“So you made a deal that she’d go into rehab instead.”

“She’s never wanted therapy. Sigurdur Oli dropped the charges for my sake and she went into rehab.”

A dealer called Eddi had been involved in a drugs case and Sigurdur Oli and two other detectives had tracked him down to a den just up from Hlemmur bus station, close to the police station on Hverfisgata. Someone who knew Eddi had phoned the police. The only resistance they’d met had been from Eva Lind. She was completely out of her mind. Eddi lay half-naked on the sofa and did not stir. Another girl, younger than Eva Lind, lay naked beside him. When she saw the police Eva went berserk. She knew who Sigurdur Oli was. Knew that he worked with her father. She snatched up a hammer that was lying on the floor and tried to knock him out. Although she missed, she fractured his collarbone. Racked with pain, Sigurdur Oli fell to the floor. As she’d wound up for a second shot, the other officers had pounced and had floored her.

Sigurdur Oli did not talk about the incident but Erlendur heard from the other officers that he had hesitated when he saw Eva Lind going for him. She was Erlendur’s daughter and he did not want to hurt her. That was how she had been able to deliver the blow.

“I thought she’d clean up her act when she had that miscarriage,” Erlendur said. “But she’s twice as difficult. It’s as if nothing matters to her any more.”

“I’d like to go and see her,” Sindri said. “But they don’t allow visitors.”

“I’ll have a word with them.”

The telephone rang and Erlendur picked it up.

“Erlendur?” said a weak voice on the other end. Erlendur recognised it at once.

“Marion?”

“What was it you found at Kleifarvatn?” Marion Briem asked.

“Bones,” Erlendur said. “Nothing that need concern you.”

“Oh, really,” said Marion, who had retired but found it difficult not to get involved in any especially interesting cases that Erlendur might be investigating.

There was a long silence on the line.

“Did you want anything in particular?” Erlendur asked.

“You ought to check out Kleifarvatn better,” Marion said. “But don’t let me disturb you. Wouldn’t dream of it. I don’t want to disturb an old colleague who’s got plenty on his plate already.”

“What about Kleifarvatn?” Erlendur asked. “What are you talking about?”

“No. Goodbye,” Marion said, and hung up on Erlendur.

Sometimes, when he thought back, he could smell the headquarters on Dittrichring, the smothering stench of dirty carpet, sweat and fear. He also remembered the acrid stink of the coal smog that blanketed the city, even blocking out the sun.

Leipzig was not at all as he had imagined. He had swotted up before leaving Iceland and knew that it was located on the confluence of the Elster, Parthe and Pleisse rivers, and was an old centre of the German publishing and book trades. Bach was buried there and it was home to the famous Auerbachkeller, the beer cellar on which Goethe modelled a scene in Faust. The composer Jon Leifs studied music in Leipzig and lived there for years. In his mind’s eye he had seen an ancient cultural German city. What he found was a sorry, gloomy post-war place. The Allies had occupied Leipzig but later handed it over to the Soviets, and the bullet holes could still be seen in the walls of buildings and half-collapsed houses, the ruins left by war.

The train arrived in Leipzig in the middle of the night. He was able to store his suitcase at the railway station and he walked the streets until the city began to awaken. There was an electricity shortage and the city centre was dark but he felt good at having arrived and he enjoyed the adventure of being alone so far from his native haunts. He walked up to Nikolaikirche and when he reached Thomaskirche he sat down on a bench. He recalled the account of the writer Halldor Laxness and poet Johann Jonsson walking together through the city so many years before. Dawn was breaking and he imagined them looking up at Thomaskirche just as he was, admiring the sight before continuing their stroll.

A girl selling flowers walked past him and offered him a bouquet, but he had no money to spare and gave her an apologetic smile.

He was looking forward to everything that lay ahead. Standing on his own two feet and being the master of his own fate. Although he had no idea what awaited him, he intended to face it with an open mind. He knew that he would not feel homesick because he had set off on an adventure that would shape his life permanently. And while he realised that his course would be demanding, he was not afraid of applying himself. He had a passionate interest in engineering and knew that he would meet new people and make new friends. He was impatient to get down to studying.

He walked around the ruins and the streets in the light drizzle and a faint smile crossed his face when he thought again of the two writer friends walking the same streets long before.

At daybreak he fetched his suitcase, went to the university and found the registration office without any trouble. He was shown to a student residence not far from the main building. The dormitory was an elegant old villa that had been taken over by the university. He would be sharing a room with two other students. One was Emil, his classmate from school. The other was Czechoslovakian, he was told. Neither of them was in the room when he arrived. It was a three-storey house with a shared bathroom and kitchen on the middle floor. Old wallpaper was peeling from the walls, the timber floors were dirty and a musty smell permeated the building. In his room were three futons and an old desk. A bare light bulb hung down from the ceiling, whose old plaster had flaked off to reveal rotting timber panelling. There were two windows in the room, one of which was boarded up because the glass was broken.

Drowsy students were emerging from their rooms. A queue had already formed outside the bathroom. Some went outdoors to urinate. In the kitchen a large pot had been filled with water and was being heated on an ancient cooker. There was an old-fashioned stove beside it. He looked around for his friend, but could not see him. And as he was looking at the group in the kitchen, he suddenly realised that it was a mixed residence.

One of the young women came over to him and said something in German. Although he had studied German at school, he did not understand her. In halting German, he asked her to speak more slowly.

“Are you looking for someone?” she asked.

“I’m looking for Emil,” he said. “He’s from Iceland.”

“Are you from Iceland too?”

“Yes. What about you? Where are you from?”

“Dresden,” the girl said. “I’m Maria.”

“My name’s Tomas,” he said and they shook hands.

“Tomas?” she repeated. “There are a few Icelanders at the university. They often visit Emil. Sometimes we have to throw them out because they sing all night. Your German’s not so bad.”

“Thanks. Schoolboy German. Do you know about Emil?”

“He’s on rat duty,” she said. “Down in the basement. It’s swarming with rats here. Do you want a cup of tea? They’re setting up a canteen on the top floor, but until then we have to cater for ourselves.”

“Rat duty?!”

“They come out at night. That’s the best time to catch them.”

“Are there a lot?”

“If we kill ten, twenty take their place. But it’s better now than it was during the war.”

Instinctively he looked around the floor as if expecting to see the creatures darting between people’s feet. If anything repulsed him it was rats.

He felt a tap on his shoulder and when he turned round he saw his friend standing behind him, smiling. Holding them by their tails, he lifted up two gigantic rats. He had a spade in his other hand.

“A spade’s the best thing to kill them with,” Emil said.