Reykjavik Nights

4

Erlendur was standing on the brink of the pool where Hannibal had met his end when a boy tore past him on a bicycle, spun round and rode back. Although a year had passed since they had last met, Erlendur recognised him immediately: he was one of the kids who had found the body.

‘You’re a cop, aren’t you?’ said the boy, braking in front of him.

‘Yes, hello again.’

‘What are you doing here?’ asked the boy. He was as plucky and self-assured as Erlendur remembered; ginger hair, freckles, a look of mischief. But he had grown. In only a year he had gone from being a child to a teenager.

‘Just taking a look around.’

The boy had been the leader of the trio. They had all raced off to his house to inform his mother of their discovery. Realising they were in earnest, however far-fetched their tale, she had completely forgotten to scold them for coming home soaked again, and instead called the police straight away. The other boys had run home for a change of clothes, then they had all cycled back down to the diggings. By then two police cars and an ambulance had arrived. Hannibal’s body had been recovered from the pool and was lying on the ground, covered by a blanket.

When the report came in, Erlendur had been on traffic duty on Miklabraut. As soon as he reached the scene, he had waded into the water and pulled the body ashore. Only then did he see it was Hannibal. It had given him a turn, yet Hannibal’s death had seemed strangely inevitable. The police had been shooing away the boys, along with the other onlookers who had gathered, when they piped up that they had found the body. After that they were taken to sit in one of the patrol cars and later questioned closely about their discovery.

‘My dad says he drowned,’ the boy observed now, leaning on his handlebars and looking over at the place where Hannibal had lain suspended in the water.

‘Yes,’ agreed Erlendur. ‘I expect he fell in and couldn’t save himself.’

‘He was just an old alky.’

‘It must have been a bit of a shock for you and your friends to find him like that.’

‘Addi had nightmares,’ said the boy. ‘A doctor came round to his house and all. Me and Palli didn’t care.’

‘Do you still play here on rafts?’

‘Nah, not any more. That’s kids’ stuff.’

‘Ah, right. Did you by any chance notice the man down by the pipeline last summer? That you can remember?’

‘No.’

‘Anyone else notice him?’

‘No. We used to play there sometimes but I never saw him. Maybe he was only there at night.’

‘Maybe. What were you doing up by the pipeline?’

‘You know. Looking for golf balls.’

‘Golf balls?’

‘Yeah. There’s a bloke from those houses who’s always practising shots.’ The boy gestured to some rows of terraced houses on Hvassaleiti. Dad says there used to be a golf course by the pipeline, near Öskjuhlíd, and we sometimes find old balls.’

‘I see. And what do you do with them when you find them?’

‘Nothing.’ The boy prepared to pedal off. ‘Just chuck ’em in the water. I ain’t got any use for them.’

‘“I haven’t got any use for them”.’

‘Yeah, OK.’

‘And “OK” isn’t good Icel—’

‘I’ve got to go home now,’ interrupted the boy and, climbing onto his saddle, was off before Erlendur could finish his sentence.

Erlendur followed the track between the old workings and up the hill towards the heating conduit. The pipeline was fifteen kilometres long and ran from the geothermal zone in the Mosfell valley north of the city, skirted the suburbs, then finally discharged into the huge hot-water tanks that crowned Öskjuhlíd. Inside the concrete casing ran two fourteen-inch steel pipes booming with naturally heated water. Although insulated, these had still emitted enough warmth to provide comfort for Hannibal during the last days of his life.

They had not yet repaired the hole in the casing. Erlendur contemplated the broken-off slab of concrete lying in the grass and wondered what had caused the damage. An earthquake, perhaps, or frost.

The opening was large enough for a grown man to crawl through with ease. He noticed that the grass around the entrance was flattened, and when he poked his head inside he saw that someone else must have had the same idea as Hannibal. A blanket had been dragged in there. Two empty brennivín bottles and a handful of methylated spirits containers were scattered under the pipes. Not far beyond them he could make out a shabby hat and a mitten.

The gloom intensified as Erlendur peered further inside. As his eyes adjusted, he was jolted by the sight of a mound deep within the tunnel.

‘Who’s there?’ he called.

There was no answer, but the mound suddenly came to life and began to move in his direction.