Reykjavik Nights

25

Neither of them noticed Erlendur. He crept out again, pushing the door to behind him, then walked round the house and out into the street. He would rather not have had that image burnt onto his retinas but it couldn’t be helped. Two things were clear: Bergmundur had found his Thurí, and Thurí had lapsed again.

Twenty minutes later Bergmundur rounded the corner and swaggered off down the street towards town. He didn’t observe Erlendur tucked between the buildings, watching him until he turned onto Hringbraut.

Erlendur loitered for another five minutes before going back into the garden and rapping on the door, much louder than before. This time it was shut and he had to knock three times before he heard a rustle and Thurí opened up.

‘What’s all this bloody racket?’ she slurred.

‘Remember me?’ said Erlendur. ‘We talked the other day down at the hostel.’

‘No,’ said Thurí. ‘Who’re you? Why should I remember you?’

She was dressed in a skimpy jumper and skirt, smoking a cigarette. The ash dropped onto the floor at her feet.

‘I was asking you about a man called Hannibal.’

Thurí peered more closely at Erlendur, still none the wiser.

‘I knew Hannibal.’ She wandered back inside, leaving the door open. Erlendur followed. She bent down and picked up a clear glass bottle containing the dregs of some cloudy liquid and took a long drink. Then, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she sat down on the divan. There were several containers of methylated spirits on the floor. The wages of love, he supposed.

‘You told me you went to visit him before he died,’ Erlendur began, ‘at the pipeline where he was sleeping. And you kept something you found there later on, after he drowned. I wondered if you’d let me see it. You did say I could come round and have a look.’

Thurí stared at him and eventually the fog seemed to lift a little.

‘You?’ she said. ‘Hannibal’s friend. It’s coming back to me now. What did you say your name was?’

‘Erlendur.’

‘A mate of Hannibal’s?’

‘That’s right. You picked up an earring under the hot-water pipe. A gold one. You offered to show it to me.’

Thurí raised the bottle to her lips again. She seemed in low spirits.

‘I lapsed,’ she said, full of self-hatred. ‘Was dry for months but now I’ve lapsed. I’m pathetic. Totally bloody pathetic. That’s the worst thing. That I’m such a pathetic piece of shit. Back in the day, I didn’t drink with just anyone, you know. Used to associate with nice people. With a good crowd. Used to have fun, drank classy stuff. Now I’m like a dog drinking out of a ditch.’

She brandished the bottle for emphasis.

‘Nothing but sodding piss.’

Erlendur didn’t know what to say so thought it best to keep his mouth shut. He surveyed the dingy little room. Her situation was grim. She had tried to claw her way out of the mire but kept falling back into it.

‘Do you remember the earring?’ he asked, eager to cut short his visit. There was an unpleasant smell that he associated inescapably with the image of Thurí and Bergmundur on the bed.

‘’Course I do,’ said Thurí. ‘I found it, didn’t I? Think I’d forget? No way. It’s my lucky charm.’

‘Could I possibly see it?’ asked Erlendur. ‘Do you have it here?’

‘What’s it to you?’

‘You do still have it?’

‘I lent... pawned it.’

‘You what?’

Thurí waved the bottle again.

‘Got to drink something.’

‘You sold it for booze?’

‘Home-made spirits,’ she clarified. ‘Anyway, I didn’t sell it. I pawned it. I’ll get it back when I have the cash. Then you can see it. Why the hell do you want to see it anyhow? It’s none of your business. I’m the one who found it. It’s mine. If I want to sell it, I will and I don’t need your permission.’

Erlendur could tell she wanted to pick a fight, so he tried the conciliatory approach. It took him a while to win her over, but in the end, he persuaded her to reveal the address of her supplier.

‘Did you know Hannibal was married once?’ he asked when she had calmed down.

‘Yeah.’

‘Did he ever tell you about the accident that happened when he was young?’

‘I know how he lost Helena,’ Thurí said. ‘Though he didn’t like to talk about it. Not to just anyone. He did tell me, but it wasn’t easy for him. He wasn’t one to open up about himself.’

‘No, I don’t suppose he was,’ said Erlendur. ‘Did he ever mention his elder brother? Or his sister-in-law?’

‘No. Were they in contact? Hannibal never mentioned them.’

‘So you don’t know if his brother was in town when Hannibal died?’

‘How would I know that? What the hell are you on about?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Erlendur said. ‘I heard from him, that’s all. He wasn’t exactly friendly.’

‘Well, I don’t know a bloody thing about him.’

Thurí slouched on the bed, bottle in hand, fumbling with a crumpled cigarette packet. She was not having much luck. Erlendur took the packet, extracted one and lit it for her.

‘Maybe you should go down to Amtmannsstígur,’ he said in parting.

‘Yeah, yeah, yeah,’ she said. ‘Just leave me alone.’

Thurí’s supplier had a place in Skerjafjördur, near the domestic airport. If Thurí was to be believed, he had an illegal still in a small garage, from which he was emerging when Erlendur arrived. They exchanged greetings, the man a little warily. He was short, with an impressive gut.

‘What can I do for you?’ he asked, locking the garage door.

‘Thurí sent me,’ Erlendur explained, working on the assumption that she was one of his regulars.

‘Thurí, eh? How’s she doing?’

‘Bad. Your poison’s put her in a foul mood. Have you got the earring she sold you?’

‘Earring?’

‘The gold earring she gave you in exchange for booze. She told me you had it.’

‘So what if I do?’

‘I’d like to buy it off you,’ Erlendur said. ‘For the same price you paid for it. What does a bottle of your home-made spirits cost?’

‘Hey, I’m not—’

‘Cut the crap.’ Erlendur didn’t want to waste time arguing. He was tired; he had been traipsing round all day, and the people he’d met and the things he’d seen had only exacerbated his fatigue. ‘I’m with the police,’ he continued. ‘I’m confident that if we entered your garage we’d find distilling apparatus and a store of illegal alcohol. And I’m sure you do a tidy line in smuggled booze — expensive stuff from abroad.’

‘The police?’ the man repeated.

‘Look, all I want is the earring,’ said Erlendur. ‘I know you’ve got it. Give it to me and I’ll leave you alone.’

The man hesitated.

‘There’s no point in hanging on to one earring,’ he said at last.

‘Exactly,’ Erlendur agreed.

‘And it’s not gold. No way. It’s a piece of crap. I had it valued. It’s plate.’

‘You mean you gave Thurí too much for it?’

‘No. Not really. It’s just not worth much so... you... you can have it if you like.’

The man’s eyes strayed to the garage door. Erlendur understood that he was trying to make the best of a bad situation.