you,' the head of reception said as Erlendur approached the check-in desk.
Erlendur walked behind the desk. The haddock's eyes stared at him from beneath the hat.
'Are you Erlendur?' the man in the wheelchair asked in an old and slurred voice.
'Do you want to talk to me?' Erlendur asked. The eagle's beak pointed up in the air.
'Are you in charge of the investigation into the death of Gudlaugur Egilsson at this hotel?' the woman asked.
Erlendur said he was.
'I'm his sister,' she said. 'And this is our father. Can we talk somewhere quiet?'
'Do you want me to help you with him?' Erlendur offered. She looked insulted and pushed the wheelchair along. They followed Erlendur into the bar and over to the table where he had been sitting with Wapshott. They were the only people inside. Even the waiter had disappeared. Erlendur did not know whether the bar was open before noon as a rule. Since the door was unlocked he assumed that it must be, but few people seemed to know about it.
The woman steered the wheelchair up to the table and locked the wheels. Then she sat down facing Erlendur.
'I was just on my way to see you,' Erlendur lied; he had intended to let Sigurdur Óli and Elínborg talk to Gudlaugur's family. He could not remember whether he had actually asked them to do so.
'We'd prefer not to have the police inside our house,' the woman said. "That has never happened. A lady phoned us, presumably your colleague, I think she said her name was Elínborg. I asked who was in charge of the investigation and she told me you were one of them. I was hoping we could get this over with and that you would then leave us in peace.'
There was no hint of sorrow in their demeanour. No mourning for a loved one. Only cold nastiness. They felt they had certain duties to dispatch, felt obliged to give a report to the police, but clearly had a repulsion against doing so and did not mind showing it. It didn't seem as if the corpse found in the hotel basement was any concern of theirs in the slightest. As if they were above that.
'You know the circumstances in which Gudlaugur was found,' Erlendur said.
'We know he was killed,' the old man said. 'We know he was stabbed.'
'Do you know who could have done it?'
'We don't have the faintest idea,' the woman said. 'We had no contact with him. We don't know who he associated with. Don't know his friends, nor his enemies if he had any'
'When was the last time you saw him?'
Elínborg walked into the bar. She approached them and sat down beside Erlendur. He introduced her to them but they showed no reaction, both equally determined to allow none of this to ruffle them.
'I suppose he must have been about twenty then,' the woman said. 'The last time we saw him.'
'Twenty?' Erlendur thought he must have misheard.
'As I said, there was no contact.'
'Why not?' Elínborg asked.
The woman did not even look at her.
'Isn't it enough for us to talk to you?' she asked Erlendur. 'Does this woman have to be here too?'
Erlendur looked at Elínborg. He seemed to cheer up slightly.
'You don't seem to be mourning his fate very much,' he said without answering her. 'Gudlaugur. Your brother' he said, and looked at the woman again. 'Your son,' he said, and looked at the old man. 'Why? Why haven't you seen him for thirty years? And as I told you, her name is Elínborg,' he added. 'If you have any more comments to make we'll take you down to the police station and continue there, and you can lodge a formal complaint. We've got a police car outside.'
The eagle's beak rose, offended. The haddock's eyes narrowed.
'He lived his own life,' she said. 'We lived ours. There's not much more to say about it. There was no contact. That's the way it was. We were happy with that. So was he.'
'Are you telling me that you last saw him in the mid-seventies?' Erlendur said.
'There was no contact,' she repeated.
'Not once in all that time? Not one phone call? Nothing?'
'No,' she said.
'Why not?'
'That's a family matter,' the old man said. 'Nothing to do
Erlendur walked behind the desk. The haddock's eyes stared at him from beneath the hat.
'Are you Erlendur?' the man in the wheelchair asked in an old and slurred voice.
'Do you want to talk to me?' Erlendur asked. The eagle's beak pointed up in the air.
'Are you in charge of the investigation into the death of Gudlaugur Egilsson at this hotel?' the woman asked.
Erlendur said he was.
'I'm his sister,' she said. 'And this is our father. Can we talk somewhere quiet?'
'Do you want me to help you with him?' Erlendur offered. She looked insulted and pushed the wheelchair along. They followed Erlendur into the bar and over to the table where he had been sitting with Wapshott. They were the only people inside. Even the waiter had disappeared. Erlendur did not know whether the bar was open before noon as a rule. Since the door was unlocked he assumed that it must be, but few people seemed to know about it.
The woman steered the wheelchair up to the table and locked the wheels. Then she sat down facing Erlendur.
'I was just on my way to see you,' Erlendur lied; he had intended to let Sigurdur Óli and Elínborg talk to Gudlaugur's family. He could not remember whether he had actually asked them to do so.
'We'd prefer not to have the police inside our house,' the woman said. "That has never happened. A lady phoned us, presumably your colleague, I think she said her name was Elínborg. I asked who was in charge of the investigation and she told me you were one of them. I was hoping we could get this over with and that you would then leave us in peace.'
There was no hint of sorrow in their demeanour. No mourning for a loved one. Only cold nastiness. They felt they had certain duties to dispatch, felt obliged to give a report to the police, but clearly had a repulsion against doing so and did not mind showing it. It didn't seem as if the corpse found in the hotel basement was any concern of theirs in the slightest. As if they were above that.
'You know the circumstances in which Gudlaugur was found,' Erlendur said.
'We know he was killed,' the old man said. 'We know he was stabbed.'
'Do you know who could have done it?'
'We don't have the faintest idea,' the woman said. 'We had no contact with him. We don't know who he associated with. Don't know his friends, nor his enemies if he had any'
'When was the last time you saw him?'
Elínborg walked into the bar. She approached them and sat down beside Erlendur. He introduced her to them but they showed no reaction, both equally determined to allow none of this to ruffle them.
'I suppose he must have been about twenty then,' the woman said. 'The last time we saw him.'
'Twenty?' Erlendur thought he must have misheard.
'As I said, there was no contact.'
'Why not?' Elínborg asked.
The woman did not even look at her.
'Isn't it enough for us to talk to you?' she asked Erlendur. 'Does this woman have to be here too?'
Erlendur looked at Elínborg. He seemed to cheer up slightly.
'You don't seem to be mourning his fate very much,' he said without answering her. 'Gudlaugur. Your brother' he said, and looked at the woman again. 'Your son,' he said, and looked at the old man. 'Why? Why haven't you seen him for thirty years? And as I told you, her name is Elínborg,' he added. 'If you have any more comments to make we'll take you down to the police station and continue there, and you can lodge a formal complaint. We've got a police car outside.'
The eagle's beak rose, offended. The haddock's eyes narrowed.
'He lived his own life,' she said. 'We lived ours. There's not much more to say about it. There was no contact. That's the way it was. We were happy with that. So was he.'
'Are you telling me that you last saw him in the mid-seventies?' Erlendur said.
'There was no contact,' she repeated.
'Not once in all that time? Not one phone call? Nothing?'
'No,' she said.
'Why not?'
'That's a family matter,' the old man said. 'Nothing to do
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