His name was Ellidi and he was a 56-year-old repeat offender. Erlendur knew him, he had in fact accompanied him to Litla-Hraun once himself. Ellidi had done various jobs during his miserable life: been at sea on fishing vessels and merchant ships, where he smuggled alcohol and drugs and was eventually convicted for it. He attempted an insurance fraud by setting fire to a 20-tonne boat off the south-west coast and sinking it. Three of them “survived". The fourth member of the group was left behind by mistake, locked in the engine room, and sank with the boat; the crime was discovered when divers went down to the wreck and it transpired that the fire had started in three places at once. Ellidi did four years at Litla-Hraun for insurance fraud, manslaughter and a number of minor offences of which he was convicted at the same time and that had been accumulating at the State Prosecutor’s office. He spent two and a half years inside on that occasion.
Ellidi was notorious for violent physical assaults which in the worst cases left the victims maimed and permanently disabled. Erlendur remembered one case in particular and described it to Sigurdur Oli while they were driving over the moor. Ellidi had a score to settle with a young man in a house on Snorrabraut. By the time the police arrived on the scene he’d beaten the man so badly he was in intensive care for four days. Having tied the man to a chair he had amused himself by cutting his face with a broken bottle. Before they managed to overpower Ellidi he knocked one policeman out cold and broke another’s arm. Icelandic judges were notoriously lenient. He received a two-year sentence for that offence and several accumulated minor ones as before. When the verdict was read out, he scoffed at it.
The door opened and Ellidi was brought into the hall by two wardens. He was powerfully built despite his age. Dark skinned, his head shaven bald. He had small ears with attached lobes but had nevertheless managed to pierce a hole in one from which a black swastika now dangled. His false teeth whistled when he spoke. He wore tattered jeans and a black T-shirt that revealed his thick biceps with tattoos up both arms. He towered well over six feet. They noticed he was handcuffed. One of his eyes was red, his face scratched and his upper lip swollen.
A psychopathic sadist, Erlendur said to himself.
The warders took up positions by the door and Ellidi went over to the table where he sat facing Erlendur and Sigurdur Oli. He sized them up with his grey, dull eyes, totally uninterested.
“Did you know a man called Holberg?” Erlendur asked.
Ellidi showed no response. Pretended he hadn’t heard the question. He looked at Erlendur and Sigurdur Oli in turn with the same dull eyes. The warders spoke together in quiet voices by the door. Shouting could be heard from somewhere in the building. A door being slammed. Erlendur repeated his question, his words echoing around the empty hall. “Holberg! Do you remember him?”
Still he got no response from Ellidi, who looked aimlessly around the room, as though they weren’t there. Some time elapsed in silence. Erlendur and Sigurdur Oli looked at one another and Erlendur asked the question a third time. Had he known Holberg, what was their relationship? Holberg was dead. Found murdered.
Ellidi’s interest was aroused on hearing the last word. He put his stout arms on the table, rattling the handcuffs, unable to conceal his surprise. He looked inquisitively at Erlendur.
“Holberg was murdered at his home last week end,” Erlendur said. “We’re talking to the people who knew him at various times and it seems the two of you were acquainted.”
Ellidi had begun staring at Sigurdur Oli, who stared back. He didn’t answer Erlendur.
“It’s a routine…”
“I won’t talk to you with these handcuffs on,” Ellidi said suddenly, not taking his eyes off Sigurdur Oli. His voice was hoarse, rough and provocative. Erlendur thought for a moment, then stood up and went over to the two warders. He explained Ellidi’s demand and asked whether his handcuffs could be removed. They hesitated, but then went over to him, undid the handcuffs and took up their posts at the door again.
“What can you tell us about Holberg?” Erlendur asked.
“They leave first,” Ellidi said, nodding at the warders.
“Out of the question,” Erlendur said.
“Are you a fucking poofter?” Ellidi asked, his gaze still fixed on Sigurdur Oli.
“Don’t give us any of that crap,” Erlendur said. Sigurdur Oli didn’t answer him. They looked each other in the eye.
“Nothing’s out of the question,” Ellidi said. “Don’t you go telling me anything’s out of the question.”
“They’re not leaving,” Erlendur said.
“Are you a poofter?” Ellidi said again, still staring at Sigurdur Oli, who showed no reaction.
They remained silent for a while. Eventually Erlendur stood up, went over to the two warders, repeated what Ellidi had said and asked if there was any chance of being left alone with him. The warders said that was impossible, they had orders not to leave the prisoner unattended. After some wrangling they let Erlendur talk to the governor over a two-way radio. Erlendur said it didn’t make much difference which side of the door the warders stood, he and Sigurdur Oli had come all the way from Reykjavik and the prisoner was showing a degree of willingness to cooperate if certain conditions could be met. The governor talked to his men and said he’d take personal responsibility for the safety of the two detectives. The warders stepped outside and Erlendur went back to the table and sat down.
“Will you talk to us now?” he asked.
“I didn’t know Holberg had been murdered,” Ellidi said. “Those fascists put me in solitary for some shit I didn’t do. How was he killed?” Ellidi was still glaring at Sigurdur Oli.
“None of your business,” Erlendur said.
“My dad said I was the most curious bastard on earth. He was always saying that. None of your business. None of your business! He’s dead. Was he stabbed? Was Holberg stabbed?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“None of my business!” Ellidi repeated and looked at Erlandur. “Fuck off then.”
Erlendur thought for a moment. No-one outside the CID knew the details of the case. He was getting fed up with having to concede everything to this character.
“He was hit over the head. His skull was smashed. He died almost instantly.”
“Was it a hammer?”
“An ashtray.”
Ellidi slowly turned his gaze from Erlendur back to Sigurdur Oli.
“What kind of a wanker uses an ashtray?” he said. Erlendur noticed tiny beads of sweat forming on Sigurdur Oli’s brow.
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Erlendur said. “Have you been in touch with Holberg?”
“Did he suffer?”
“No.”
“The jerk.”
“Do you remember Gretar?” Erlendur asked. “He was with you and Holberg in Keflavik.”
“Grear?”
“Do you remember him?”
“What are you asking about him for?” Ellidi said. “What about him?”
“I understand Gretar went missing many years ago,” Erlendur said. “Do you know anything about his disappearance?”
“What should I know about it?” Ellidi said. “What makes you think I know anything about it?”
“What were the three of you — you, Gretar and Holberg — doing in Keflavik…”