The Draining Lake - By Arnaldur Indridason Page 0,11
visit dawned on him.
'Eva said you had a spare room that's just full of old junk.'
Erlendur looked at his son. There was indeed a spare room in his flat. The old junk Eva had mentioned was his parents' effects, which he kept because he could not bring himself to throw it out. Items from his childhood home. A chest full of letters written by his parents and forebears, a carved shelf, piles of magazines, books, fishing rods and a heavy old shotgun that his grand-father had owned, broken.
'What about your mother?' Erlendur said. 'Can't you stay with her?'
'Of course,' Sindri said. 'I'll just do that, then.'
They fell silent.
'No, there's no space in that room,' Erlendur said eventually. 'So . . . I don't know . . .'
'Eva's stayed here,' Sindri said.
His words were followed by a deep silence.
'She said you've changed,' Sindri said in the end.
'What about you?' Erlendur asked. 'Have you changed?'
'I haven't touched a drop for months,' Sindri said. 'If that's what you mean.'
Erlendur snapped out of his thoughts and sipped his coffee. He looked away from the photograph on the shelf and over at Kristín. He wanted a cigarette.
'So the boy never knew his father,' he said. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Elínborg glaring at him, but pretended not to notice. He was well aware that he was prying into the private life of a woman whose husband's mysterious disappearance more than thirty years before had never been satisfactorily resolved. Erlendur's question was irrelevant to the police investigation.
'His stepfather has treated him well and he has a very good relationship with his brothers,' she said. 'I can't see what that has to do with my husband's disappearance.'
'Do you think it's him?' Kristín asked, standing up.
'I don't think it's very likely,' Elínborg said. 'But we need to look into it more closely.'
They stood still for an instant as if something remained to be said. As if something was in the air that needed to be put into words before their meeting would be over.
'A year after he went missing,' Kristín said, 'a body was washed ashore on Snaefellsnes. They thought it was him but it turned out not to be.'
She clasped her hands.
'Sometimes, even today, I think he might be alive. That he didn't die at all. Sometimes I think he left us and moved to the countryside – or abroad – without telling us, and started a new family. I've even caught glimpses of him here in Reykjavík. About five years ago I thought I saw him. I followed this man around like an imbecile. It was in the shopping centre. Spied on him until I saw that of course it wasn't him.'
She looked at Erlendur.
'He went away, but all the same . . . he'll never go away,' she said with a sad smile playing across her lips.
'I know,' Erlendur said. 'I know what you mean.'
When they got into the car Elínborg scolded Erlendur for his callous question about Kristín's son. Erlendur told her not to be so sensitive.
His mobile rang. It was Valgerdur. He'd been expecting her to get in touch. They had met the previous Christmas when Erlendur had been investigating a murder at a hotel in Reykjavík. She was a biotechnician and they had been in a very on-off relationship since then. Her husband had admitted to having an affair but when it came to the crunch he did not want to end their marriage; instead he had humbly asked her to forgive him and promised to mend his ways. She maintained that she was going to leave him, but it had not happened yet.
'How's your daughter doing?' she asked, and Erlendur told her briefly about his visit to Eva Lind.