Do you know who took over the chalet when you and Elly moved out?” Erlendur asked.
“Yes, we showed them around the place. He worked on the farm at Gufunes, had a wife and two kids and a dog. Lovely people, but I can’t for the life of me remember their names.”
“Do you know anything about the people who lived there before you, who left it in such good condition?”
“Only what Benjamin told me when I started talking about how nicely his house had been kept and telling him that Elly and I set our standards just as high.”
Erlendur pricked up his ears and Elinborg sat up in her seat. Hoskuldur said nothing.
“Yes?” Erlendur said.
“What he said? It was about the wife.” Hoskuldur paused again and sipped his coffee. Erlendur waited impatiently for him to finish his story. His eagerness had not escaped Hoskuldur, who knew he had the detective begging now.
“It was very interesting, you can be sure of that,” Hoskuldur said. The police wouldn’t go away from him empty-handed. Not from Hoskuldur. He sipped his coffee yet again, taking his time about it.
My God, Elinborg thought. Won’t the old bore ever get round to it? She had had enough of old fogeys who either died on her or put on airs.
“He thought the husband battered her.”
“Battered her?” Erlendur repeated.
“What’s it called these days? Domestic violence?”
“He beat his wife?” Erlendur said.
“That’s what Benjamin said. One of that lot who beat their wives and their kids too. I never lifted a finger against my Elly.”
“Did he tell you their names?”
“No, or if he did, I forgot it long ago. But he told me another thing that I’ve often thought about since. He said that she, that man’s wife, was conceived in the old Gasworks on Raudararstigur. Down by Hlemmur. At least that was what they said. Just like they said Benjamin killed his wife. His fiancee, I mean.”
“Benjamin? The Gasworks? What are you talking about?” Erlendur had completely lost his thread. “Did people say Benjamin killed his fiancee?”
“Some thought so. At the time. He said so himself.”
“That he killed her?”
“That people thought he’d done something to her. He didn’t say that he killed her. He’d never have told me that. I didn’t know him in the slightest. But he was sure that people suspected him and I remember there was some talk of jealousy.”
“Gossip?”
“All gossip of course. We thrive on it. Thrive on saying nasty things about other people.”
“And wait a minute, what was that about the Gasworks?”
“That’s the best rumour of all. Haven’t you heard it? People thought the end of the world was nigh so they had an all-night orgy in the Gasworks. Several babies were born afterwards and this woman was one of them, or so Benjamin thought. They were called the doomsday kids.”
Erlendur looked at Elinborg, then back at Hoskuldur.
“Are you pulling my leg?”
Hoskuldur shook his head.
“It was because of the comet. People thought it would collide with Earth.”
“What comet?”
“Halley’s comet, of course!” the know-it-all almost shouted, outraged by Erlendur’s ignorance. “Halley’s comet! People thought the Earth would collide with it and be consumed in hellfire!”
15
Earlier that day Elinborg had located Benjamin’s fiancee’s sister, and when she and Erlendur left Hoskuldur she told him she wanted to talk to her. Erlendur nodded, saying that he was going to the National Library to try to find newspaper articles about Halley’s comet. Like most know-it-alls, as it turned out, Hoskuldur did not know much about what really happened. He went round in circles until Erlendur could not be bothered to listen any more and took his leave, rather curtly.
“What do you think about what Hoskuldur was saying?” Erlendur asked her when they got back to the car.
“That Gasworks business is preposterous,” Elinborg said. “It’ll be interesting to see what you can find out about it. But of course what he said about gossip is perfectly true. We take a special delight in telling nasty stories about other people. The rumour says nothing about whether Benjamin was actually a murderer, and you know that.”
“Yes, but what’s that idiom again? No smoke without fire?”
“Idioms,” Elinborg muttered. “I’ll ask his sister. Tell me another thing. How’s Eva Lind doing?”