He heard a key turn in the lock and he stood up. Eva Lind was back.
"I went to Gardabaer with the girl," she said when she saw Erlendur coming out of the kitchen, and closed the door behind her. "She said she was going to charge that sod for all the years he abused her. Her mother had a nervous breakdown. Then we left."
"To see the husband?"
"Yeah, back to their cosy little pad," Eva Lind said, kicking off her shoes by the door. "He went mad, but calmed down when he heard the explanation."
"How did he take it?"
"He's a great guy. When I left he was on his way to Gardabaer to talk to the old sod."
"Really."
"Do you think there's any point in charging that bastard?" Eva Lind asked.
"They're difficult cases. The men deny everything and somehow they get away with it. Maybe it depends on the mother, what she says. Maybe she ought to go to the rape crisis centre. How are you doing, anyway?"
"Just great," Eva Lind said.
"Have you thought about a sonar or whatever they call it?" Erlendur asked. "I could go with you."
"The time will come for that," Eva Lind said.
"Will it?"
"Yeah."
"Good," Erlendur said.
"What have you been up to anyway?" Eva Lind asked, putting the other meal into the microwave.
"I don't think about anything except children these days," Erlendur said. "And a message tree, which is a kind of family tree: it can contain all kinds of messages to us if we only know what we're supposed to be looking for. And I'm thinking about obsessions with collecting things. How does that song about the carthorse go?"
Eva Lind looked at her father. He knew she knew a lot about music.
"Do you mean 'Life is Like a Carthorse'?" she said.
"'Its head is stuffed with hay'," Erlendur said.
"'Its heart is frozen solid'."
"'And its brain has gone astray'," Erlendur finished the verse. He put on his hat and said he wouldn't be gone for long.
36
Hanna had warned the doctor so he wasn't surprised to see Erlendur that evening. He lived in an elegant house in the old part of Hafnarfjærdur and welcomed Erlendur at the door, the very picture of gentility and courteousness, a short man, bald as a billiard ball and portly beneath his thick dressing gown. A bon viveur, Erlendur thought, with a perpetual and slightly feminine redness in his cheeks. He was of an indeterminate age, could be around 60. Greeted Erlendur with a hand as dry as paper and invited him into the lounge.
Erlendur sat on a large wine-red leather sofa and declined the offer of a drink. The doctor sat facing him and waited for him to begin. Erlendur looked around the lounge, which was spacious and lavishly adorned with paintings and objets d'art, and wondered whether the doctor lived alone. He asked him.
"Always lived alone," the doctor said. "I'm extremely happy with that and always have been. It's said that men who reach my age regret not having had a family and children. My colleagues go around waving pictures of their grandchildren at conferences all around the world, but I've never had any interest in starting a family. Never had any interest in children."
He was convivial, talkative and chummy as if Erlendur was a bosom pal, as if implicitly recognising him on equal terms. Erlendur was not impressed.
"But you're interested in organs in jars," he said.
The doctor refused to let Erlendur throw him off balance.
"Hanna told me you were angry," he said. "I don't know why you should be angry. I'm not doing anything illegal. Yes, I do have a little collection of organs. Most of them are preserved in formalin in glass jars. I keep them in the house here. They were due to be destroyed, but I took them and kept them a little longer. I also keep another type of bio-sample, tissue samples.
"Why, you're probably wondering," he continued, but Erlendur shook his head.
"How many organs have you stolen? was actually the question I was going to ask," he said, "but we can get to that later."
"I haven't stolen any organs," the doctor said, slowly stroking his bald head. "I can't understand this antagonism. Do you mind if I have a drop of sherry?" he asked and stood up. Erlendur waited while he went over to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a glass. He offered one to Erlendur, who declined, and sipped at the sherry with his thick lips. It was clear from