Strange Shores

56

Two hours later he was standing beside Thórhildur Vilhjálmsdóttir’s grave again. He had already dug up one coffin recently and was not at all sure he wanted to repeat the experience, but he could not confirm his suspicions by any other method. He was feeling fairly certain of his theory after turning the matter over in his mind all the way back from Egilsstadir.

This time, however, he didn’t believe he would need to dig as far to find the evidence. It was unlikely he would have to disinter Thórhildur’s coffin or excavate underneath it. Jakob would presumably have taken the easiest course, especially as he wouldn’t have had much time in which to act. In any case, there would have been little risk that anyone would ever want to re-examine the body of a woman in her nineties. The longer Erlendur stood over her grave, the more convinced he became that he would need to dig no more than a metre to find what he sought.

The light was already failing, so he decided to wait until it was fully dark. He got back into the car, switched on the heater and settled down to listen to a radio station playing modern jazz that he didn’t recognise but found relaxing. He tried to unwind, tried to stop himself brooding on Ezra, Matthildur and Jakob, on his brother and the box of bones, and all that he had discovered during his few days’ leave in the East Fjords. He hadn’t thought about home once, so preoccupied had he been with his investigation. The case had gnawed at him for years. In fact, he had toyed with the idea of looking into Matthildur’s disappearance before now, but it was that chance encounter with Bóas on the moor that had provided the impetus. He hadn’t really needed to think twice before going to visit Hrund. He longed to know more. To find out why. Someone had told him it didn’t matter any more, that the passing years and time’s destructive power had erased all need for any investigation. It would change nothing; it only had relevance for a handful of people now. This was true up to a point. There was no danger: only one person had any interests to protect. But Erlendur knew better. When a loved one went missing time changed nothing. Admittedly, it dulled the pain, but by the same token the loss became a lifelong companion for those who survived, making the grief keener and deeper in a way he couldn’t explain.

His thoughts turned to his daughter and their last meeting, when she said she had forgiven him for all the years of neglect since he divorced her mother. And his son, who never made any demands on him, and Valgerdur who simply tried to make his life easier. And Marion Briem who had died such a lonely death. His colleagues too, Elínborg and Sigurdur Óli. The cases they had investigated, the years they had worked together.

Night fell rapidly and when he felt it was dark enough to enter the cemetery with lantern and spade, he stepped out of the car. As he made his way towards Thórhildur’s grave, he thanked his lucky stars that there was so little traffic in this part of the village. Putting down the gaslight, he began to shovel snow from the plot, then sliced off a sizeable patch of turf to uncover the bare earth.

He worked methodically. The question of what to say if he was caught in the act gave him a moment’s pause but no more. He could always wave his police ID if all else failed. His superiors would not look kindly on a private investigation of this kind but at least his intentions were good. All he was doing was solving an old crime. That was why he had permitted himself to disinter Jakob and was now hacking his way into Thórhildur’s grave.

Placing the lantern nearby, he dug carefully but was not aware of any hindrance. He picked up the light and shone it into the hole but could see nothing unusual. He stretched his back.

The village street lights lit up the harbour and the mountainsides above the highest houses. Like other settlements in the East Fjords, Eskifjördur was little more than a cluster of buildings round the docks with a main street running along the seafront, yet it had a long history and over the generations its inhabitants had experienced great changes. The most radical transformation of all was taking place now, with the building of the giant dam in the highlands to provide electricity for the aluminium smelter in the neighbouring fjord. The past was once more giving way irreversibly to the present.

He resumed his excavation. Every now and then he glanced around to check for anyone who might demand an explanation. But he never saw a soul.

He drove the spade into the ground again. The hole was no more than half a metre deep. Flinging the soil over the top, he pushed the blade down again and felt resistance, as if it had struck a stone. There was a small click. He shone the lamp over the spot but could see nothing, so he started digging again and now there was no doubt of the impediment. Using the blade, he scraped away the dirt, then illuminated the pit again.

This time he immediately spotted something in the soil that he couldn’t identify. By sliding the spade underneath it, he managed to lever it up, then he put down his tool, felt around with his fingers and held the object up to the light. He hadn’t a clue what it was until he had cleaned off some of the dirt. Then it became clear: he was holding a knife. The blade was rusty and notched; the wooden handle had almost rotted away. Recalling what Ezra had said about Jakob hiding some possession of his with the body, Erlendur guessed that the knife must have belonged to him.

Laying it aside, he picked up the shovel again and continued his excavation. After another spadeful, he met further resistance.

At first he could see nothing, but when he strained his eyes he began to perceive a shape in the soil, like one of those trick images that gradually reveals itself to the observer: familiar lines, an outline he recognised. Lying down, he reached into the hole to scrape more earth off his discovery. A little water had collected in the bottom but he could see no splinters of broken wood or any other trace of a coffin.

Finally he lowered the gas lantern down the hole and now at last he came face to face with what lay hidden above the last resting place of Thórhildur Vilhjálmsdóttir. The old woman was not alone in her grave. Under cover of night, an uninvited and unwilling guest had been laid down there with her and hastily covered with earth.

The first thing he made out distinctly, half submerged in the muddy water, was a row of teeth. Then a segment of skull took shape, complete with lower jaw and molars, and Erlendur knew that he had found the earthly remains of Matthildur Kjartansdóttir, who had purportedly died of exposure on her way over the Hraevarskörd Pass in the great January storm of 1942.