‘I haven’t followed them,’ Erlendur said.
‘You haven’t seen the production?’
‘I don’t go to the theatre much.’
‘Bunch of bloody charlatans! Scum! Do you think we do this for fun?’
‘Er, no, it… they’re…’
‘Year in, year out, the same crowd with the same pig-ignorant bullshit! What was it you wanted?’
‘It’s about Baldvin…’
‘Oh yes, you mentioned that on the phone. I heard he’d lost his wife. All very sudden. We don’t keep in touch any longer. Haven’t for years.’
‘You were at drama school together, if I’ve understood correctly.’
‘That’s right. He was a very promising actor. Then he went into medicine. Wise move. At least he’s free of the bloody critics! And makes a sight more money, of course. What’s the point of being a famous actor if you don’t have two pence to rub together? Actors are paid a pittance in this country – almost as little as teachers!’
‘I think he’s doing all right,’ Erlendur said, trying his best to pacify the actor.
‘He was forever having money troubles. I do remember that. Used to tap us for cash and so on and took his time paying it back. You really had to chase him and sometimes he didn’t pay up at all. Apart from that he was a good bloke.’
‘There was a group of you at the drama school?’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ Orri said, stroking a finger over his thin moustache to make sure it was firmly attached. ‘A bloody good gang.’
‘Fifteen minutes to curtain-up,’ a voice announced over the tannoy.
‘He met his wife when he had just given up his drama studies,’ Erlendur said.
‘Yes, I remember it well, a sweet girl from the university. Tell me, why are the police asking questions about Baldvin?’
Erlendur chose his words with care, mindful of what Valgerdur had said about actors being dreadful gossips.
‘We’re collaborating in a Swedish study…’
Orri Fjeldsted’s interest seemed to cool abruptly.
‘They were a resourceful bunch, those kids,’ he said, ‘I’ll give them that. I gather a friend of his drove some guy called Tryggvi round the bend with his experiments.’
‘Acting experiments?’
‘Acting…? No, this was when Baldvin was studying medicine. Was there anything else? I’ve got to go; it’s only five minutes till I’m due on stage. Was there anyone in the audience? They’ve completely destroyed this production. The critics. Ruined it. They haven’t a fucking clue about the theatre. Not a fucking clue! That people even listen to those imbeciles! The public have been calling the theatre and cancelling their tickets in droves.’
Orri opened the door.
‘What about this Tryggvi?’ Erlendur asked.
‘Tryggvi? I think that was his name. They described him as a burn-out. You must have heard of the type. An outstanding student who lost the plot. Quit his studies. I’ve no idea where he is today.’
‘Was Baldvin involved?’
‘That’s what they always said: him and his friend the medic. I have a feeling the medic might have been Tryggvi’s cousin; they were related somehow. They used to be great mates.’
‘What happened?’
‘You haven’t heard?’
‘No.’
‘Tryggvi’s supposed to have asked his cousin to-’
Othello came storming down the corridor with Desdemona on his heels. He was dressed as an American colonel, she in a light blue summer suit and bouffant blonde wig. Othello’s head was shaven and sweat was already breaking out on his scalp.
‘Let’s get this bloody nightmare over,’ Othello boomed, dragging Iago off towards the stage. Desdemona smiled sweetly at Erlendur.
‘What did Tryggvi ask him to do?’ Erlendur called after them.
Orri stopped and looked back at Erlendur.
‘I don’t know if there’s any truth in it but it’s what I heard years ago.’
‘What? What did you hear?’
‘Tryggvi asked him to kill him.’
‘Kill him? Is he dead?’
‘No, full of beans but weird in the head.’
‘What are you trying to tell me? I don’t under-’
‘It was an experiment that the cousin carried out on Tryggvi.’
‘What kind of experiment?’
‘The way I heard it, he stopped Tryggvi’s heart for several minutes before resuscitating him. They said Tryggvi was never the same again.’
And with that the trio stormed on stage.
Next day, Erlendur dug up the old reports in the police archives about the incident on Lake Thingvallavatn. He read the statement by Maria’s mother Leonora, as well as the expert witness’s verdict on the boat and outboard motor. He found a postmortem report in the files indicating that Magnus had drowned in the cold water. Apparently, no statement had been taken from the little girl. The case was treated as an accident. Erlendur checked who had led the investigation. It was an officer called Niels. He sighed. He had never had any time for Niels. They had been working for the CID for an equal length of time but, unlike Erlendur, Niels was dilatory; his cases had a tendency to become drawn out to the point of invalidation, and were almost invariably sloppily handled.
Niels was on his coffee break. He was joking with the women in the cafeteria when Erlendur asked if he could have a word.
‘What was it you wanted, Erlendur old chap?’ Niels asked, with his habitual air of empty condescension. ‘Friend’ and ‘chap’, ‘chum’ and ‘my old mate’ were words he appended to every sentence, insignificant in themselves but deeply meaningful in the mouth of Niels who had full confidence in his own superiority, despite the lack of any foundation for this.
Erlendur drew him aside and sat down with him in the cafeteria before asking if he remembered the accident on Lake Thingvallavatn, and Leonora and her daughter Maria.
‘It was an open-and-shut case, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, I expect so. You don’t happen to remember anything unusual about the circumstances: the people involved or the accident itself?’
Niels adopted an expression intended to convey the idea that he was racking his brains in an effort to recall the events at Lake Thingvallavatn.
‘You’re not trying to uncover a crime after all these years?’ he asked.
‘No, far from it. The little girl you saw at the scene with her mother died the other day. It was her father who drowned.’
‘I don’t recall anything unusual in connection with that investigation,’ Niels said.
‘How did the propeller come loose from the engine?’
‘Well, naturally I don’t have the exact details on the tip of my tongue,’ Niels answered warily. He regarded Erlendur with suspicion. Not everyone at the police station appreciated it when Erlendur started digging up old cases.
‘Do you remember what forensics said?’
‘Wear and tear, wasn’t it?’ Niels asked.
‘Something like that,’ Erlendur replied. ‘Not that that explains much. The engine was old and clapped out and hadn’t received any particular maintenance. What did they tell you that didn’t go in the report?’
‘Gudfinnur was in charge of the examination. But he’s dead now.’
‘So we can’t ask him. You know that not everything goes into the reports.’
