Reykjavik Nights

36

That evening Erlendur was on his way to work when he spotted Thurí at Hlemmur, near the police station. She was among a group of passengers stepping off a bus, the number three from Nes to Háaleiti. Hlemmur, a popular gathering place for the homeless, was the largest bus station in the city and had recently become the headquarters of Reykjavík Transport. Despite its new-found status, however, the station consisted of little more than a stretch of windswept tarmac, now covered in puddles from the rain that had fallen earlier that day. There was also a large, draughty, east-facing bus shelter, where people huddled in bad weather, praying that number ‘Get Me Out of Here’ would not be late.

He could see no sign of Thurí’s boyfriend Bergmundur, and when he went over to say hello he thought she looked in pretty good shape. She recognised him immediately but was in a terrible mood. It turned out that she had been harassed on the bus and rather than put up with it had decided to get off early at Hlemmur and wait for the next one.

‘Bastards!’ She sniffed loudly.

‘What happened?’

‘There was a bunch of little wankers taking the piss out of me on the bus. I gave them what for. Bloody bastards!’

‘Do you often have problems with... bastards like that?’ asked Erlendur.

‘What’s it to you?’ she countered, her hackles still up from her recent encounter.

‘Oh, nothing, I just thought—’

‘Yeah, well, think what you like.’

Erlendur was early; his shift did not start for another hour. He had intended to spend the time digging around in the police archives, but instead asked Thurí if she wanted a coffee. They could go and sit in a nearby cafe. He had been hoping to ask her a few more questions about how she found the earring, and this seemed like a good opportunity.

‘Going to buy me a drink?’ she fired back.

‘I don’t think they have a licence.’

‘Then you can forget it.’ Thurí stalked off towards the bus shelter. It was empty. She sat down on the bench and Erlendur joined her. The floor was studded with lumps of chewing gum and a drift of sweet papers whirled in the wind. In one corner an empty litter bin lay on its side, next to a broken bottle. Obscenities were scrawled over every inch of the walls.

‘Seen anything of Bergmundur recently?’ began Erlendur.

‘That dickhead.’

‘I thought you two were friends.’

‘Bergmundur hasn’t got any friends. What gave you that idea? He’s a pathetic loser. A pathetic bloody loser.’

‘Actually, I was on my way to visit you,’ said Erlendur.

‘Oh?’

‘I wanted to ask you more about the earring you found.’

‘Did you get it back from that crook?’

‘I’ve got it, yes. It’s at home.’

‘I wouldn’t mind having it back,’ said Thurí.

‘Any particular reason?’

‘I wouldn’t sell it again,’ said Thurí touchily, ‘if that’s what you’re implying. I didn’t mean to sell it. I meant to keep it. But...’

A teenage girl with heavily made-up eyes entered the shelter and eyed them both carefully. Deciding neither looked like a soft touch, she went out again. She was wearing a miniskirt and platforms so high she could barely walk.

‘I wanted to know where you found the earring,’ said Erlendur.

‘I already told you that — in the pipeline!’

‘Yes, but where exactly? Do you remember?’

‘Why the hell do you care?’

‘I just want to know.’

‘Not far from the opening.’

‘Right- or left-hand side?’

‘Right, left, what kind of question is that? What does it matter?’

‘It probably doesn’t,’ admitted Erlendur, ‘but it would be good if you could remember.’

‘Left side,’ said Thúri, ‘under one of the pipes. It was dark and I’d never have spotted it if I hadn’t banged my head on the bloody roof when I was crawling in. I saw something shiny and it turned out to be an earring. Have you discovered who it belonged to?’

‘I’m working on it.’

‘Or what it was doing there?’

‘I’m not sure,’ said Erlendur. ‘If it fell off someone’s ear, would it really have rolled all the way under the pipe? I had a look round the other day and no one could squeeze under there — it’s too close to the ground. Do you have any idea how else it could have got there?’

‘Maybe it was kicked under there,’ suggested Thurí.

‘It’s possible.’

‘Or...’

‘What?’

‘Or somebody put it there.’

‘How do you mean? Who could have done that?’

‘How the hell should I know?’ Thurí was angry now, fed up with Erlendur’s questions. ‘I haven’t given it any thought. That’s your job. I haven’t a clue how it ended up there. I just found it. I don’t give a toss who put it there or how it got there or whose it was. I don’t know why you’re asking me. Who the hell are you, anyway?’

‘All right, all right,’ said Erlendur. ‘I’m only trying to work out how Hannibal died.’

‘Well, I can’t help you there.’

‘You’ve been helpful up to now.’

Thurí took out her tin of roll-ups, fished one out, lit it and inhaled.

‘Has the earring got something to do with it?’ she asked. ‘With how Hannibal died?’

‘Good question,’ said Erlendur. ‘The earring’s the only piece that doesn’t fit. The only piece you wouldn’t expect to find among Hannibal’s belongings.’

‘Poor Hannibal,’ said Thurí. ‘They don’t make many like him.’

Erlendur nodded.

‘Did he ever mention his sister to you?’

‘The one he pulled out of the sea?’

‘Yes. Her name’s Rebekka. She’s devastated about what happened to her brother and feels partly responsible, which is absurd, obviously. I’ve got to know her a little and she told me about the accident. She wants to know what happened to Hannibal.’

‘Is that why you’re always pestering me?’

Erlendur smiled.

‘Her name’s Rebekka,’ Thuri said. ‘I didn’t know. He didn’t talk about her much. Or the rest of his family.’

‘He couldn’t save them both.’

‘But why should she feel responsible?’

‘She only joined them at the last minute,’ explained Erlendur. ‘It should have been just Hannibal and his wife in the car. She can’t get over that. Even now it’s still... hard for her to accept.’

Thurí took another drag on her cigarette. She had recovered from the confrontation on the bus; talking about Hannibal and the accident seemed to have calmed her down.

‘Where were you going?’ asked Erlendur, hoping this wouldn’t wind her up again.

‘Going?’

‘Where were you taking the bus to?’

‘Nowhere in particular. I just like riding the bus around the city, seeing the houses and streets, the new areas like Breidholt. Feels almost like I’m travelling. But I’m not going anywhere. Never do. Always end up back in the same place.’

She dropped the cigarette on the pavement and ground it underfoot. She had smoked it down until it burnt her fingertips.

‘All I know is he missed his wife.’

‘Helena?’

‘Hannibal told me she’d waved him away.’ Thurí gazed, unseeing, at the puddles on the tarmac. ‘He went to save her but she pointed to the girl. He told me she’d sacrificed herself for his sister. She’d realised he couldn’t save them both: it would take too much time and effort to free her, then rescue the girl. So she wanted him to concentrate on his sister. She pushed him away. That was the last time he saw her alive. She smiled at him, or so he claimed. But I get the feeling he invented that. It’s what he said once when he was being gentle, but he never mentioned it again.’

After a while a bus arrived and Thurí stood up, saying a curt goodbye as if she wanted nothing more to do with Erlendur. The sky was leaden and it was raining again. He watched her climb aboard and select a window seat, ready to carry on circling the city with no destination, never leaving the vehicle, not caring where it went: her life a journey without purpose. As Erlendur followed the departing bus with his eyes, he pictured himself in her shoes, forever circling around life, alone, with no destination.