“And what do you think these bones are?” she asked once he had told her his business.

“We don’t know yet, but one theory is that they are connected with the chalet which used to stand next to them, and which was owned by your uncle Benjamin. Did he spend a lot of time up there?”

“I don’t think he ever went to the chalet,” she said in a quiet voice. “It was a tragedy. Mother always told us how handsome and intelligent he was and how he earned a fortune, but then he lost his fiancee. One day she just disappeared. She was pregnant.”

Erlendur’s thoughts turned to his own daughter.

“He went into a depression, lost all interest in his shop and his properties and everything went to ruin, I think, until all he had left was this house here. He died in the prime of life, so to speak.”

“How did she disappear, his fiancee?”

“It was rumoured she threw herself into the sea,” Elsa said. “At least, that’s what I heard.”

“Was she a depressive?”

“No one ever mentioned that.”

“And she was never found?”

“No. She…”

Elsa stopped mid-sentence. Suddenly she seemed to follow his train of thought and she stared at him, disbelieving at first, then hurt and shocked and angry, all at once. She blushed.

“I don’t believe you.”

“What?” Erlendur said, watching her suddenly turn hostile.

“You think it’s her. Her skeleton!”

“I don’t think anything. This is the first time I’ve heard about this woman. We don’t have the faintest idea who’s in the ground up there. It’s far too early to say who it may or may not be.”

“So why are you so interested in her? What do you know that I don’t?”

“Nothing,” Erlendur said, confounded. “Didn’t it occur to you when I told you about the skeleton there? Your uncle had a chalet nearby. His fiancee went missing. We find a skeleton. It’s not a difficult equation.”

“Are you mad? Are you suggesting…”

“I’m not suggesting anything.”

“…that he killed her? That Uncle Benjamin murdered his fiancee and buried her without telling anyone all those years until he died, a broken man?”

Elsa had stood up and was pacing the floor.

“Hang on a minute, I haven’t said any such thing,” Erlendur said, wondering whether he could have been more diplomatic. “Nothing of the sort,” he said.

“Do you think it’s her? The skeleton you found? Is it her?”

“Definitely not,” Erlendur said, with no basis for doing so. He wanted to calm her down at any price. He had been tactless. Suggested something not based on any evidence, and regretted it. It was all too sudden for her.

“Do you know anything about the chalet?” he said in an effort to change the subject. “Whether anyone lived in it 50, 60 years ago? During the war or just afterwards? They can’t find the details in the system at the moment.”

“My God, what a thought!” Elsa groaned, her mind elsewhere. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

“He might have rented out the chalet,” Erlendur said quickly. “Your uncle. There was a great housing shortage in Reykjavik from the war onwards, rents soared and it occurred to me that he might have rented it out on the cheap. Or even sold it. Do you know anything about that?”

“Yes, I think there was some talk of him renting the place out, but I don’t know to whom, if that’s what you’re getting at. Excuse me for acting this way. It’s just so… What sort of bones are they? A whole skeleton, male, female, a child?”

Calmer. Back on track. She sat down again and looked him inquisitively in the eye.

“It looks like an intact skeleton, but we haven’t exposed all of it yet,” Erlendur said. “Did your uncle keep any records of his business or properties? Anything that hasn’t been thrown away?”

“The cellar is full of his stuff. All kinds of papers and boxes that I’ve never got round to throwing away and never been bothered to sort through. His desk and some cabinets are downstairs. I’ll soon have the time to go through it.”

She said this with an air of regret and Erlendur wondered if she might not be satisfied with her lot in life, living alone in a large house that was a legacy from times gone by. He looked around the room and had the feeling that somehow her entire life was a legacy.

“Do you think we…?”

“Be my guest. Look as much as you want,” she said with a vacant smile.

“I was wondering about one thing,” Erlendur said, standing up. “Do you know why Benjamin would have rented out the chalet? Was he short of money? He didn’t seem to have needed money that much. With this house here. His business. You said he lost it in the end, but during the war he must have earned a decent living and more besides.”

“No, I don’t think he needed the money.”

“So what was the reason?”

“I think someone asked him to. When people started moving to Reykjavik from the countryside during the war. I think he must have taken pity on someone.”

“Then he wouldn’t necessarily even have charged any rent?”

“I don’t know anything about that. I can’t believe that you think Benjamin…”

She stopped mid-sentence as if reluctant to articulate what she was thinking.

“I don’t think anything,” Erlendur tried to smile. “It’s far too early to start thinking anything.”

“I just don’t believe it.”

“Tell me another thing.”

“Yes?”

“Does she have any relatives who are still alive?”

“Who?”

“Benjamin’s fiancee. Is there anyone I could talk to?”

“Why? What do you want to look into that for? He would never have done a thing to her.”

“I understand that. All the same, we have these bones and they belong to someone and they won’t go away. I have to investigate all the avenues.”

“She had a sister who I know is still alive. Her name’s Bara.”

“When did she go missing, this girl?”

“It was 1940,” Elsa said. “They told me it was on a beautiful spring day.”

Robert Sigurdsson was still alive, but just barely, Sigurdur Oli thought. He sat with Elinborg in the old man’s room, thinking to himself as he looked at Robert’s pallid face that he would not want to be 90 years old. He shuddered. The old man was toothless, with anaemic lips, his cheeks sunken, tufts of hair standing up from his ghoulish head in all directions. He was connected to an oxygen cylinder which stood on a trolley beside him. Every time he needed to say something he took off his oxygen mask with a trembling hand and let out a couple of words before he had to put it back on.

Robert had sold his chalet long ago and it had changed hands twice more before eventually it was demolished and a new one built nearby. Sigurdur Oli and Elinborg woke up the owner of the new chalet shortly before noon to hear this rather vague and disjointed story.

They had the office staff locate the old man while they were driving back from the hill. It turned out that he was in the National Hospital, just turned 90.

Elinborg did the talking at the hospital and explained the case to Robert while he sat shrivelled up in a wheelchair, gulping down pure oxygen from the cylinder. A lifelong smoker. He seemed in full command of his faculties, despite his miserable physical state, and nodded to show that he understood every word and was well aware of the detectives’ business. The nurse who showed them in to him and stood behind his wheelchair told them that they ought not to tire him by spending too long with him.

“I remember…” he said in a low, hoarse voice. His hand shook as he put the mask back on and inhaled the oxygen. Then he took the mask off again.

“…that house, but…”

Mask up.

Sigurdur Oli looked at Elinborg and then at his watch, making no attempt to conceal his impatience.

“Don’t you want…” she began, but the mask came off again.

“…I only remember…” Robert interjected, wracked with breathlessness.