“Our little love died three years ago,” Katrin said. “For no reason. Absolutely no reason.”
“Your little love?” Erlendur said.
“Our little sweetheart,” she said. “Einar’s daughter. She died. The poor, sweet child.”
39
A deep silence fell across the house.
Katrin was sitting with her head bowed. Elinborg looked first at her and then at Erlendur, thunder-struck. Erlendur stared into space and thought about Eva Lind. What was she doing now? Was she at his flat? He felt the urge to talk to his daughter. Felt the urge to hug her, snuggle up to her and not let go until he’d told her how much she meant to him.
“I can’t believe it,” Elinborg said.
“Your son’s a genetic carrier, isn’t he?” Erlendur said.
“That was the phrase he used,” Katrin said. “A genetic carrier. They both are. He and Holberg. He said he inherited it from the man who raped me.”
“But neither of them got ill,” Erlendur said.
“It seems to be the females who become ill,” Katrin said. “The males carry the disease, but don’t necessarily show any symptoms. But it comes in all kinds of forms, I can’t explain it. My son under-stands it. He tried to explain it to me, but I didn’t really know what he was talking about. He was heartbroken. And so was I of course.”
“And he found all this out from that database they’re making,” Erlendur said.
Katrin nodded.
“He couldn’t understand why his little girl got the disease so he started looking for it in my family and Albert’s. He talked to relatives and just wouldn’t give up. We thought it was his way of dealing with the shock. All that endless searching for the cause. Searching for answers where we didn’t think there were any answers to be found. They split up some time ago, Lara and him. They couldn’t live together any longer and decided on a temporary separation, but I can’t see things ever improving.”
Katrin stopped talking.
“And then he found the answer,” Erlendur said.
“He became convinced that Albert wasn’t his father. He said it couldn’t be right according to the information he had from the database. That’s why he came to me. He thought I’d been unfaithful and that was where he came from. Or that he was adopted.”
“Did he find Holberg in the database?”
“I don’t think so. Not until later. After I told him about Holberg. It was so absurd. So ridiculous! My son had made a list of his possible fathers and Holberg was on it. He could trace the disease back through certain families using the genetics and genealogy databases and he found out he couldn’t be his father’s son. He was a deviation. A different strain.”
“How old was his daughter?”
“She was seven.”
“It was a brain tumour that caused her death, wasn’t it?” Erlendur said.
“Yes.”
“She died of the same disease as Audur. Neurofibromatosis.”
“Yes. Audur’s mother must have felt terrible; first Holberg, and then her daughter dying.”
Erlendur hesitated for a moment.
“Kolbrun, her mother, committed suicide three years after Audur died.”
“My God,” Katrin sighed.
“Where’s your son now?” Erlendur asked.
“I don’t know,” Katrin replied. “I’m worried sick he’ll do something terrible to himself. He feels so depressed, the boy. So terrible.”
“Do you think he’s been in contact with Holberg?”
“I don’t know. I just know he’s no murderer. That I know for certain.”
“Did you think he looked like his father?” Erlendur asked and looked at the confirmation photographs.
Katrin didn’t answer.
“Could you see a resemblance between them?” Erlendur asked.
“Come on, Erlendur,” Elinborg snapped, unable to take any more of this. “Don’t you think you’ve gone far enough, seriously?”
“Sorry,” Erlendur said to Katrin. “I’m just being nosy. You’ve been extremely helpful to us and if it’s any consolation I doubt that we’ll ever find a more steadfast or stronger character than you, being able to suffer in silence for all those years.”
“It’s all right,” Katrin said to Elinborg. “Children can take after anyone in the family. I could never see Holberg in my boy. He said it wasn’t my fault. Einar told me that. I wasn’t to blame for the way his daughter died.”
Katrin paused.
“What will happen to Einar?” she asked. She wasn’t putting up any resistance now. No lies. Only resignation.
“We have to find him,” Erlendur said, “talk to him and hear what he has to say.”
He and Elinborg stood up. Erlendur put on his hat. Katrin remained on the sofa.
“If you want I can talk to Albert,” Erlendur said. “He stayed at Hotel Esja last night. We’ve been watching your house since yesterday in case your son happend to turn up. I can explain to Albert what’s going on. He’ll come to his senses.”
“Thank you,” Katrin said. “I’ll phone him. I know he’ll come back. We need to stand together for the sake of our boy.”
She stared Erlendur in the eye.
“He is our boy,” she said. “He always will be our boy.”
40
Erlendur didn’t expect Einar to be at home. They went to his flat on Storagerdi straight from Katrin’s house. It was noon and the traffic was heavy. On the way, Erlendur phoned Sigurdur Oli to describe the developments. They needed to ask the public about Einar’s whereabouts. Find a photograph of him to put in the papers and on television along with a short announcement. They arranged to meet on Storagerdi. When Erlendur arrived there he got out of the car and Elinborg drove off. Erlendur waited a while for Sigurdur Oli. The flat was in the basement of a three-storey house with the front door at street level. They rang the bell and hammered on the door but there was no answer. They tried the floors above and it turned out that Einar rented from the owner of one of the other flats, who had come home for lunch but was willing to go down with them and open his tenant’s flat. He said he hadn’t seen Einar for several days, possibly even a week; said he was a quiet man, had no complaints about him. He always paid the rent promptly. Couldn’t imagine what the police wanted him for in the first place. In order to avoid speculation, Sigurdur Oli said his family hadn’t heard from him and they were trying to find out where he might be. The owner of the flat asked whether they had a warrant to search the house. They didn’t, but would get one later that day. They asked him to excuse them when he had opened the door and they went inside. All the curtains were closed so it was dark inside. It was a very small flat. A sitting room, bedroom, kitchen and bathroom. Carpets everywhere except in the bathroom and the kitchen, which had linoleum. A television in the sitting room. A sofa in front of the television. The air in the flat was muggy. Instead of opening the curtains Erlendur switched on the sitting-room light so that they could see better.
They stared at the walls in the flat and looked at each other. The walls were covered with words they knew so well from Holberg’s flat, written with ballpoint pen, felt-tip and spray paint. Three words that had once been indecipherable to Erlendur but now became clear.
There were newspapers and magazines spread all around, Icelandic and foreign ones, and scientific textbooks were stacked here and there on the floor of the sitting room and the bedroom. Large photo albums were included in the stacks. In the kitchen were wrappers from takeaway food.
“Paternity,” Sigurdur Oli said, putting on his rubber gloves. “Can we ever be sure about that in Iceland?”
Erlendur started thinking again about genetic research. The Genetic Research Centre had recently begun collecting medical data about all the Ice-landers, past and present, to process into a database containing health information about the whole nation. It was linked up to a genealogy database in which the family of every single Icelander was traced back to the Middle Ages; they called it establishing the Icelandic genetic pool. The main aim was to discover how hereditary illnesses were transmitted, study them genetically and find ways to cure them, and other diseases if possible. It was said that the homogenous nation and lack of miscegenation made Iceland a living laboratory for genetic research.