The food was smoked Christmas ham, another tradition acquired from his parents. It had been difficult to find a ham small enough for one person, but at least he would have some leftovers to enjoy over the holidays. One of the perks of finally having a second-in-command – a young policeman named Ögmundur – was that Ari could take Christmas off, although it was usually a fairly quiet time anyway, and he didn’t even have anyone to enjoy it with.
Kristín had moved to Sweden with their son, Stefnir. Today was actually Stefnir’s third birthday and Ari acutely felt the pain of being so far away from him. He had indeed suggested to Kristín that he would spend Christmas with them in Sweden, and she had given it considerable thought but in the end decided against it. ‘We are just getting settled, it might be too upsetting for him, he is so small. We will spend Easter in Siglufjörður and then you can come over next Christmas, I promise. Let’s take this step by step, if that’s OK?’ He had wanted to say that it wasn’t, but he hadn’t wanted to start an argument over the phone.
The holiday music was disturbed by the ringing of his mobile phone. He walked over to the piano where he had put it down. It was Ögmundur, his deputy.
‘Yes?’ Ari Thor said, rather brusquely. He could not imagine any reason important enough for Ögmundur to be disturbing him on Christmas Eve.
‘Ari, there was this woman who was trying to contact you,’ Ögmundur said, getting straight to the point.
‘What woman?’
‘An elderly lady, living on Hólavegur.’
‘Someone I know?’
‘No, not really. She is called Halla, around eighty or so.’
‘And what’s the emergency?’ Ari Thor asked, still quite annoyed.
‘I don’t know really. She just said she wanted to speak to you directly.’
‘And you didn’t think to deal with this yourself?’
A slight pause.
‘No, I knew you were all alone anyway, with nothing to do. Do you want her number, then?’
Ari Thor sighed. ‘Why not …’
Ten minutes later he was sitting in Halla’s large living room. He had left the ham in the oven and figured he could spare half an hour meeting the old lady, planning to be back to his house in time for the mass. It had also been quite refreshing to take a walk in the snow, the village was almost completely quiet, and up in the mountain he could see the traditional New Year’s Eve decorations, where the lights showed the current year. At midnight on 31 December, the lights would change, from 2015 to 2016.
He had never met Halla before, but she obviously knew who he was. She was not very tall, but quite statuesque nevertheless. Dressed up for Christmas, she bore her age well, an intellectual gleam in her eyes.
‘Very nice of you to take the time, Ari,’ she said in a kind voice. ‘I don’t know why I felt the need to call you now, but, you know, it was such a strange letter.’ Then she added: ‘Also, I know you used to study theology, so I imagine you understand these things.’
He didn’t ask what she was referring to by ‘these things’. Instead, he said: ‘Tell me more about the letter.’ She had mentioned that briefly over the phone.
She stood up and walked slowly out of the living room, returning with a letter in her hand.
‘This is not the only one, you know. Just the latest one.’ She handed the letter to Ari Thor.
It was not very long, one page, handwritten, fairly illegible writing. Addressed to ‘Dear Halla’, and signed by a man called Einar. There was nothing suspicious or disturbing about the contents, a few memories of years gone by, and then at the end best wishes for a merry Christmas.
‘Do you know this man? Einar?’
She nodded.
‘And it’s not the first letter from him?’
‘No, I get one every Christmas. Shall I show you?’ And without waiting for a reply, she was off again. When she returned she had a small wooden box in her hand. She put it on the table and opened it. It was filled with letters. Ari Thor browsed through the stack. The writing was always the same, and all the letters he glanced at were all addressed to Halla, signed by Einar.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I don’t really understand the problem. Is this man …’ He chose his words carefully. ‘Is this man harrassing you in any way?’
‘No, not at all.’ She shook her head forcefully. ‘We were married, you see.’
‘You were married? Not any more.’
‘No. We got married soon after the war, I was very young, only nineteen. He was older.’
‘And did you always live here, in Siglufjörður?’
‘Yes, I was born here. We both were, actually.’
‘And you divorced?’
She stayed silent for a while, and then said: ‘No, he died.’
‘He died?’ Ari Thor had not expected this, although it was in a way a likely answer. The woman was in her eighties, according to Ögmundur’s information at least, and she had just told Ari Thor that she had married an older man. ‘When?’
‘Thirty years ago,’ she replied. ‘That’s when the letters started to arrive.’
Ari felt an uneasy shiver down his spine.
‘Did he die or … go away? Disappear?’ His thoughts drifted to his own father, who had disappeared without a trace when Ari Thor was still a boy.
She didn’t reply right away.
‘He most definitely died,’ she said, decisively.
‘So someone is sending you letters in his name? And has been doing so for thirty years.’
She just stared at him, not really acknowledging his logic. Perhaps she really and truly believed that the letters came from beyond the grave …
‘Do you have any idea
