Reykjavik Nights

14

The brothers who used to live next door to Hannibal had found themselves more salubrious accommodation on Fálkagata. Erlendur had obtained their names from Frímann. He decided to pay them a visit the day after his meeting with Bergmundur, combining it with a stroll along Ægisída, on the city’s western shore, to enjoy the salty evening air. Since his plan was to drop by unannounced, he thought he stood the best chance of catching them directly after supper. He was right. When he arrived they had just settled down to watch the news. Ellert and Vignir were both around forty, born no more than two years apart, though they looked nothing like each other. One was stocky and ungainly with coarse features; the other tall and lean with finer features, yet it seemed they were inseparable. Frímann thought they both worked as carpenters or builders. As far as he knew, in the seven years they had been his neighbours no woman had ever darkened their door.

Vignir, the stocky one, answered Erlendur’s knock. He did not appear unduly surprised to receive an unexpected visit, as if the brothers were used to having their evenings disturbed. Erlendur introduced himself as an acquaintance of Hannibal, their old neighbour — if that was the right word — who had died suddenly about a year ago, and wondered if he could ask them a few questions about him.

By the time Erlendur had finished Ellert had joined his brother in the doorway. They exchanged glances.

‘Will it take long?’ asked Ellert.

‘No, not long. I only have a couple of questions.’

‘We were just about to watch Ironside.’ Vignir ushered him in. ‘Never miss it.’

‘Oh no, shouldn’t be a problem,’ said Erlendur, unsure what he was referring to. ‘I won’t stay long.’

The television set in the sitting room looked brand new. The news had finished and a nature programme was starting. The entire time the brothers were talking to Erlendur they kept one eye on the box, as if resenting every minute they missed of the broadcast.

‘We’ve just bought a new set,’ said Vignir.

‘Our old one was on its last legs,’ added his brother.

It emerged that they’d barely interacted with Hannibal. Not that they had anything against a tramp living next door. He had rarely been home, except now and then to sleep. Frímann had asked them if they minded his taking refuge there, and the brothers had made no objection. Hannibal was no trouble; he never made any noise or had any guests, male or female, so, to cut a long story short, they’d had no reason to complain.

‘He never brought any bums home with him,’ said Vignir.

‘No, not that I noticed,’ agreed Ellert.

‘Though there was no lock on the door,’ Erlendur pointed out, ‘so anyone could have walked in.’

‘Actually there used to be a padlock,’ said Vignir, ‘but I gather Hannibal lost the key one night and had to break in.’

‘We had nothing to do with the guy,’ said Ellert.

‘Frímann seems to have been very easygoing,’ remarked Erlendur.

The brothers did not reply. They were watching, fascinated, as a lioness sank her claws into an antelope. They were seated in twin armchairs, parked directly in front of the television, their faces lit up by the glare.

‘Bloody hell, look at that,’ exclaimed Vignir as the pride began to rip the antelope apart.

Erlendur did not like to interrupt, so for several minutes the three of them sat there, intent on the events unfolding on screen. The sitting room was small and carpeted, furnished with bookshelves but few ornaments. The whole flat appeared to be very tidy. From where he was sitting, Erlendur could see into a compact kitchen. He wondered idly whether they took it in turns to cook or shared the housework. He might as well have been visiting a contented married couple.

‘What was that?’ asked Vignir when the lions had finally had their fill.

‘Oh, I was asking about Frímann,’ said Erlendur. ‘Any idea why he’s selling the house?’

‘Obviously skint,’ said Ellert.

‘Probably needs the money,’ agreed Vignir.

‘But do you know why?’

‘No,’ said Ellert.

‘What happened the night the house caught fire?’

‘The guy nearly burnt it down,’ said Vignir. ‘If we’d gone to bed, there’s no telling what would have happened. The whole place would have gone up in smoke. But luckily we were still up.’

‘The broadcast went on quite late that evening,’ said Ellert. ‘Probably saved his life.’ His eyes flickered back to the box.

