'Did you get to know them?'
'Hardly at all. They kept themselves to themselves. They didn't smell as bad as the British, my Elly said. Much cleaner and smarter. Elegant. So much more elegant than them. Like in the films. Clark Gable. Or Cary Grant.'
Cary Grant was British, Erlendur thought, but didn't bother to correct a know-it-all. He noticed that Elinborg ignored it as well.
'Built better barracks too,' Hoskuldur went on undaunted. 'Much better barracks than the British. The Americans concreted the floors, didn't use rotten planks like the British did. Much better places to live. Everything the Americans touched. All much better and smarter.'
'Do you know who took over the chalet when you and Elly moved out?' Erlendur asked.
'Yes, we showed them around the place. He worked on the farm at Gufunes, had a wife and two kids and a dog. Lovely people, but I can't for the life of me remember their names.'
'Do you know anything about the people who lived there before you, who left it in such good condition?'
'Only what Benjamin told me when I started talking about how nicely his house had been kept and telling him that Elly and I set our standards just as high.'
Erlendur pricked up his ears and Elinborg sat up in her seat. Hoskuldur said nothing.
'Yes?' Erlendur said.
'What he said? It was about the wife.' Hoskuldur paused again and sipped his coffee. Erlendur waited impatiently for him to finish his story. His eagerness had not escaped Hoskuldur, who knew he had the detective begging now.
'It was very interesting, you can be sure of that,' Hoskuldur said. The police wouldn't go away from him empty-handed. Not from Hoskuldur. He sipped his coffee yet again, taking his time about it.
My God, Elinborg thought. Won't the old bore ever get round to it? She had had enough of old fogeys who either died on her or put on airs.
'He thought the husband battered her.'
'Battered her?' Erlendur repeated.
'What's it called these days? Domestic violence?'
'He beat his wife?' Erlendur said.
'That's what Benjamin said. One of that lot who beat their wives and their kids too. I never lifted a finger against my Elly.'
'Did he tell you their names?'
'No, or if he did, I forgot it long ago. But he told me another thing that I've often thought about since. He said that she, that man's wife, was conceived in the old Gasworks on Raudararstigur. Down by Hlemmur. At least that was what they said. Just like they said Benjamin killed his wife. His fiancee, I mean.'
'Benjamin? The Gasworks? What are you talking about?' Erlendur had completely lost his thread. 'Did people say Benjamin killed his fiancee?'
'Some thought so. At the time. He said so himself.'
'That he killed her?'
'That people thought he'd done something to her. He didn't say that he killed her. He'd never have told me that. I didn't know him in the slightest. But he was sure that people suspected him and I remember there was some talk of jealousy.'
'Gossip?'
'All gossip of course. We thrive on it. Thrive on saying nasty things about other people.'
'And wait a minute, what was that about the Gasworks?'
'That's the best rumour of all. Haven't you heard it? People thought the end of the world was nigh so they had an all-night orgy in the Gasworks. Several babies were born afterwards and this woman was one of them, or so Benjamin thought. They were called the doomsday kids.'
Erlendur looked at Elinborg, then back at Hoskuldur.
'Are you pulling my leg?'
Hoskuldur shook his head.
'It was because of the comet. People thought it would collide with Earth.'
'What comet?'
'Halley's comet, of course!' the know-it-all almost shouted, outraged by Erlendur's ignorance. 'Halley's comet! People thought the Earth would collide with it and be consumed in hellfire!'
15
Earlier that day Elinborg had located Benjamin's fiancee's sister, and when she and Erlendur left Hoskuldur she told him she wanted to talk to her. Erlendur nodded, saying that he was going to the National Library to try to find newspaper articles about Halley's comet. Like most know-it-alls, as it turned out, Hoskuldur did not know much about what really happened. He went round in circles until Erlendur could not be bothered to listen any more and took his leave, rather curtly.
'What do you think about what Hoskuldur was saying?' Erlendur asked her when they got back to the car.
'That Gasworks business is preposterous,' Elinborg said. 'It'll be interesting to see what you can find out about it. But of course what he said about gossip is perfectly true. We take a special delight in telling nasty stories about other people. The rumour says nothing about whether Benjamin was actually a murderer, and you know that.'
'Yes, but what's that idiom again? No smoke without fire?'
'Idioms,' Elinborg muttered. 'I'll ask his sister. Tell me another thing. How's Eva Lind doing?'
'She's just lying in bed. Looks as though she's peacefully sleeping. The doctor told me to talk to her.'
'Talk to her?'
'He thinks she can hear voices through her coma, and that's good for her.'
'So what do you talk to her about?'
'Nothing much,' Erlendur said. 'I have no idea what to say.'
The sister of Benjamin's fiancee had heard the rumours, but flatly denied that there was any truth in them. Her name was Bara and she was considerably younger than the one who had gone missing. She lived in a large detached house in Grafarvogur, still married to a wealthy wholesaler and living in luxury, which was manifested in flamboyant furniture, the expensive jewellery she wore and her condescending attitude towards the detective who was now in her sitting room. Elinborg, who had outlined over the phone what she wanted to talk about, thought that this woman had never had to worry about money, always granted herself whatever she pleased and never had to associate with anyone but her own type. Probably gave up caring for anything else long ago. She had the feeling that this was the life that had awaited Bara's sister, around the time she disappeared.
'My sister was extremely fond of Benjamin, which I never really understood. He struck me as a crushing bore. No lack of breeding, of course. The Knudsens are the oldest family in Reykjavik. But he wasn't the exciting type.'
Elinborg smiled. She didn't know what she meant. Bara noticed.
'A dreamer. Hardly ever came down to earth, what with his big ideas for the retailing business, which actually all came to pass years ago, although he didn't live to benefit from them. And he was kind to ordinary people. His maids didn't need to call him Sir. People have stopped that now. No courtesy any more. And no maids.'
Bara wiped imaginary dust from the coffee table. Elinborg noticed some large paintings at one end of the room, separate portraits of Bara and her husband. The husband looked quite glum and worn out, his thoughts miles away. Bara seemed to have an insinuating grin on her strict face and Elinborg could not help thinking that she had emerged from this marriage the victor. She pitied the man in the painting.
'But if you think he killed my sister, you're barking up the wrong tree,' Bara said. 'Those bones you said were found by the chalet are not hers.'
'How can you be sure of that?'
'I just know. Benjamin would never have hurt a fly. An awful wimp. A dreamer, as I said. That was obvious when she disappeared. The man fell apart. Stopped caring about his business. Gave up socialising. Gave up everything. Never got over it. My mother gave him back the love letters he sent to my sister. She read some of