Had he dreamt it exactly like this?

Then the sensation disappeared and as always when something like that happened he couldn’t begin to understand where it had come from; why he felt he was reliving events that had never happened before. Erlendur didn’t believe in premonitions, visions or dreams, nor reincarnation or karma, he didn’t believe in God although he’d often read the Bible, nor in eternal life or that his conduct in this world would affect whether he went to heaven or hell. He felt that life itself offered a mixture of the two.

Then sometimes he experienced this incomprehensible and supernatural deja-vu, experienced time and place as if he’d seen it all before, as if he stepped outside himself, became an onlooker to his own life. There was no way he could explain what it was that happened or why his mind played tricks on him like this.

Erlendur came back to his senses when the bucket struck the lid of the coffin and a hollow clunk was heard from inside the grave. He moved a step closer. Through the rainwater pouring down into the hole he saw the vague outline of the coffin.

“Careful!” Erlendur shouted at the digger operator, throwing his hands up in the air.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw car headlights approaching. They all looked up in the direction of the lights and saw a car crawling along in the rain until it stopped by the cemetery gate. An old lady in a green coat got out. They noticed the taxi sign on the car roof. The taxi drove off and the lady stormed towards the grave. As soon as Erlendur was within earshot she started shouting and waving her fist at him.

“Grave-robber!” he heard Elin shout. “Grave-robbers! Body-snatchers!”

“Keep her back,” Erlendur said calmly to the policemen who walked over to Elin and stopped her when she was only a few yards from the grave. She tried to fight them off in her frenzy of rage but they held her arms and restrained her.

The two council workers climbed into the grave with their shovels, dug around the coffin and put ropes around the ends of it. It was fairly intact. The rain pounded on the lid with a hollow thudding, washing the soil from it. Erlendur imagined it would have been white. A tiny white casket with brass handles and a cross on the lid. The men tied the ropes to the bucket of the digger which very carefully lifted Audur’s coffin out of the ground. It was still in one piece but looked extremely fragile. Erlendur saw Elin had stopped struggling and shouting at him. She’d started to cry when the white casket emerged and hung motionless in the ropes above the grave before being lowered to the ground. The minister went up to it, made the sign of the cross over it and moved his lips in prayer. A small van backed slowly along the path and stopped. The council workers untied the ropes, lifted the coffin into the van and closed the doors. Elinborg got into the front seat beside the driver, who set off out of the cemetery, through the gate and down the road until the red rear lights disappeared in the rain and the gloom.

The minister went over to Elin and asked the policemen to let her go. They did so at once. The minister asked if there was anything he could do for her. They clearly knew each other well and spoke together in whispers. Elin appeared calmer. Erlendur and Sigurdur Oli exchanged glances and looked down into the grave. The rainwater had already started to collect in the bottom.

“I wanted to try to stop this repulsive desecration,” Erlendur heard Elin say to the minister. He was somewhat relieved to see that Elin had collected herself. He walked over to her with Sigurdur Oli following close behind.

“I’ll never forgive you for this,” Elin said to Erlendur. The minister was standing by her side. “Never!”

“I do understand,” Erlendur said, “but the investigation takes priority.”

“Investigation? Bugger your investigation,” Elin shouted. “Where are you taking the body?”

“To Reykjavik.”

“And when are you bringing it back?”

“Two days from now.”

“Look what you’ve done to her grave,” Elin said in a puzzled tone of resignation, as if she hadn’t yet completely taken in what had happened. She walked past Erlendur towards the headstone and what remained of the fencing, the vase of flowers and the open grave.

Erlendur decided to tell her about the message that was found in Holberg’s flat.

“A note was left behind at Holberg’s place when we found him,” Erlendur said, walking after Elin. “We couldn’t make much of it until Audur entered the picture and we talked to her old doctor. Icelandic murderers generally don’t leave anything behind but a mess, but the one who killed Holberg wanted to give us something to rack our brains over. When the doctor talked about the possibility of a hereditary disease the message suddenly took on a certain meaning. Also after what Ellidi told me in the prison. Holberg has no living relatives. He had a sister who died at the age of nine. Sigurdur Oli here", Erlendur said, pointing to his colleague, “found the medical reports about her — Ellidi was right. Like Audur, Holberg’s sister died of a brain tumour. Very probably from the same disease.”

“What is it you’re saying? What was the message?” Elin asked.

Erlendur hesitated. He looked at Sigurdur Oli who looked first at Elin and then back at Erlendur.

“I am him,” Erlendur said.

“What do you mean?”

“That was the message: ’I am him’ with the final word, ’him’, in capitals.”

“I am him,” Elin repeated. “What does that mean?”

“It’s impossible to say really but I’ve been wondering if it doesn’t imply some kind of relation,” Erlendur said. “The person who wrote ’I am him’ would have felt he had something in common with Holberg. It could be a fantasy by some nutcase who didn’t even know him. Just nonsense. But I don’t think so. I think the disease will help us. I think we have to find out exactly what it was.”

“What kind of relation?”

“According to the records, Holberg didn’t have any children. Audur wasn’t named after him. Her last name was Kolbrunardottir. But if Ellidi’s telling the truth when he says Holberg raped more women besides Kolbrun, women who didn’t come forward, it could be just as likely that he’s had other children. That Kolbrun wasn’t the only victim who had his child. We’ve narrowed down the search for a possible victim in Husavik to the women who had children over a certain period and we’re hoping something will come out of this soon.”

“Husavik?”

“Holberg’s previous victim was from there, apparently.”

“What do you mean by a hereditary disease?” Elin said. “What sort of disease? Is it the one that killed Audur?”

“We have to examine Holberg, confirm that he was Audur’s father and piece everything together. But if this theory is correct, it’s probably a rare, genetically transmitted disease.”

“And did Audur have it?”

“She may have died too long ago to give a satisfactory result but that’s what we want to find out.”

By now they had walked to the church, Elin by Erlendur’s side and Sigurdur Oli following behind them. Elin led the way. The church was open; they went in out of the rain and stood in the vestibule looking out at the gloomy autumn day.

“I think Holberg was Audur’s father,” Erlendur said. “Actually I have no reason to doubt your word and what your sister told you. But we need confirmation. It’s vital from the point of view of the police investigation. If a genetic disease is involved which Audur got from Holberg, it could be somewhere else too. It’s possible that the disease is linked to Holberg’s murder.”

They didn’t notice a car driving slowly away from the cemetery along the rough old track of a road, its lights switched off and barely visible in the darkness. When it reached Sandgerdi it picked up speed, the headlights were switched on and it had soon caught up with the van carrying the body. On the Keflavik road the driver made sure he kept two or three cars behind the van. In this way, he followed the coffin all the way to Reykjavik.