Denni shrugged.
“I don’t know. He was quite mysterious sometimes. Said lots of things I couldn’t suss out.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, something about music. Sometimes. When he drank. Most of the time he was just normal.”
“Did he drink a lot?”
“No, not at all. Sometimes at weekends. He never missed a day’s work. Never. He was proud of that although it’s not such a remarkable job. Being a doorman and stuff
“What did he say to you about music?”
“He liked beautiful music. I don’t remember exactly what he said.”
“Why do you think he said he didn’t need to earn himself a living any more?”
“He seemed to have money. And he never paid for anything so he could save up for ever. I guess that’s what he meant. That he’d saved enough.”
Erlendur remembered asking Sigurdur Oli to check Gudlaugur’s bank accounts and resolved to remind him. He left Denni in the kitchen in a state of confusion, wondering about chewing tobacco and condoms and girlfriends. As he walked past the lobby he caught sight of a young woman arguing noisily with the head of reception. He seemed to want her out of the hotel, but she refused to leave. It crossed Erlendur’s mind that the woman who wanted to invoice this man for his night of fun had shown up, and he was about to go away when the young woman noticed him and stared.
“Are you the cop?” she called out.
“Get out of here!” the head of reception said in an unusually harsh tone.
“You look exactly like Eva Lind described you,” she said, sizing up Erlendur. “I’m Stina. She told me to talk to you.”
They sat down in the bar. Erlendur bought them coffee. He tried to ignore her breasts but had his work cut out doing so. Never in his life had he seen such a huge bosom on such a slim and delicate body. She was wearing an ankle-length beige coat with a fur collar, and she draped it over the chair at their table to reveal a skintight red top that hardly covered her stomach and black flared trousers that barely stretched above the crease between her buttocks. She was heavily painted, wore thick, dark lipstick and smiled to reveal a beautiful set of teeth.
“Three hundred thousand,” she said, carefully rubbing under her right breast as if it itched. “Were you wondering about the tits?”
“Are you all right?”
“It’s the stitches” She winced “I mustn’t scratch them too much. Have to be careful.”
“What-?”
“New silicon,” Stina interrupted him. “I had a boob job the other day.”
Erlendur took care not to stare at her new breasts.
“How do you know Eva Lind?” he asked.
“She said you’d ask that and told me to tell you that you don’t want to know. She’s right. Trust me. And she also told me you’d help me with a Utile business and then I could help you, know what I mean?”
“No,” Erlendur said. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Eva said you would.”
“Eva was lying. What are you talking about? A little business, what does that involve?”
Stina sighed.
“My friend was busted with some hash at Keflavik airport. Not much, but enough for them to put him away for maybe three years. They sentence them like murderers, those fuckers. A bit of hash. And a few tabs, right! He says he’ll get three years. Three! Paedophiles get three months, suspended. Fucking wankers!”
Erlendur didn’t see how he could help her. She was like a child, unaware of how big and complicated and difficult it is to deal with the world.
“Was he caught at the terminal?”
“Yeah.”
“I can’t do anything,” Erlendur said. “And I don’t feel inclined to. You don’t keep particularly good company. Dope smuggling and prostitution. What about a straightforward office job?”
“Won’t you just try?” Stina said. “Talk to someone. He mustn’t get three years!”
“To get this perfectly straight,” Erlendur said with a nod, “you’re a prostitute?”
“Prostitute, prostitute,” Stina said, producing a cigarette from a little black handbag over her shoulder. “I dance at The Marquis. She leaned forwards and whispered con-spiratorially to Erlendur: “But there’s more money in the other business.”
“And you’ve had customers at this hotel?”
“A few,” Stina said.
“And you’ve been working at this hotel?”
“I’ve never worked here.”
“I mean do you pick up the customers here or bring them over from town?”
“Whatever I please. They used to let me be here until Fatso threw me out”
“Why?”
Stina started itching under her breasts again and gave the spot a cautious rub. She winced and forced a smile at Erlendur, but clearly didn’t feel particularly well.
“A girl I know went for a boob job that went wrong,” she said. “Her tits are like empty bin liners”
“Do you really need all that breast?” Erlendur couldn’t refrain from asking.
“Don’t you like them?” she said, thrusting them forward but grimacing as she did. “These stitches are killing me,” she groaned.
“Well, they are … big,” Erlendur admitted.
“And straight off the shelf? Stina boasted.
Erlendur saw the hotel manager enter the bar with the head of reception and stride over to them in all his majesty. Looking around to make sure no one else was in the bar, he hissed at Stina when he was still a few metres away from her.
“Out! Get out, girl! This minute! Out of here!”
Stina looked over her shoulder at the hotel manager, then back at Erlendur and rolled her eyes.
“Christ,” she said.
“We don’t want whores like you at this hotel!” the manager shouted.
He grabbed her as if to throw her out
“Leave me alone,” Stina said. “I’m talking to this man here.”
“Watch her tits!” Erlendur shouted, not knowing what else to say. The hotel manager looked at him, dumbfounded. “They’re new,” Erlendur added by way of explanation.
He stood up, blocked the hotel manager’s path and tried to push him away, but with little success. Stina did her utmost to protect her breasts, while the head of reception stood at a distance, watching the goings-on. Eventually he came to Erlendur’s aid and they managed to shuffle the furious hotel manager out of reach of Stina.
“Everything … she … says about … me is … fucking lies!” he wheezed. The effort was almost too much for him; his face poured with sweat and he was panting for breath after the struggle.
“She hasn’t said anything about you,” Erlendur said to calm him down.
“I want … her … to … get out … of here.” The hotel manager slumped down in a chair, took out his handkerchief and started mopping his face.
“Cool it, Fatso,” Stina said. “He’s a meat merchant, you know that?”
“A meat merchant?” Erlendur didn’t immediately grasp the meaning.
“He takes a slice from all of us who work at this hotel,” Stina said.
“A slice?” Erlendur said.
“A slice. His commission! He takes a cut from us.”
“It’s a lie!” the hotel manager shouted. “Get out, you fucking whore!”
“He wanted more than half a share for himself and the head waiter,” Stina said as she carefully rearranged her breasts, “and when I refused he told me to fuck off and never come back.”
“She’s lying,” the hotel manager said, slightly calmer. “I’ve always thrown those girls out, and her too. We don’t want whores at this hotel.”
“The head waiter?” Erlendur said, visualising the thin moustache. Rosant, he thought the name was.
“Always thrown them out,” Stina snorted as she turned to Erlendur. “He’s the one who phones us. If he knows one of the guests is up for it or has money he phones to let us know and plants us in the bar. Says it makes the hotel more popular. They’re conference guests and the like. Foreigners. Lonely old men. If there’s a big conference on, he phones”