the circumstances. I’m familiar with it from my job. Of course, no one’s truly reconciled to having to die like that, but it is possible to die feeling reconciled to yourself and your family.’
‘Are you saying that her daughter was reconciled to dying as well?’ Erlendur asked.
Baldvin thought.
‘I don’t know,’ he said eventually. ‘I doubt whether anyone who does what she did can be truly reconciled.’
‘But she thought about death a lot.’
‘All the time, I think,’ Baldvin said.
‘What about her father?’
‘He died a long time ago.’
‘Yes, you told me.’
‘I never met him. She was only a little girl when it happened.’
‘How did he die?’
‘He drowned at their summer cottage. At Thingvellir. He fell out of a small boat. Apparently it was very cold and he was a heavy smoker and led a sedentary lifestyle and… he drowned.’
‘Tragic to lose a parent that young,’ Elinborg said.
‘Maria was there,’ Baldvin said.
‘Your wife was?’ Erlendur asked.
‘She was only ten. It had an enormous impact on her. I don’t think she ever really got over it. So when her mother developed cancer and died, it hit her doubly hard.’
‘She had a lot to bear, then,’ Elinborg said.
‘Yes, she had a lot to bear,’ Baldvin agreed, bowing his head.
5
Several days later Erlendur was sitting in his office with a cup of coffee, going over an old missing-person file, when he was informed that someone was asking for him at the front desk: a woman called Karen. Recalling that this was the name of the friend who had found Maria’s body at Thingvellir, Erlendur went down to reception where a woman wearing a brown leather jacket and jeans was waiting. Under her jacket she wore a thick white roll-neck jumper.
‘I wanted to talk to you about Maria,’ she said after they had exchanged greetings. ‘You are the one handling the case, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, but it’s hardly a case as such, it’s been-’
‘Could I have a quick word with you?’
‘How did you know each other, again?’
‘We were childhood friends,’ Karen said.
‘Oh yes, of course.’
Erlendur showed her into his office where she took a seat opposite him. She did not remove her leather jacket despite the heat in the room.
‘We didn’t find anything out of the ordinary,’ he said, ‘if you’re after information of that sort.’
‘I can’t get her out of my head,’ Karen said. ‘I keep seeing her in front of me the whole time. You can’t imagine what a shock it was that she should do this. That I should find her like that. She used to tell me everything but she never talked about anything like this. We confided in each other. If anyone knew Maria, it was me.’
‘And what? You don’t think she could have committed suicide?’
‘Exactly,’ Karen said.
‘Then what did happen?’
‘I don’t know – but she could never have done that.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘I’m just sure. I knew her and I’m certain she would never have committed suicide.’
‘Suicide generally takes people by surprise. The fact that she didn’t tell you anything doesn’t make it impossible that she could have killed herself. There’s no indication to the contrary.’
‘Also, I find it a bit strange that Baldvin should have had her cremated,’ Karen added.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Her funeral’s already been held. Didn’t you know?’
‘No,’ Erlendur said, mentally counting the days since he had first visited the house in Grafarvogur.
‘I never heard her say that she wanted to be cremated,’ the woman said. ‘Never.’
‘Would she have told you?’
‘I think so.’
‘Did you and Maria ever discuss your funerals – what you wanted done with your remains?’
‘No,’ Karen said stubbornly.
‘So you don’t really have any proof of whether she wanted to be cremated or not?’
‘No, but I just know. I knew Maria.’
‘You knew Maria. Have you come to this office to put it on record that you believe there’s something suspicious about her death?’
Karen considered for a moment.
‘I find the whole thing very odd.’
‘But you have no actual evidence to back up your suspicion that something strange occurred.’
‘No.’
‘Then there’s very little we can do,’ Erlendur said. ‘Do you know anything about Maria’s relationship with her husband?’
‘Yes.’
‘And?’
‘It was okay,’ Karen said reluctantly.
‘So you don’t think her husband had anything to do with what happened?’
‘No. Perhaps someone came to the door of the cottage at Thingvellir. There are all sorts wandering about there. Foreign tourists, for example. Have you checked up on that angle at all?’
‘There’s nothing to suggest it,’ Erlendur said. ‘Did Maria intend to be at the cottage when you arrived?’
‘No,’ Karen said. ‘Not that we discussed.’
‘She told Baldvin she was going to wait for you.’
‘Why should she have told him that?’
‘Perhaps to be left in peace,’ Erlendur said.
‘Did Baldvin tell you about Leonora, her mother?’
‘Yes,’ Erlendur said. ‘He said her death had been a terrible loss to her daughter.’
‘Leonora and Maria had a special bond,’ Karen said. ‘I’ve never known such a close relationship, ever. Do you believe dreams can tell the truth?’
‘I don’t know if that’s any of your business,’ Erlendur said. ‘With all due respect.’
The woman’s vehemence had taken him by surprise. Yet he understood what drove her. A dear friend had committed an act that she found impossible to understand and accept. If Maria had been in such a bad way, Karen felt that she, Karen, ought to have known and done something about it. Now, even though it was too late, she still wanted to do something – if nothing else, then at least to have an opinion about the tragic event.
‘What about life after death?’ the woman asked.
Erlendur shook his head.
‘I don’t know what you-’
‘Maria believed in it. She believed in dreams, that they could tell her something, guide her. And she believed in life after death.’
Erlendur was silent.
‘Her mother was going to send her a message,’ Karen said. ‘You know, if there was an afterlife.’
