“He winked at me when he followed her out of the party. I knew what that meant. He could be a charmer. He thought it was funny to get away with it. Laughed a lot at some cop the girl went to and ruined her case for her.”

“Did they know each other, Holberg and this cop?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did he ever talk about the daughter Kolbrun gave birth to after the rape?”

“Daughter? No. Did he get her pregnant?”

“You know about another rape,” Erlendur said without answering him. “Another woman he raped. Who was it? What was her name?”

“I don’t know.”

“So why did you call me back?”

“I don’t know who it was but I know when it was and where she lived. More or less. That’s enough for you to find her.”

“When? And where?

“Yeah, right, what do I get?”

“You?”

“What can you do for me?”

“I can’t do anything for you and I don’t want to do anything for you.”

“Sure you do. Then I’ll tell you what I know.”

Erlendur pondered.

“I can’t promise anything,” he said.

“I can’t stand being in solitary.”

“Was that why you called me back?”

“You don’t know what it does to you. I’m going mad in this cell. They never put the light on. I don’t know what day it is. You’re kept here like an animal in a cage. They treat you like a beast.”

“And what, you’re the Count of Monte Cristo!” Erlendur said sarcastically. “You’re a sadist, Ellidi.

The worst sort of psychopath and sadist there is. A dumb idiot who likes violence. A homophobe and a racist. You’re the worst type of retard I know. I don’t care if they keep you locked up in here for the rest of your life. I’m going upstairs to recommend just that.”

“I’ll tell you where she lived if you get me out of here.”

“I can’t get you out of here, you idiot. I don’t have the authority to and, even if I did, I wouldn’t. If you want to cut your solitary short perhaps you should stop attacking people.”

“You could do a deal on it. Say you wound me up. Say that poofter started it. I was cooperative, but he was making smart-arse remarks. And I helped you with your enquiries. They’ll listen to you. I know who you are. They’ll listen to you.”

“Did Holberg talk about any others apart from those two?”

“Are you going to do that for me?”

Erlendur thought about it. “I’ll see what I can do. Did he talk about any others?”

“No. Never. I only knew about those two.”

“Are you lying?”

“I’m not lying. The other one never pressed charges. It was in the early ’60s. He never went back to that place.”

“What place?”

“Are you going to get me out of here?”

“What place?”

“Promise!”

“I can’t promise anything,” Erlendur said. “I’ll talk to them. What place was it?”

“Husavik.”

“How old was she?”

“It was the same sort of job as the one in Keflavik, only more ferocious,” Ellidi said.

“Ferocious?”

“Don’t you want to hear it?” Ellidi said, unable to conceal his eagerness. “Do you want to hear what he did?”

Ellidi didn’t wait for an answer. His voice poured out through the hole in the door and Erlendur stood there, listening to the hoarse confession coming from the darkness.

Sigurdur Oli was waiting for him in the car. As they drove away from the prison Erlendur gave a short account of his conversation with Ellidi but kept quiet about the monologue at the end. They decided to look at the register of people who lived in Husavik in the years around 1960. If the woman was a similar age to Kolbrun, as Ellidi had implied, it was just possible she could be found.

“And what about Ellidi?” Sigurdur Oli asked when they were back in the Threngslin Pass on their way to Reykjavik.

“I asked if they’d reduce his solitary confinement and they refused. There was nothing else I could do.”

“You kept your promise at least,” Sigurdur Oli smiled. “If Holberg raped those two, couldn’t there have been more?”

“There could have been,” Erlendur said vacantly.

“What are you thinking about now?”

“There are two things that bother me,” Erlendur said. “I’d like to know precisely what it was that the little girl died of.” He could hear Sigurdur Oli heave a sigh beside him. “And I’d like to know if she was definitely Holberg’s child.”

“So what’s puzzling you about that?”

“Ellidi told me Holberg had a sister.”

“A sister?”

“Who died young. We need to find her medical records. Look for them at the hospitals. See what you can come up with.”

“What did she die of? Holberg’s sister?”

“Possibly something similar to Audur. Holberg mentioned something about her head once. Or that was how Ellidi described it. I asked if it could have been a brain tumour, but Ellidi didn’t know.”

“And how does that help our case?” Sigurdur Oli asked.

“I think there could be a kinship connection,” Erlendur said.

“Kinship? What, because of the message we found?”

“Yes,” Erlendur said, “because of the message. Maybe it’s a question of kinship and heredity.”

The doctor lived in a town house on the west side of the Grafarvogur suburb. He no longer held a regular medical practice. He welcomed Erlendur at the door himself and showed him into the spacious hallway that he used as an office. He explained to Erlendur that he now did occasional work for lawyers on cases of disability assessment. The office area was simply furnished, tidy, with a little desk and typewriter. The doctor was a short, rather thin man with sharp features. He had a sprightly manner about him. He carried two pens in the breast pocket of the shirt he was wearing. His name was Frank.

Erlendur had phoned beforehand to arrange an appointment. The afternoon was wearing on and it was beginning to get dark. Back at the station, Sigurdur Oli and Elinborg huddled over a photocopy of a 40-year-old register of the inhabitants of Husavk which had been faxed to them by the local government office in the north. The doctor asked Erlendur to sit down.

“Isn’t it just a pack of liars who come to see you?” Erlendur asked, looking around the office.

“Liars?” the doctor said. “I wouldn’t say that. Some of them, undoubtedly. Neck injuries are the most tricky. You really can’t do anything but believe patients who complain of neck injuries after a car accident. They’re the most difficult to handle. Some feel more pain than others but I don’t think there are many who aren’t genuinely in a great deal of discomfort.”

“When I phoned you remembered the girl in Keflavik immediately.”

“That sort of thing’s difficult to forget. Difficult to forget the mother. Kolbrun, wasn’t that her name? I understand she committed suicide.”

“It’s a bloody tragedy from start to finish,” Erlendur said. He wondered whether to ask the doctor about the pain he felt in his chest when he woke up in the mornings, but decided this was not the time. The doctor was bound to discover he was fatally ill, send him to hospital and he’d be playing the harp with the angels by the weekend. Erlendur tried to avoid bad news whenever possible and, as he didn’t expect to hear any good news about himself, he kept quiet.

“You said it was to do with the murder in Nordurmyri,” the doctor said, snapping Erlendur back to reality.

“Yes, Holberg, the murder victim, may have been the father of the girl in Keflavik,” Erlendur said. “The mother claimed so all along. Holberg neither confirmed nor denied it. He admitted having sex with Kolbrun so rape couldn’t be proved against him. Often there’s very little evidence on which to base that kind of case. We’re investigating the man’s past. The girl fell ill and died in her fourth year. Can you tell me what happened?”

“I don’t see how that could have anything to do with the murder case.”

“Well, we’ll see. Could you answer my question please?”