Strange Shores

28

He started awake from a deep sleep, disturbed by the sound of a car. Day was breaking. He felt bleary and disorientated, having only managed to drop off shortly before dawn. A door slammed and he heard the snow creaking under approaching footsteps. The visitor was alone. Erlendur crawled from his sleeping bag. Snow had piled up in one corner of the room and the place looked miserably uninviting.

‘Anyone at home?’ called an instantly recognisable voice. Bóas’s face appeared outside the broken window.

‘Am I disturbing you?’ he asked.

‘Not at all.’

‘I brought you some coffee and a Danish,’ the farmer announced with a grin. ‘Thought you might welcome a bit of company.’

‘Come on in,’ said Erlendur.

‘You’re too kind,’ said Bóas, entering the doorless house and joining Erlendur in the remains of the sitting room. He was carrying a Thermos flask and a paper bag from which wafted a delicious smell. ‘I brought two mugs just to be on the safe side,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t sure how comfortably you live up here.’

‘I get by,’ said Erlendur, accepting a cup of coffee.

Bóas took in his sleeping arrangements — the blankets, sleeping bag and gas lantern. His camp was neat enough, if not exactly a suite at the Hilton. Erlendur had made a giant ashtray out of a milk churn that he had found on the property. It stood in one corner, the bottom filled with water, into which he chucked his stubs. Next to it was a folding chair and a few books piled on a dry patch of floor.

‘I see you’ve made it nice and homely,’ said Bóas. ‘Have a thing about tramps, do you? Thinking of becoming one yourself?’

Erlendur smiled and took a bite of freshly baked Danish pastry. The coffee was strong and scalding hot. He sipped gingerly to avoid burning his tongue.

‘It’s not so bad,’ he said. ‘Thanks for the coffee.’

‘You’re welcome. Seen any ghosts?’

‘There are always a few around.’

‘The kids used to claim this place was haunted,’ said Bóas. ‘Back in the days when kids could be bothered to play outside and knew what a haunted house was. Though that’s many years ago now. They’d come up here, light fires and tell ghost stories. A bit of hanky-panky went on too, of course, and illicit drinking.’

‘They’ve scribbled graffiti on the walls,’ said Erlendur.

‘Yes, always the same old lovers’ marks. But nobody comes here any more, as far as I know. Apart from you, that is.’

‘And that’s not often,’ said Erlendur.

‘It’s a beautiful spot, though. Are you thinking of staying on?’

‘Not sure.’

‘Aren’t you cold?’

‘No, not really.’

‘Forgive an old busybody — I don’t mean to pry,’ said Bóas. ‘Anyway, I mentioned that matter you asked me about to some local hunters. You know, about whether foxholes and ravens’ nests might provide any clues about your brother. But nothing came of it, I’m sorry to say.’

‘No,’ said Erlendur. ‘I didn’t really expect it to. But thanks for looking into it.’

‘What about your case, how’s that going?’ asked Bóas.

‘My case? You mean Matthildur?’

Bóas nodded.

‘It’s hardly a case. I don’t know what to say, though it appears Ezra might be able to fill me in on a few things.’

‘How’s that?’ asked Bóas, inquisitive as ever.

‘I just got that impression after having another chat with Hrund,’ Erlendur said, unwilling to reveal more than was necessary. He had no intention of bringing up Ezra’s affair with Matthildur, though there was a chance that Bóas already knew. Still, it was a private matter and he had no wish to encourage rumours. ‘It’s just an idea,’ he added, hoping to put Bóas off the scent.

‘Do you think there was something fishy about it?’

‘It sounds to me as if you think so,’ said Erlendur, turning the tables. ‘Or you wouldn’t have reacted the way you did to my questions about Matthildur. After all, it was you who directed me to Hrund in the first place — when I said I was from the police.’

‘I don’t know any more than I’ve told you,’ said Bóas, backtracking. ‘I was just giving you the story from my perspective. I’ve no idea what did or didn’t happen.’

‘So — a puzzling incident and that’s all there is to it?’ said Erlendur.

‘That’s all there is to it as far as I’m concerned,’ said Bóas. ‘Will you be seeing Ezra again?’

‘I’m not sure,’ said Erlendur, certain now that Bóas had not come bearing gifts purely out of the goodness of his heart. It amused him how the old farmer feigned a lack of interest in the case, while utterly failing to hide his avid curiosity.

‘I could go over there with you if you’d like,’ Bóas offered.

‘Thanks, but no. I wouldn’t want to take up your time.’

‘Don’t worry about that,’ Bóas said quickly. ‘It’s just that I know the old boy and I might have more luck persuading him to talk.’

‘Somehow I doubt that, now I’ve met him,’ said Erlendur. ‘With all due respect. Anyway, I’ve no idea if I’m going to see him again.’

‘Well, just let me know if I can help,’ said Bóas, preparing to leave. Plainly, he was not going to make any headway with Erlendur.

‘Thank you again for the coffee and pastry.’ Erlendur escorted him to the door, for all the world as if Bakkasel were his home again.