‘So long, Erlendur,’ the old man said. He was thin and stooped from hard physical labour, with a mop of thick grey hair. He had been a mason and his face was now as grey as cement dust.

‘Look after yourself,’ Erlendur said.

He watched as the old man climbed into the police car, then followed the vehicle with his eyes until it disappeared round the corner.

The vicar with whom María had had the most dealings was called Eyvör. She served not in Grafarvogur but in a neighbouring parish. She was shocked and saddened by María’s fate and by the fact that she should have felt she had no choice but to take her own life.

‘It goes without saying that it’s heartbreaking,’ she told Erlendur who was sitting in her office in the church at the end of the day. ‘To think that someone in the prime of life should kill herself as if she had no other option. Experience has shown that it’s possible to help people who suffer mental distress and hardship if one intervenes early enough in the process.’

‘You didn’t have any inkling of what sort of state María was in?’ Erlendur asked. ‘I gather that she was a believer and attended this church.’

‘I knew she was in a bad way after losing her mother,’ Eyvör said. ‘But there was nothing to suggest that she would resort to a desperate measure like this.’

The vicar was around forty, well dressed in a purple suit and wearing masses of jewellery: three rings, a gold chain round her neck and large earrings. She had been surprised to receive a visit from the police to ask about a parishioner who had committed suicide. She asked immediately if it was a police matter.

‘No, of course not,’ Erlendur said and invented an excuse on the spot about wrapping up his report on the case. He had heard that María had been in touch with the vicar and wanted to see if he could have a chat with her, take advantage of the opportunity in case it could help with future incidents. Unfortunately, suicide was one aspect of life that landed on a policeman’s desk, not the most pleasant, and Erlendur wished to learn more about the causes and effects in case it could help him in his job. Eyvör took a liking to this gloomy policeman, immediately sensing that there was something trustworthy about him.

‘Did she talk to you about death?’ Erlendur asked.

‘Yes, she did,’ Eyvör replied. ‘About her mother and also about an incident from her childhood that I don’t know if you’re aware of.’

‘You mean when her father drowned?’ Erlendur asked.

‘That’s right. María was in a dreadful state after losing her mother. I officiated at that funeral too, in fact. I got to know mother and daughter quite well, especially after Leonóra fell ill. She was a brave woman, a remarkable woman – nothing ever daunted her.’

‘What did she do?’

‘Do you mean her job? She was a professor at the university, a professor of French.’

‘And her daughter was a historian,’ Erlendur said. ‘That explains the large number of books in the house. Was María depressed?’

‘Let’s just say she was very low. I do hope you won’t repeat this. I really shouldn’t be discussing it with you. She didn’t exactly turn to me in her grief, but I got the impression that she was under a great deal of strain. She used to come to church but never opened up to me. I tried to console her but it was actually quite difficult. She was very angry – angry that her mother should have had to die like that. Angry with the powers that be. I think she might have lost a little of her faith, the childlike faith she’d always had, after watching her mother waste away and die.’

‘But God moves in mysterious ways, doesn’t he?’ Erlendur said. ‘He alone knows the point of all this suffering?’

‘I wouldn’t be doing this job if I didn’t believe that faith can help us. If we didn’t have faith, where would we be?’

‘Were you aware at all of her interest in the supernatural?’

‘No, I can’t say that I was. But, as I say, she was quite reticent and guarded when it came to her private life. Or certain aspects of it.’

‘Such as?’

‘She believed in dreams, that they could give her an insight into things we can’t see in our waking life. Her belief grew stronger over time until I got the impression that she believed dreams were some kind of door into another world.’

‘The afterlife?’

‘I don’t know exactly what she meant.’

‘And what did you say to her?’

‘What we preach in church. We believe in the resurrection on the Day of Judgement and in eternal life. The reunion of loved ones is the essence of the Easter message.’

‘Did she believe in that sort of reunion?’

‘I felt that she derived a certain consolation from the idea, yes.’

Elínborg was again in tow when Erlendur paid another short visit to María’s husband, Baldvin. It was the day after he had spoken to the vicar. He invented some pretext involving a notebook that he had mislaid. Elínborg stood at his side in the sitting room of the house in Grafarvogur, watching him explain his visit. Erlendur had never in his life owned a notebook.

‘I haven’t seen anything of the kind here,’ Baldvin said, after a cursory glance round the room. ‘I’ll let you know if I find it.’

‘Thank you,’ Erlendur said, ‘I’m sorry to bother you.’

Elínborg smiled awkwardly.

‘Tell me: I know it’s none of my business, but did María regard death as the end of it all?’ Erlendur asked.

‘The end of it all?’ Baldvin repeated, surprised.

‘I mean, did she believe in life after death?’ Erlendur asked.

Elínborg stared at him. She had never heard him ask such questions before.

‘I think so,’ Baldvin said. ‘I think she believed in the resurrection, like other Christians.’

‘When people are having a hard time or experience the loss of a loved one, they often search for answers, sometimes even from mediums or psychics.’

‘I wouldn’t know about that,’ Baldvin said. ‘Why are you asking?’

Erlendur was on the verge of telling him about the recording that Karen had given him but changed his mind. Another time. He suddenly felt it would be unwise to drag Karen into this and mention her concerns. He ought to keep faith with her.

‘Just thinking aloud,’ he said. ‘We’ve inconvenienced you enough, I’m sorry for the intrusion.’

Smiling, Elínborg took the man’s hand and said goodbye with a few words of condolence.

‘What was that all about?’ she asked angrily once they were seated in the car and Erlendur was driving away slowly. ‘The woman committed suicide and you start talking some crap about life after death! Have you no sense of decency?’

‘She went to see a medium,’ Erlendur said.

‘How do you know?’

Erlendur took out Karen’s tape and handed it to her. ‘It’s the recording of a seance that his wife attended.’

‘A seance?’ Elínborg said in astonishment. ‘She went to a seance?’

‘I haven’t listened to the whole tape. I was going to let him hear what’s on it, but…’

‘But what?’

‘I want to track down the medium,’ Erlendur said. ‘I suddenly wanted to know what game the medium was playing and whether he might have done something to trigger this tragedy.’

‘You think he was playing with her?’

‘I do. He pretended to see a boat on a lake, to smell cigar smoke. That sort of rubbish.’

‘Was he alluding to her father’s drowning?’

‘Yes.’

‘You don’t believe in mediums?’ Elínborg asked.

‘No more than I believe in fairies,’ Erlendur said, turning out of the cul-de-sac.