“No.”
“More than two hundred years ago. In 1795. Formalin is a unique fluid.”
Erlendur became thoughtful.
“What do you know about Audur?”
“Various things.”
“How did the sample come into your hands?”
“Via a third party. I don’t think I’d care to go into that.”
“From Jar City?”
“Yes.”
“Did they give you Jar City?”
“Part of it. There’s no need to talk to me as though I’m a criminal.”
“Did you ever establish the cause of death?”
The doctor looked at Erlendur and took another sip of his sherry.
“Actually, I did,” he said. “I’ve always been more inclined towards research than medical practice. With this obsession of mine for collecting things, I’ve been able to combine the two, although only on a small scale of course.”
“The coroner’s report from Keflavik only mentions a brain tumour, without any further explanation.”
“I saw that. The report is incomplete, it was never more than preliminary. As I say, I’ve looked into this more closely and I think I have the answer to some of your questions.”
Erlendur leaned forward in his chair. “And?”
“A genetic disease. It occurs in several families in Iceland. It was an extremely complex case and even after examining it in depth I wasn’t sure for a long time. Eventually I thought the tumour was most probably linked to a genetic disease, neurofibromatosis. I don’t expect you’ve heard of it before. In some cases there aren’t any symptoms. In some cases people can die without the illness ever surfacing. There are symptom-free carriers. It’s much more common for the symptoms to emerge at an early stage, though, mainly in the form of marks on the skin and of tumours.”
The doctor sipped his sherry again.
“The Keflavik people didn’t describe anything of that sort in their report, but I’m not sure they knew what they were looking for either.”
“They told the relatives about the skin.”
“Did they, really? Diagnosis isn’t always certain.”
“Is this disease passed on from father to daughter?”
“It can be. But genetic transmission isn’t confined to that. Both sexes can carry and contract the disease. It’s said that one strain of it came out in the Elephant Man. Did you see the film?”
“No,” Erlendur said.
“Certain people contract extreme bone growth which causes deformity, as in that particular case. In fact there are other people who claim that neurofibromatosis has nothing to do with the Elephant Man. But that’s a different story.”
“Why did you start looking for it?” Erlendur interrupted the doctor.
“Brain diseases are my specialist field,” he said. “This girl is one of my most interesting cases. I read all the reports about her. They weren’t very precise. The doctor who looked after her was a poor GP, he was drinking at the time, so I’m told. But be that as it may, he wrote about acute tubercular infection of the head in one place, which was the term that was sometimes used when the disease appeared. That was my starting point. The coroner’s report from Keflavik wasn’t very precise either, as we talked about before. They found the tumour and left it at that.”
The doctor stood up and went over to a large bookcase in the lounge. He took out a journal and handed it to Erlendur.
“I’m not sure you’ll understand all this, but I wrote a short scientific article about my research in a highly respected American medical journal.”
“Have you written a scientific article about Audur?” Erlendur asked.
“Audur has helped us on our way towards understanding the disease. She’s been very important both to me and to medical science. I hope I’m not disappointing you.”
“The girl’s father could be a genetic carrier,” Erlendur said, still trying to grasp what the doctor had told him. “And he passed the disease on to his daughter. If he’d had a son, wouldn’t he also have inherited the disease?”
“It wouldn’t necessarily have to come out in him,” the doctor said, “but he could be a genetic carrier, like his father.”
“So?”
“Yes. If he had a child, the child could also have the disease.”
Erlendur thought about what the doctor had said.
“But you really ought to talk to the scientists at the Genetic Research Centre,” the doctor said. “They’ve got the answers to the genetic questions.”
“What?”
“Talk to the Genetic Research Centre. That’s our new Jar City. They’ve got the answers. What’s wrong? Why are you so shocked? Do you know anyone there?”
“No,” Erlendur said, “but I soon will.”
“Do you want to see Audur?” the doctor asked.
At first Erlendur didn’t take the doctor’s hint.
“Do you mean… ?”
“I’ve got a small laboratory down here. You’re welcome to take a look.”
Erlendur hesitated.
“All right,” he said.
They stood up and Erlendur followed the doctor down the narrow stairs. The doctor switched on a light and a pristine laboratory appeared, with microscopes, computers, test tubes and equipment for purposes that Erlendur couldn’t even begin to imagine. He remembered a remark that he happened to read somewhere about collectors. Collectors make a world for themselves. They make a little world all around them, select certain icons from reality and turn them into the chief characters in that artificial world. Holberg was a collector too. His obsession with collecting things was connected with pornography. It was from that he made his private world, just as the doctor did from organs.
“She’s here,” the doctor said.
He went over to a large, old, wooden cabinet, the only article of furniture in the room and out of place in the sterilised environment, he opened it and took down a thick glass jar with a lid. He put it carefully on the table and Erlendur could see in the strong fluorescent light a little child’s brain floating in formalin.
When he left the doctor, Erlendur took with him a leather case containing Audur’s earthly remains. He thought about Jar City as he drove home through the empty streets, hoping that no part of him would ever be kept in a laboratory. It was still raining when he pulled up outside the block of flats where he lived. He switched off the engine, lit a cigarette and stared out into the night.
Erlendur looked at the black bag on the front seat. He was going to put Audur back where she belonged.
37
At around 11.00 that same night, the policemen on duty in front of Katrin’s house watched her husband leave, slam the door behind him, storm into his car and drive off. He seemed to be in a tearing rush and they noticed he was carrying the same suitcase as when he arrived home earlier that day. The policemen saw no further movement during the night and there was no sign of Katrin. A police patrol car was called to the neighbourhood and followed Albert to Hotel Esja where he checked in for the night.
Erlendur turned up outside Katrin’s house at eight o’clock the following morning. Elinborg was with him. It was still raining. The sun hadn’t come out for days. They rang the bell three times before they heard a rustling inside and the door opened. Katrin appeared in the doorway. Elinborg noticed she was wearing the same clothes as on the day before and she had clearly been crying. Her face was drawn and her eyes were red and swollen.
“Sorry,” Katrin said as if in a daze, “I must have fallen asleep in the chair. What’s the time?”
“May we come in?” Erlendur said.
“I never told Albert what happened,” she said and went inside, without inviting them in. Erlendur and Elinborg exchanged glances and followed her.