changed to one of irritation, which confirmed what Gudni already knew: the policemen from Reykjavik wanted the country yokels to leave them alone to investigate the scene in peace. This Stefan had scarcely deigned to listen to Gudni’s account of recent developments as they were driving to the house yesterday evening along with several nameless, even younger men. These accompanying officers had not spoken a word the entire time, as far as Gudni had been aware.‘Isn’t it a little better than it looked at first?’ he asked now, not letting the young man’s irritation troublehim.
‘We don’t know anything yet,’ Stefan replied, turning away from Gudni to watch the men working. ‘How could this possibly be better than it looked?’
‘Well,’ said Gudni calmly,‘I just wondered whether these might be the earthly remains of some unlucky thieves who got trapped here in the eruption and suffocated. People who had perhaps intended to take advantage of the emergency situation and do their looting undisturbed. This house wasn’t buried under the ash the first night, so unscrupulous individuals would have had time to come here from elsewhere and make a clean sweep of the neighbourhood. The eruption made worldwide headlines at the time.’
Stefan stared at Gudni. ‘You can’t be serious,’ he said, pointing at the three corpses where they lay, side by side, on their backs. ‘How do you see that happening? The air became so bad that the burglars ran down to the basement to lie down and take a breather? They could hardly have thought that there were any valuables down here.’ He turned back to his subordinates’ work.‘People who suffocate are generally found lying on their stomachs, unless they were sleeping when it happened. They try to crawl away. They don’t lie down nicely in a row, any more than their heads fly off their shoulders.’He pointed at the place where the head had lain, but it had already been removed from the scene.
‘You’ll discover one day that there are no absolutes in this life,’ Gudni replied, perfectly unperturbed. This wasn’t the first big city upstart he’d sparred with. ‘Otherwise, hopefully this Alda has an explanation, at least as far as the head is concerned. Have you spoken to her?’
‘As far as I know, no one’s been able to get in touch with her,’ replied Stefan, without looking at Gudni. ‘We’re going to keep trying, and hopefully we’ll reach her today. Then I’ll have a better talk with this Markus Magnusson, who came here to pick up the bonce.’
‘The head, I expect you mean,’corrected Gudni. ‘We’re talking about a human head here – not a“bonce”.’
Stefan shot Gudni a look that was anything but pleasant. ‘Head, bonce, noggin – what difference does it make? I very much doubt that this Markus has told the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth about what happened here. I find his statement in the report both untrustworthy and ridiculous.’
‘That’s because he’s an imbecile,’ Gudni replied. ‘Always has been.’ He switched on his torch and turned towards the stairs, without saying goodbye.
Dis honked the car horn and pulled herself up over the steering wheel to look out through the windscreen. The little end terrace appeared to be empty. She leaned back again in her seat. What was Alda thinking? She hadn’t come to work for two days in a row. There was nothing too mysterious about that, anyone could catch the flu, but it was unlike her not to call in and let people know, or to answer messages. Alda was conscientiousness personified; she always came to work on time, and was always willing to work late if necessary. In a nurse this was a rare quality, and Dis knew that without Alda she and Agust would have it much tougher at work. They paid her well, and up until yesterday her work record had been spotless. So they couldn’t understand at all why she hadn’t called in to let them know that she couldn’t make it yesterday morning, especially since four operations It had been scheduled. Dis and Agust, both doctors, had had to assist each other, performing the operations together instead of taking them separately with Alda’s assistance, because of this they’d had to cancel a number of patient consultations, and even the anaesthetist they’d called in had had to help out, which was bad for their reputation. No, there was something very peculiar about this, so Dis had decided to make a quick trip to Alda’s house during her lunch break, to see if she was home. She looked out again through the glass and wondered whether something could have happened to the woman. Alda was single and childless, so it was entirely possible that she had passed out at home without anyone knowing. Dis got out of the car.
She walked up to the garage that connected Alda’s terrace house to the next one and peered in through a gap in the brown-lacquered door. She thought she saw a reflection from Alda’s new green Toyota, but could not see it clearly enough to be sure. Nevertheless, this was a bad omen. Alda could hardly have got very far without her car, and if she was at home it was extremely odd that she hadn’t contacted anyone. Dis went to the front door of the house. The sound of the doorbell came from within as she rang it repeatedly. She stopped pushing it and put her ear to the door in the hope of hearing Alda, but could not make out any audible sign of human activity. Still, she was fairly certain that she could hear a radio. She pressed her ear even closer to the door and covered the other one. Yes, yes. She could even hear the tune. It was an old cheesy pop song, about a boy calling out to his father. Dis straightened up and knitted her brow. It occurred to her how strange it was that even after working with Alda for seven years, she had no clue as to what sort of music she liked. Somehow it had never come up in conversation. She grabbed the doorknob and tried the door. It was unlocked.
Alda!‘ she called through the doorway. No answer – only the melancholy voice of the now-forgotten singer, asking his father to wait for him. Dis pushed on the door until it opened fully. She went in and called out again: Alda! Are you home?’ No answer. The song finished, but started again several seconds later. It must have been on a CD, with the CD player set to repeat. Radio stations hadn’t yet stooped to playing the same song over and over again. Dis walked slowly up the stairs to the first floor. If Alda had been taken ill, she was most likely to be in her bedroom upstairs. Dis had only been to the house once, when Alda had invited her and Agust, along with their spouses, to dinner earlier in the year, and then they hadn’t left the ground floor. The dinner had been impeccable, as expected: good food and delicious wine, everything very tastefully presented. Dis recalled how amazed she’d been that Alda hadn’t been in a steady relationship since her divorce, which had actually been over and done with by the time she’d started working at the plastic surgeon’s office. She was a particularly pleasant woman, approaching fifty; she had kept herself in good shape and was warm, cheerful and courteous. Dis called Alda’s name one more time before climbing the stairs. No answer. The music, on the other hand, became clearer with every step. She walked as quietly as she could, hoping that Alda would be lying there asleep with the melancholy music playing.
The singer’s emotional voice came through the half-open door. Dis repeated Alda’s name, more softly. She didn’t want to startle the woman if she was simply sleeping, or even getting dressed. Through the gap in the doorway she could see the sun shining on a corner of the embroidered bedspread. Dis pushed the door with one foot and put her hand over her mouth as she looked into the master bedroom. The music was coming from the CD player on the bedside table, and next to it was an empty wine bottle, an open prescription bottle and a syringe. In the middle of the bed lay Alda. Dis didn’t need her medical degree to realize that there was little use in trying to resuscitate her.
Chapter Four
Thora leaned back in her chair and sighed, trying to decide who to ask to pick up her daughter Soley – for the second day in a row. Her mother was out of the question. She had helped out the previous evening when Thora had been delayed in the Westmann Islands, and besides that, her parents were on their way to the theatre. She would never hear the end of it if her mother missed the play she’d been looking forward to for months. It was some sort of dramatized documentary about the injustices women suffer in the modern world. Thora smiled to herself. Her father would be eternally grateful if she rescued him from this theatre trip, but she decided not to ruin their plans. Her mother’s disappointment would last far longer than her father’s gratitude.
She decided to call her ex-husband. Hannes would not be best pleased. The work of an emergency physician was no less demanding than that of a lawyer, and the days were longer and harder. He took the kids every other weekend and sometimes asked to have more time with them when it was convenient, but in general he was not receptive to taking them at short notice. Hannes had a new wife, and his life
