‘Maybe time has healed the wounds.’

‘It didn’t seem like that when I bumped into her a few years ago. She hadn’t forgotten anything.’

‘But now she wants to meet you?’

‘Apparently, yes.’

‘Maybe it’s a sign that she’s willing for there to be a reconciliation.’

‘Maybe.’

‘And it’s important to Eva.’

‘That’s the point. She’s pushing pretty hard for it but…’

‘What?’

‘Nothing,’ Erlendur said. ‘Except…’

‘Yes?’

‘I couldn’t bear any sort of score-settling.’

The foreman called down to Gilbert who was standing at the bottom of a vast, cavernous foundation pit. He was dressed in blue overalls and smoking a cigarette. The foreman informed Erlendur that they were building an eight-storey block of flats with a basement car park, which was why the foundations had to be so wide and deep. He didn’t ask why Erlendur wanted to speak to Gilbert, who stood for a long time looking up at them on the edge of the pit before flicking away his cigarette and starting to climb a large wooden ladder that rose from the depths. It took him quite some time. The foreman made himself scarce. The site was up by Lake Ellidavatn. Yellow cranes reared into the gloomy grey afternoon sky as far as the eye could see, like giant square brackets thrust into the ground by the gods of industry. There was a roar from an unseen dumper truck. From somewhere else came the electronic beeping of a reversing lorry.

Erlendur introduced himself, shaking Gilbert by the hand. Gilbert didn’t know what to make of it. Erlendur asked if they could sit down somewhere quiet, out of this din. Gilbert studied him, then nodded towards a green hut. It was the contractors’ cafeteria.

Inside the suffocating heat of the cafeteria, Gilbert half-unzipped his blue overalls.

‘I can’t believe you’re asking about Davíd after all this time,’ he said. ‘Has there been some new development?’

‘No, nothing,’ Erlendur said. ‘It’s a case I handled back in the day and for some reason…’

‘It won’t go away. Is that it?’ Gilbert finished for him.

He was a tall, lanky man of around fifty who looked older; a little hunched as if he had grown used to avoiding door lintels and low ceilings. His arms were long like his body; his eyes sunken in his gaunt face. He hadn’t bothered to shave for several days and his stubble rasped when he scratched it.

Erlendur nodded.

‘I’d just moved to Denmark when he went missing,’ Gilbert said. ‘I didn’t hear about it till later and was totally shocked. It’s sad that he’s never been found.’

‘It is,’ Erlendur said. ‘An attempt was made to track you down at the time but with no success.’

‘Are his parents still alive?’

‘His father is, but he’s old and in poor health.’

‘Are you doing this for him?’

‘No, not for anyone in particular,’ Erlendur said. ‘It emerged the other day that you’re the only one of his friends we never talked to because you’d moved abroad.’

‘I meant to spend a year in Denmark,’ Gilbert said, fishing a new cigarette from inside his overalls. His movements were slow and methodical. He found a lighter in another pocket and tapped the cigarette on the table. ‘But ended up staying for twenty. It was never the intention but… that’s life.’

‘I gather you spoke to Davíd shortly before you left the country.’

‘Yes, we were always in contact. Have you been talking to Steini – Thorsteinn, I mean?’

‘Yes.’

‘I met him at one of those reunions. Apart from that I’ve lost all contact with the gang I knew in the old days.’

‘You told Thorsteinn it was conceivable that Davíd had met a girl. That information never emerged during the original investigation. I wanted to find out if you know who it was and if I can get hold of her.’

‘Steini didn’t have a clue. I assumed he knew more than I did,’ Gilbert said, lighting the cigarette. ‘I don’t know who the girl was. I don’t even know if there was a girl. Did nobody come forward when Davíd went missing?’

‘No,’ Erlendur said.

His mobile phone began to ring. He asked Gilbert to excuse him and took out his phone.

‘Yes, hello.’

‘Are you questioning people about María?’

Erlendur was taken aback. The voice was grave and severe, and contained a note of cold accusation.

‘Who is this?’ Erlendur asked.

‘Her husband,’ the voice on the phone said. ‘What the hell are you up to?’

A number of answers flashed through Erlendur’s mind, all of them lies.

‘What’s going on?’ Baldvin asked.

‘Perhaps we should meet,’ Erlendur said.

‘What are you investigating? What are you doing?’

‘If you’re home later today I could-’

Baldvin hung up. Erlendur smiled awkwardly at Gilbert.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘We were talking about the girl. Do you know anything about her, anything you could tell me?’

‘Next to nothing,’ Gilbert said. ‘Davíd called me the day before I flew to Denmark to say goodbye and told me it was probably okay to tell me a secret since I was going abroad. He wasn’t going to let the cat out of the bag, though, not until I grilled him and asked him straight out. Then he told me there might be some news about his love life when I came home again.’

‘Was that all he said, that there might be some news about his love life later?’

‘Yes.’

‘And he’d never been in a relationship with a girl before that?’

‘No, not really.’

‘And you got the impression he’d met a girl?’

‘That’s what I thought. But, you know, it was only a feeling I got from what he said.’

‘You didn’t get the sense that he was in a suicidal mood at all?’

‘No, quite the opposite; he was very cheerful and in high spirits. Unusually cheerful, because he could sometimes be a bit on the quiet side – thoughtful and serious.’

‘And you can’t think of anyone who would have wanted to do him harm?’

‘No way.’

‘But you don’t know who the girl was?’

‘No idea, I’m afraid.’

Erlendur drove up to the house in Grafarvogur. It was getting dark, a reminder that winter would soon be here after the short, wet summer. Erlendur felt no dread at the thought. He had never dreaded the winter as so many did, not like those who counted the hours until the days would start to lengthen again. He had never regarded winter as his enemy. Time seemed to slow down in the cold and darkness, enfolding him in peaceful gloom.

Baldvin met him at the door and Erlendur wondered as he followed him into the sitting room whether he would carry on living in the house now that both Leonóra and María were gone. He did not get a chance to ask him. Baldvin wanted an explanation for why Erlendur was going around town interrogating people about him and María; why he had to learn about it from his friends and what on earth it was all about; were the police launching an investigation?

‘No,’ Erlendur said, ‘it’s nothing like that.’

He told Baldvin that the police had received a tip-off, as sometimes happened in connection with suicides, suggesting that something suspicious might have happened. Due to pressure from one of María’s friends, whom he would prefer not to name, he had taken it upon himself to speak personally to several individuals, but this in no way changed the fact that María had taken her own life. Baldvin had no need to worry. There was no question of a formal inquiry, nor was there any need for one.

Erlendur talked along these lines for some time, slowly and deliberately, in an apologetic tone that generally worked well with people when it was employed by the police. He noticed that Baldvin was growing somewhat calmer. He had been standing angrily by the bookcase but sat down in a chair once most of his tension had evaporated.

‘What’s the status of the case, then?’

‘It has no status,’ Erlendur said. ‘There is no case.’