‘I smelt burning,’ elaborated Vignir. ‘Looked out of the window, only to see smoke coming from the basement. We ran out and by then flames were blazing up inside the door. Fortunately, though, the fire hadn’t caught hold, so we were able to put it out. Ellert burnt his hand.’

‘It was nothing serious,’ said Ellert. ‘We pulled Hannibal out. He was coughing his guts up but was all right apart from that.’

‘Did he know how it started?’

‘We never got a chance to ask,’ said Vignir. ‘He just staggered away as if it had nothing to do with him. Don’t know if he ever came back after that.’

‘He was pissed,’ said Ellert with conviction.

‘Smashed out of his skull,’ confirmed his brother.

‘And you didn’t call the fire brigade?’

‘What for? The fire was out. And the damage wasn’t that bad. We rang Frímann, and he came over but didn’t call the police or anything. Just said it was an unfortunate accident. Immediately assumed it was Hannibal’s fault. Must have banned him from ever coming back.’

‘The couple who lived upstairs were out,’ prompted Erlendur.

‘Yes, apparently.’

‘So you believe Hannibal somehow kicked a candle over and that’s how the fire started.’

‘Well, we found a stub by the door in a load of rubbish, cardboard and so on’ said Ellert. ‘So it seemed a likely explanation.’

‘Were you aware of Hannibal using candles down there?’

‘How would I know?’ said Ellert. ‘I never went inside. Like I said, I didn’t know the guy.’

‘Neither did I,’ said Vignir.

‘Did it occur to you that someone might have started the fire deliberately — to harm Hannibal?’

‘Well, if they did, they’d only have had to reach inside the door,’ said Ellert, becoming restless now that the nature programme was finishing and Ironside was on next.

‘Who knew he lived there?’

‘Haven’t a clue,’ said Ellert. ‘No one ever came to see him. At least, not that we were aware of.’

A popular furniture advertisement came on and the brothers were instantly transfixed. A woman’s hand caressed a plastic tabletop. ‘Is this marble?’ the voiceover asked. ‘No, Formica,’ came the cooing reply. Cupboard doors were opened. ‘Is this hardwood?’ ‘No, Formica.’

‘But Hannibal was afraid of fire,’ objected Erlendur. ‘I know he was scared to use candles because he was terrified of exactly that kind of accident. I don’t believe he’d have lit a candle, let alone knocked one over, drunk or sober.’

‘Oh?’ grunted Vignir distractedly.

‘It’s starting,’ said Ellert, gesturing at the screen.

The brothers gave it their undivided attention.

‘So you never fell out with Hannibal?’

‘About what?’

‘About anything he was up to. Or you were up to, for that matter.’

‘No.’ Vignir turned to look at him. ‘What are you implying?’

Erlendur hesitated, uncertain how far he should go in making accusations based only on hearsay. Besides, he was there in a private capacity and needed to tread carefully; he didn’t know how to play this, had no experience of detective work. To the brothers he was nothing more than an annoying bloke butting in on their quiet night at home.

‘I’ve heard he blamed you for the fire,’ he said at last.

‘That’s a lie,’ retorted Ellert.

‘Bollocks,’ snorted his brother.

‘That he had something on you that—’

‘What do you mean? He had nothing on us,’ said Ellert. ‘Look, we didn’t even know the man. Someone’s been having you on, mate.’

‘So you deny it?’

‘It’s total bullshit,’ said Ellert. ‘I hope you’re not going around spreading this kind of shit.’

‘No, I’m not.’ Erlendur rose to his feet. ‘Well, I’d better not take up any more of your time. Thanks, and sorry to bother you.’

‘No problem,’ said Vignir. ‘Sorry we couldn’t be any more help.’

‘Is he in a wheelchair?’ Erlendur blurted out as the credits rolled and the main character appeared. He was unfamiliar with the programme as he did not own a television himself.

‘Yes, it really holds him back,’ Vignir replied earnestly.

They did not see him out but remained riveted to the screen. Erlendur walked home in the light evening breeze, marvelling that the brothers were more interested in gawping at the fictitious crimes of an American TV series than discussing a mysterious incident in their own lives, an incident that had nearly resulted in the death of a man they knew.