Reykjavik Nights by Arnaldur Indridason

they could talk in private. The three women looked up from their game.
    â€˜What do you want?’ asked Thurí.
    â€˜It’s about an acquaintance of mine, who I believe you knew.’
    â€˜Bit young for you, isn’t he, Thurí?’ said the woman with the sunken jaw.
    At this the three Ludo players perked up and started to laugh. The eldest, evidently out of practice, broke into a fit of coughing, accompanied by much wheezing and gasping. The toothless woman bared her gums. Ignoring them, Thurí beckoned Erlendur to follow her.
    â€˜Oi, leave some for us!’ called the eldest, and they all howled with laughter again.
    Erlendur and Thurí went outside and stood in front of the house. Thurí produced a small tin of roll-ups, lit one and sucked in the smoke.
    â€˜Stupid bitches,’ she said, in a hoarse, inarticulate voice. ‘They’re only jealous because I’ve been dry for four months and they know I have the guts to drag myself out of this shitty life.’
    She was short, dark and scrawny, and wore a threadbare jumper and jeans. Brown blotches disfigured her wizened, hollow face. Erlendur thought she couldn’t be much under fifty. She was jittery; her beady eyes constantly searching, never still.
    â€˜I wanted to ask you about a man called Hannibal,’ Erlendur began. ‘I gather you used to know him.’
    Thurí regarded him in astonishment. ‘Hannibal?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜What about him?’
    â€˜Did you know him well?’
    â€˜Well enough,’ she said guardedly. ‘Why are you asking about him? You know he’s dead?’
    â€˜Yes, I do. And I’m aware of the circumstances. But it occurred to me you might be able to fill me in a bit more.’
    â€˜About how he died, you mean? He drowned.’
    â€˜Were you surprised when you heard? Did it strike you as unexpected?’
    â€˜No, not particularly,’ she said, thinking back. ‘Every year a few of the homeless guys cop it. When I heard I just thought to myself that Hannibal’s number was up. But then … I was in a mess back then, so everything’s a bit of a blur.’
    â€˜Did you know he was sleeping up by the pipeline?’
    â€˜Yes. Went to see him there once. Not long before they found him in the pool. Wanted to talk him out of sleeping rough; make him come home with me. I had OK digs at the time. He didn’t take it too badly. Was getting fed up with life in the pipeline. Feeling the cold at night, though he wouldn’t admit it.’
    â€˜But nothing came of it?’
    â€˜No, he wanted to think it over. He could be such an awkward bugger. Couldn’t hack it when I … couldn’t hack some of the things I did. Then right after that I heard he was dead.’
    â€˜What couldn’t he hack?’
    â€˜The things I did to get hold of booze and pills.’
    â€˜Things…?’
    â€˜Look, I sold myself, OK?’ Thurí blurted out angrily. ‘It happens. Go ahead and judge me, if you like. I don’t give a shit.’
    â€˜I’m not judging you,’ said Erlendur.
    â€˜That’s what you think.’
    â€˜Were you close?’
    â€˜Me and Hannibal used to knock about together. But then I cleaned up my act and turned my back on that world. You have to if you want a real shot at life. Only saw him on and off for a while. Then I lapsed. Ended up in the same old rut. We started seeing each other again. Went on like that for years. Always ending up in the same old rut.’
    â€˜Did you live together?’
    â€˜Yes. Shared a dump of a room on Skipholt – for a whole year, I think. That was the longest. We used to get up to all sorts. Hannibal was a bit of a loner but he could be good company. He…’
    She paused to inhale.
    â€˜He was a good man. Could be an awkward sod at times. Boring. Moody. But he had a good heart. Was always understanding. Treated me like an