‘Yes – he owned a small plot in Kópavogur that shot up in value. Baldvin’s the sole beneficiary.’

‘Yes, he mentioned something about that. I don’t think he knew anything about it until a short time ago. Or at least that’s what he told me.’

‘I heard that the money came in the nick of time,’ Erlendur said.

‘Really?’

‘He’s pretty seriously in debt.’

‘Baldvin’s been a bit unlucky with some shares he bought, that’s all I know. Some unlucky investment in a construction company that went bust, on top of the debts still outstanding from the surgery that didn’t work out. We don’t talk much about that sort of stuff. At least, we haven’t up to now.’

‘You’ve given up acting, haven’t you?’ Erlendur asked.

‘Yes, more or less.’

‘May I ask why?’

‘I was in a few plays. Not very big, but…’

‘Unfortunately, I go to the theatre far too rarely.’

‘I just felt I wasn’t getting good enough roles. At the big theatres, that is. And of course the competition’s really tough. It’s a pretty ruthless world. You find that out straight away at drama school. And age doesn’t help. A middle-aged actress like me isn’t as sought after. I got a good job at a finance company but the odd small part still comes my way if the director happens to remember me.’

‘I gather your biggest role was as Magdalena in that Swedish play, whatever it was called…’ Erlendur said, pretending not to remember the title.

‘Who told you that? Someone who remembered me?’

‘Yes, it was, actually. A woman I know called Valgerdur. She’s a regular theatre-goer.’

‘And she remembered me?’

Erlendur nodded, realising that he needn’t worry about having to answer any awkward questions about why he had been discussing Karólína with other people. She seemed to take it as recognition, regardless of the circumstances. He remembered what the drama teacher had said about Karólína’s ambition, the fame she had dreamed of achieving. What was it he’d said? She’d wanted to be a diva.

‘Flame of Hope,’ Karólína said. ‘It was a really good play and you’re right, it was my biggest role – when I hit the heights, as they say.’

She smiled.

‘Not that the critics were particularly impressed; they dismissed it as old-fashioned kitchen-sink drama. They can be such bastards. They don’t even know what they’re talking about half the time.’

‘My friend thought maybe she was mixing it up with another role, another character called Magdalena.’

‘Really?’

‘A clairvoyant or medium,’ Erlendur said.

He looked for a reaction from Karólína but she didn’t seem to notice anything. He thought that either he was barking up the wrong tree or else she was a better actress than people gave her credit for.

‘I’m not familiar with it,’ Karólína said.

‘I don’t remember what she said the play was called,’ Erlendur said, permitting himself to go a step further. ‘It might have been The Fake or something like that.’

Karólína hesitated.

‘I’ve never heard of it,’ she said. ‘Was it on at the National?’

‘I don’t know,’ Erlendur replied. ‘Anyway, this Magdalena believed in the spirit world; she believed it was as real as the two of us here in this room.’

‘Oh.’

‘María believed something similar, as Baldvin will no doubt have told you.’

‘I don’t remember him mentioning it,’ Karólína said. ‘I don’t believe in ghosts.’

‘No, neither do I,’ Erlendur said. ‘He didn’t tell you that she sought help from psychics, from mediums?’

‘No, I didn’t know. I don’t know much about María, to tell the truth. Baldvin and I didn’t waste our time talking about her when we met. We had other fish to fry.’

‘I bet you did,’ Erlendur said.

‘Was there anything else?’

‘No, thanks. That’s it for the moment.’

29

Erlendur had no problem tracking down the woman who had been having an affair with Magnús at the time of his death. Kristín had told him her name and he found her address in the telephone directory. He tried talking to her on the phone but the moment she heard what he wanted she refused to continue the conversation, so he let the matter lie. Later he resumed his attack by announcing that new information about the incident at Lake Thingvallavatn in which Magnús had lost his life had possibly come to light.

‘Who have you been talking to?’ she asked over the phone.

‘I got your name from Kristín, Magnús’s sister,’ Erlendur said.

‘What did she say about me?’

‘Actually, it was about you and Magnús,’ Erlendur replied.

A long pause followed his words.

‘I suppose you’d better come round,’ the woman said at last. Her name was Sólveig and she was married with two grown-up children. ‘I’m home during the day all this week,’ she added.

When he visited her, Erlendur found Sólveig extremely wary and eager to get the matter out of the way as quickly as possible. She seemed in something of a state. They stood in her entrance hall; she did not invite him in.

‘I don’t know what I can tell you,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why you’ve come here. What new information are you talking about?’

‘It concerns you and Magnús.’

‘Yes, you told me that on the phone.’

‘And your affair.’

‘Did Kristín tell you about that?’

Erlendur nodded.

‘Magnús’s daughter recently committed suicide,’ he said.

‘So I heard.’

Sólveig fell silent. She was kind-looking, with a pretty face and tasteful clothes, and she lived in a small terraced house in the suburb of Fossvogur. She worked as a nurse and was on the evening shift this week.

‘Perhaps you ought to come in for a moment,’ she said at last and led the way into the sitting room. Erlendur sat down on the sofa without removing his coat.

‘I don’t know what I can tell you,’ she said, with a sigh. ‘In all these years no one’s ever asked what happened. Then the poor child resorts to this and you start asking questions that no one has ever asked before and no one ever should have asked.’

‘Perhaps that was the problem,’ Erlendur said. ‘María’s problem. Has that ever occurred to you?’

‘Has it occurred to me? What do you think? Leonóra took care of María. No one else was allowed near her.’

‘They went out in the boat together: Magnús, Leonóra and María.’

‘You’ve found out, then?’

‘Yes.’

‘All three of them were in the boat,’ Sólveig confirmed.

‘What happened?’

‘I’ve spent so much time thinking about the whole thing. My relationship with Magnús. We were going to tell Leonóra about it at Thingvellir. We were going to break it to her as gently as we could. Magnús wanted me to come along. But Leonóra and I were close friends and I couldn’t bring myself to. Maybe things would have turned out differently if I’d been there.’

Sólveig looked at Erlendur.

‘Of course, you think I’m completely despicable,’ she said.

‘I don’t think anything.’

‘Leonóra was always very bossy. Really overbearing. She completely dominated Magnús. Gave him hell if things didn’t go her way, even when other people were listening. Magnús turned to me. He was a good man. We started meeting in secret. I don’t know what happened but we fell in love. Maybe I felt sorry for him at first. We wanted to move in together, so we had to make Leonóra understand. I didn’t want to be involved in a clandestine affair, go behind her back, take part in some sort of conspiracy against her. I wanted things out in the open. I couldn’t stand… couldn’t stand the furtiveness. He wanted to delay telling her but I put pressure on him. We agreed that he would tell her the truth that weekend at Thingvellir.’

‘Didn’t Leonóra suspect anything?’

‘No. She was completely unsuspecting. Leonóra was like that. Trusting. She trusted people. I betrayed that trust. So did Magnús.’

‘Did you ever meet Leonóra after the accident?’