The doctor took a good long look at Erlendur.

“It’s probably best for me to tell you straight-away, Inspector,” the doctor said, as if steeling himself for something. “I was a different man at that time.”

“A different man?”

“And a worse one. I haven’t touched alcohol for almost 30 years now. I’ll be honest about this up front, so you don’t need to put yourself to any more bother, I had my GP licence suspended from 1969 to 1972.”

“Because of the little girl?”

“No, no, not because of her, though that would have been ample reason in its own right. It was because of drinking and negligence. I’d rather not go into that unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

Erlendur wanted to let the matter rest there, but couldn’t restrain himself.

“So you were drunk more or less all those years, you mean?”

“More or less.”

“Was your GP licence reinstated?”

“Yes.”

“And no other trouble since then?”

“No, no other trouble since then,” the doctor said, shaking his head. “But, as I say, I wasn’t in a good state when I looked after Kolbrun’s girl. Audur. She had head pains and I thought it was child migraine. She used to vomit in the mornings. When the pain got worse I gave her stronger medication. It’s all rather a blur to me. I’ve chosen to forget as much as I can from that time. Everyone can make mistakes, doctors too.”

“What was the cause of death?”

“It probably wouldn’t have made any difference if I’d acted faster and sent her to hospital,” the doctor said thoughtfully. “At least that’s what I tried to tell myself. There weren’t many paediatricians around then and we didn’t have those brain scans. We had to act much more on what we felt and knew and, as I said, I didn’t feel anything much except the need to drink in those years. A messy divorce didn’t help. I’m not making excuses for myself,” he said with a look at Erlendur, although he obviously was.

Erlendur nodded.

“After about two months, I think, I started to suspect it could be something more serious than child migraine. The girl didn’t get any better. It didn’t let up. She just got worse and worse. Withered away, got very skinny. There were a number of possibilities. I thought it might be something like a tubercular infection of the head. At one time the stock diagnosis was to call it a head cold when actually no-one had a clue. Then the hypothesis was meningitis, but various symptoms were absent; it works much faster too. The girl got what they call cafe au lait on her skin and I finally started thinking about an oncogenic disease.”

“Cafe au lait?"Erlendur said, remembering he had heard this mentioned before.

“It can accompany oncogenic diseases.”

“You sent her to Keflavik hospital then?”

“She died there,” the doctor said. “I remember what a tragic loss it was for the mother. She went out of her mind. We had to tranquillise her. She flatly refused to let them do an autopsy on the girl. Screamed at us not to do it.”

“But they did an autopsy all the same.”

The doctor hesitated.

“It couldn’t be avoided. There was no way.”

“And what transpired?”

“An oncogenic disease, like I said.”

“What do you mean by an oncogenic disease?”

“A brain tumour,” the doctor said. “She died of a brain tumour.”

“What kind of brain tumour?”

“I’m not sure,” the doctor said. “I don’t know whether they studied it in depth though I expect they probably did. I seem to recall mention of some kind of genetic disease.”

“Genetic disease!” Erlendur said, raising his voice.

“Isn’t that the fashion these days? What does this have to do with Holberg’s murder?” the doctor asked.

Erlendur sat there deep in thought.

“Why are you asking about this girl?”

“I have these dreams,” Erlendur said.

Eva Lind wasn’t in the flat when Erlendur returned home that evening. He tried to follow her advice not to dwell on where she was, whether she’d come back and what kind of state she’d be in if she did. He’d called in at a takeaway and picked up a bag of fried chicken for dinner. He threw it down on a chair and was taking off his coat when he smelled the familiar old aroma of cooking. He hadn’t smelled something being cooked in his kitchen for a very long time. Chicken like that lying on the chair was his food, hamburgers, takeaways from the greasy spoon, ready meals from the supermarket, cold boiled sheep head, tubs of curds, tasteless microwave dinners. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually cooked himself a proper meal in the kitchen. He couldn’t remember when he’d last even wanted to.

Erlendur carefully made his way to the kitchen as if expecting to find an intruder there and saw that the table had been laid for two with beautiful plates that he vaguely recalled owning. Wine glasses on high stalks stood beside each plate, there were serviettes and red candles burning in two candle-holders that didn’t match and which Erlendur had never seen before.

Slowly he made his way further into the kitchen and saw something simmering in a big pot. Lifting the lid, he looked down at a particularly delicious-looking meat stew. A slick of cooking oil was floating above turnips, potatoes, cubes of meat and spices, the whole thing giving off an aroma that filled his flat with the smell of real home cooking. He stooped over the pot and inhaled the smell of boiled meat and vegetables.

“I needed some more veg,” Eva Lind said at the kitchen door. Erlendur hadn’t noticed her enter the flat. She was wearing his anorak and holding a bag of carrots.

“Where did you learn to make meat stew?” Erlendur asked.

“Mum was always making meat stew,” Eva Lind said. “Once when she wasn’t bad-mouthing you she said her meat stew used to be your favourite meal. Then she said you were a bastard.”

“Right on both counts,” Erlendur said. He watched Eva Lind chop up the carrots and add them to the pot with the other vegetables. The thought occurred to him that he was experiencing proper family life and it made him both sad and happy at the same time. He didn’t allow himself the luxury of expecting this joy to last.

“Have you found the murderer?” Eva Lind asked.

“Ellidi sends his regards,” Erlendur said. The words had escaped before he could entertain the notion that a beast like Ellidi didn’t belong in this environment.

“Ellidi. He’s at Litla-Hraun. Does he know who I am?”

“The scumbags I talk to mention you by name sometimes,” Erlendur said. “They think they’re scoring points off me.”

“And are they?”

“Some of them. Like Ellidi. How do you know him?” Erlendur asked cautiously.

“I’ve heard stories about him. Met him once years ago. He’d stuck his false teeth in with plastic glue. But I don’t really know him.”

“He’s an incredible idiot.”

They didn’t talk about Ellidi any more that evening. When they sat down to eat, Eva Lind poured water into the wine glasses and Erlendur ate so much that he could barely stagger into the sitting room afterwards. He fell asleep there in his clothes and slept badly until the morning.

This time he remembered most of the dream. He knew it was the same dream that had visited him in recent nights but which he had failed to get hold of before the waking state turned it into nothing.

Eva Lind appeared to him as he had never seen her before enveloped in a light coming from somewhere he couldn’t tell in a beautiful summer dress reaching down to her ankles and with long dark hair down to her back and the vision was perfect almost scented with summer and she walked towards him or maybe she floated because he thought to himself that she never touched the ground he could not identify the surroundings all he could see was that glaring light and Eva Lind in the middle of the light approached him smiling from ear to ear and he saw himself open his arms to greet her and wait to be able to hold her and he felt his impatience but she never entered his arms but handed him a photograph and the light disappeared and Eva Lind disappeared and he was holding the photo he knew so well that was taken in the cemetery and the photograph came to life and he was inside it and looked up at the dark sky and felt the raining pounding down on his face and when he looked down he saw the tombstone drop back and the grave opened into the darkness until the coffin appeared and it opened and he saw the girl in the coffin cut along the middle of her torso and up to her shoulders and suddenly the girl opened her eyes and stared up towards him and she opened her mouth and he heard her pitiful cry of anguish from the grave