Erlendur was taken aback. The voice was grave and severe, and contained a note of cold accusation.
‘Who is this?’ Erlendur asked.
‘Her husband,’ the voice on the phone said. ‘What the hell are you up to?’
A number of answers flashed through Erlendur’s mind, all of them lies.
‘What’s going on?’ Baldvin asked.
‘Perhaps we should meet,’ Erlendur said.
‘What are you investigating? What are you doing?’
‘If you’re home later today I could-’
Baldvin hung up. Erlendur smiled awkwardly at Gilbert.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘We were talking about the girl. Do you know anything about her, anything you could tell me?’
‘Next to nothing,’ Gilbert said. ‘David called me the day before I flew to Denmark to say goodbye and told me it was probably okay to tell me a secret since I was going abroad. He wasn’t going to let the cat out of the bag, though, not until I grilled him and asked him straight out. Then he told me there might be some news about his love life when I came home again.’
‘Was that all he said, that there might be some news about his love life later?’
‘Yes.’
‘And he’d never been in a relationship with a girl before that?’
‘No, not really.’
‘And you got the impression he’d met a girl?’
‘That’s what I thought. But, you know, it was only a feeling I got from what he said.’
‘You didn’t get the sense that he was in a suicidal mood at all?’
‘No, quite the opposite; he was very cheerful and in high spirits. Unusually cheerful, because he could sometimes be a bit on the quiet side – thoughtful and serious.’
‘And you can’t think of anyone who would have wanted to do him harm?’
‘No way.’
‘But you don’t know who the girl was?’
‘No idea, I’m afraid.’
12
Erlendur drove up to the house in Grafarvogur. It was getting dark, a reminder that winter would soon be here after the short, wet summer. Erlendur felt no dread at the thought. He had never dreaded the winter as so many did, not like those who counted the hours until the days would start to lengthen again. He had never regarded winter as his enemy. Time seemed to slow down in the cold and darkness, enfolding him in peaceful gloom.
Baldvin met him at the door and Erlendur wondered as he followed him into the sitting room whether he would carry on living in the house now that both Leonora and Maria were gone. He did not get a chance to ask him. Baldvin wanted an explanation for why Erlendur was going around town interrogating people about him and Maria; why he had to learn about it from his friends and what on earth it was all about; were the police launching an investigation?
‘No,’ Erlendur said, ‘it’s nothing like that.’
He told Baldvin that the police had received a tip-off, as sometimes happened in connection with suicides, suggesting that something suspicious might have happened. Due to pressure from one of Maria’s friends, whom he would prefer not to name, he had taken it upon himself to speak personally to several individuals, but this in no way changed the fact that Maria had taken her own life. Baldvin had no need to worry. There was no question of a formal inquiry, nor was there any need for one.
Erlendur talked along these lines for some time, slowly and deliberately, in an apologetic tone that generally worked well with people when it was employed by the police. He noticed that Baldvin was growing somewhat calmer. He had been standing angrily by the bookcase but sat down in a chair once most of his tension had evaporated.
‘What’s the status of the case, then?’
‘It has no status,’ Erlendur said. ‘There is no case.’
‘It’s an uncomfortable feeling, knowing that people are talking,’ Baldvin said.
‘Of course,’ Erlendur agreed.
‘It’s hard enough as it is,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ Erlendur said. ‘I heard it was a beautiful funeral.’
‘She gave a very good address, the vicar. They knew each other well. A lot of people turned up. Maria was very popular everywhere she went.’
‘You had her cremated?’
Baldvin had been staring down at the floor but now he raised his gaze to Erlendur.
‘It was what she wanted,’ he said. ‘We discussed it. She didn’t want to lie in the ground and… you know… she felt it was a better solution. I agreed; I’m going to be cremated too.’
‘Do you know if your wife was interested in the supernatural, attended seances or anything of that sort?’
‘No more than anyone else,’ Baldvin said. ‘She was terribly afraid of the dark. You’ve probably heard about that.’
‘Yes.’
‘You’ve asked me about this before,’ Baldvin said. ‘About the afterlife and psychics. What are you driving at? What do you know?’
Erlendur gave him a long look.
‘What do you know?’ Baldvin repeated.
‘I know she went to a medium,’ Erlendur said.
‘She did?’
Erlendur took the tape from his coat pocket and handed it to Baldvin.
‘This is the recording of a seance that Maria attended,’ he said. ‘I suppose it’s one reason why I wanted to find out more about her.’
‘The recording of a seance?’ Baldvin said. ‘How… how come you’ve got it?’
‘I was given the tape after Maria died. She’d lent it to a friend.’
‘A friend?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who?’
‘I’ll ask her to get in touch with you if she wants to.’
‘Have you listened to it? Isn’t that a violation of her privacy?’
‘What the recording tells you is probably more the issue. Are you sure you didn’t know about the seance?’
‘She never told me about any seance and I’m not prepared to discuss it under the circumstances. I don’t know what’s on the tape and I find the whole thing highly irregular.’
‘Then I apologise,’ Erlendur said, standing up. ‘Perhaps you’ll have a word with me when you’ve listened to it. If not, it doesn’t matter. It may be that the whole thing hinges on Marcel Proust.’
‘Marcel Proust?’
‘You didn’t know?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘I gather Maria preferred not to be alone,’ Erlendur said. ‘Because she was afraid of the dark.’
‘I…’
‘Yet she was alone on a dark autumn night at Thingvellir.’
‘What is this? What are you implying? I expect she didn’t want anyone with her when she killed herself!’
‘No, probably not. Perhaps you’ll get in touch,’ Erlendur said and left Baldvin with the recording of the seance in his hands.
