“No,” Simon said, relieved at not having to answer with a lie. He had never seen Dave and his mother kissing.
“What were they doing then? Holding hands? And what were you doing? Why did you let that man take your mother for walks down by the lake? Didn’t it ever occur to you that I might object? Didn’t that ever occur to you?”
“No,” Simon said.
“No one was thinking about me on those walks. Were they?”
“No,” Simon said.
Grimur leaned forward under the light and his burning red scar stood out even more.
“And what’s the name of this man who steals other people’s families and thinks that’s okay and no one does a thing about it?”
Simon did not answer him.
“The one who threw the coffee, Simon, the one who made my face like this, do you know his name?”
“No,” Simon said in a barely audible voice.
“He attacked me and burned me, but they never put him in the nick for that. What do you reckon to that? Like they’re holy, all those soldiers. Do you think they’re holy?”
“No,” Simon said.
“Has your mother got fatter this summer?” Grimur asked as if a new idea had suddenly entered his head. “Not because she’s a cow from the dairy, Simon, but because she’s been going for walks with soldiers from the barracks. Do you think she’s got fatter this summer?”
“No,” he said.
“I think it’s likely though. We’ll find out later. This man who threw the coffee over me. Do you know his name?”
“No,” Simon said.
“He had some strange idea, I don’t know where he got it from, that I wasn’t treating your mother properly. That I did nasty things to her. You know I’ve had to teach her to behave sometimes. He knew about it, but he didn’t understand why. Couldn’t understand that tarts like your mother need to know who’s in charge, who they’re married to and how they ought to behave. He couldn’t understand you have to push them around a bit sometimes. He was really angry when he was talking to me. I know a bit of English because I’ve had some good friends at the barracks and I understood most of what he was saying, and he was very angry with me about your mother.”
Simon’s eyes were transfixed on the scald.
“This man, Simon, his name’s Dave. I don’t want you to lie to me: the soldier who was so kind to your mother, has been ever since the spring and all summer and well into the autumn, could his name be Dave?”
Simon racked his brains, still staring at the burn.
“They’re going to sort him out,” Grimur said.
“Sort him out?” Simon didn’t know what Grimur meant, but it couldn’t be nice.
“Is the rat in the passage?” Grimur said, nodding towards the door.
“What?” Simon did not catch on to what he was talking about.
“The moron? Do you think it’s listening to us?”
“I don’t know about Mikkelina,” Simon said. That was some kind of truth.
“Is his name Dave, Simon?”
“It might be,” Simon said tentatively.
“It might be? You’re not sure. What does he call you, Simon? When he talks to you, or maybe he cuddles you and strokes you, what does he call you then?”
“He never strokes…”
“What’s his name?”
“Dave!” Simon said.
“Dave! Thank you, Simon.”
Grimur leaned back and moved out of the light. He lowered his voice.
“You see, I heard he was fucking your mum.”
At that moment the door opened and the children’s mother came in with Tomas following behind her, and the cold gust of wind that accompanied them sent a chill running down Simon’s sweating back.
22
Erlendur was at the hill 15 minutes after talking to Skarphedinn.
He did not have his mobile with him. Otherwise he would have called Skarphedinn and told him to keep the woman waiting until he arrived. He felt sure it had to be the lady that Robert had seen by the redcurrant bushes, the crooked lady in green.
The traffic on Miklabraut was light and he drove up the slope on Artunsbrekka as fast as his car could manage, then along the road out of Reykjavik where he took a right turn for Grafarholt. Skarphedinn was about to drive away from the excavation site, but stopped. Erlendur got out of his car and the archaeologist wound down his window.
“What, so you’re here? Why did you slam the phone down on me? Is something wrong? What are you looking at me like that for?”
“Is the woman still here?” Erlendur asked.
“What woman?”
Erlendur looked in the direction of the bushes and thought he saw a movement.
“Is that her?” he asked, squinting. He could not see well from that distance. “The lady in green. Is she still there?”
“Yes, she’s over there,” Skarphedinn said. “What’s going on?”
“I’ll tell you later,” Erlendur said, walking off.
The redcurrant bushes came into focus as he approached them and the green figure took shape. As if expecting the woman to disappear at any moment, he quickened his pace. She was standing by the leafless bushes, holding one branch and looking over towards Mount Esja, apparently deep in thought.
“Good evening,” Erlendur said when he was within earshot of her.
The woman turned round.
“Good evening,” she said.
“Nice weather tonight,” Erlendur said for the sake of saying something.
“Spring was always the best time up here on the hill,” the lady said.
She had to make an effort to speak. Her head dangled, and Erlendur could tell that she had to concentrate hard on every word. They did not come of their own accord. One of her arms was hidden inside her sleeve. He could see that she had a club foot protruding from her long, green coat, and her shoulder-length hair was thick and grey. Her face was friendly but sorrowful. Erlendur noticed that her head moved gently on reflex, with regular spasms. It never seemed to stay completely still.
“Are you from these parts?” Erlendur asked.
“And now the city’s spread all the way out here,” she said without answering him. “You never would have expected that.”
“Yes, this city crawls everywhere,” Erlendur said.
“Are you investigating those bones?” she suddenly said.
“I am,” Erlendur said.
“I saw you on the news. I come up here sometimes, especially in spring. Like now, in the evenings when everything’s quiet and we still have this lovely spring light.”
“It’s beautiful up here,” Erlendur said. “Are you from here, or somewhere nearby maybe?”
“Actually, I was on my way to see you,” the lady said, still not answering him. “I was going to contact you tomorrow. But it’s good that you found me. It’s about time.”
“About time?”
“That the story came out.”
“What story?”
“We used to live here, by these bushes. The chalet’s long gone now. I don’t know what happened to it. It just gradually fell apart. My mother planted the redcurrant bushes and made jam in the autumn, but she didn’t want them only for jam. She wanted a hedge for shelter where she could grow vegetables and nice flowers facing south at the sun, wanted to use the chalet to block off the north wind. He wouldn’t let her. It was the same as with everything else.”
She looked at Erlendur, her head jerking as she spoke.
“They used to carry me out here when the sun shone,” she smiled. “My brothers. There was nothing I loved more than to sit outside in the sunshine, and I used to squeal with joy when I came out into the garden. And we played games. They were always inventing new games to play with me, because I couldn’t move much. Due to my disability, which was much worse in those days. They tried to include me in everything they did. That they got from their mother. Both the brothers, at first.”
“What did they get from her?”
“Kindness.”
“An old man told us about a lady in green who sometimes comes here to tend the bushes. His description fits you. We thought it might be someone from the chalet that was here once.”