He took a step towards Erlendur.

“I mean it,” he said. “Abhorrent!”

“We have to examine all the possibilities,” Erlendur said. “You must understand that. We’ve carried out a very thorough search for her, combed the beaches, advertised in the papers and on television. She’s not going to come forward. She may be dead. When people disappear like this it’s generally a sign that they’re unhappy, so unhappy that they’re capable of doing something stupid. Was your wife unhappy? Why? Was it something you did to her? Did she reproach herself? Did she regret the whole thing? Did she regret the affair, the divorce, the marriage? Did she regret losing her children? Was the whole thing a fatal mistake?”

“You’ve been talking to her friends, haven’t you?” the man said.

Erlendur did not answer. Up to now he had spared the man the third degree, but the phone calls had changed that.

“They’re crazy!” the man continued. “I’ve never liked them. They’ve never liked me. What do you expect?”

“She was depressed,” Erlendur said. “She regretted losing her family and she believed you had started cheating on her.”

“Bullshit!”

“Found a new one, have you?”

“A new one? What are you talking about?”

“Had you started cheating on her?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about”

“Her friends say she suspected there was another woman,” Erlendur said. “Is that true?”

“It’s all a pack of lies! There is no “other woman”.”

Erlendur vacillated a moment.

“Over the past couple of days I’ve been receiving phone calls from a woman who won’t reveal her name,” he said after a pause. “She’s distraught; she knows I’m handling the case but doesn’t trust herself to come forward. I don’t know whether that’s because she doesn’t dare or can’t. What she says doesn’t help much either because she’s always in such a state when she phones; she’s probably had to steel herself to make the call, but when it comes to the crunch she backs off and hangs up on me.”

“You mean it’s her?” the man asked, stunned. “She’s been in touch with you? Is … is she alive ? Is she all right?”

“If it is her,” Erlendur said, instantly regretting having mentioned the phone calls. He ought to have waited, waited until he had heard from the woman at least once more and persuaded her to meet him and tell him the truth.

“If?” the man said. “ If it’s her? You mean you’re not sure?”

“I’m as sure as I can be,” Erlendur said. “But that’s not saying much.”

“My God! What’s she thinking of? And what… what does she say? Why is she doing this?”

“Is this some sort of scam you two are cooking up?” Erlendur asked.

“Scam? No. Is that what she’s saying, that it’s a scam? Is that what she’s saying?”

“No,” Erlendur said, trying to damp the man’s eagerness. “As a matter of fact, she doesn’t say much. She …”

He was about to say that all she did was sob down the phone, but stopped himself.

“What… what does she say? Why is she calling you?”

“She’s in distress,” Erlendur said. “That’s obvious from talking to her. But she won’t tell me anything. Can you enlighten me? Do you know more than you’re letting on?”

“Why doesn’t she talk to me?” the man said.

Instead of answering, Erlendur simply stared at the man as if to throw the question back at him. Why doesn’t she talk to you?

“I haven’t done anything to her!” the man shouted. “It’s a lie! I’m not cheating on her. Okay, okay, I have done, but not now. I haven’t been cheating on her. You have to understand that! You have to believe me!”

“I have no idea what to believe,” Erlendur said.

“You have to believe me,” the man repeated, with all the sincerity he was capable of.

“Then again it could be the new woman you’re seeing,” Erlendur said. “You have affairs. That’s no lie. Time passes. You revert to your old habits, meet another woman. You have this little secret together. Then your wife finds out and disappears.”

“That’s rubbish,” the man said.

“The new mistress gets cold feet. Her conscience is killing her. She calls me and …”

“What are you doing?” the man groaned.

“Isn’t it rather a question of what you’ve done?”

“I’ve never threatened to kill anyone,” the man said. “It’s a lie!”

“Were you cheating on your wife?” Erlendur asked. “Is that why she left you?”

The man stared at him for a long time without saying anything. Erlendur had not taken a seat and they stood eyeball to eyeball in the living room like two bulls, neither prepared to back down. Erlendur saw the rage seething in the man. He had succeeded in goading him to fury.

“Did your mistress call her?” Erlendur asked.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” the man said through gritted teeth.

“It has been known to happen.”

“It’s bullshit!”

“Was that how your wife found out that you were cheating on her?”

“I think you should leave now,” the man said.

“It’s not just a simple missing-person case, is it?” Erlendur said.

“Get out,” the man said.

“You must see that something doesn’t fit.”

“I have nothing more to say to you. Get out!”

“Oh, I can leave,” Erlendur said, “but this case is not going anywhere. “You can’t drive it away. Sooner or later the truth will out”

“It is the truth,” the man yelled. “I don’t know what’s happened. Try to understand that. For God’s sake, try to understand! I don’t know what’s happened!”

When Erlendur finally got home he sat down in his armchair without turning on the lights in the flat and lay back, grateful for the rest. He looked out of the window and his thoughts went to Eva Lind and the dream that she wanted to tell him.

His mind conjured up an image of a horse struggling in a bog, with eyes bulging and nostrils flaring. He heard the sucking noise when it managed to free a foreleg before sinking even deeper.

He longed to be at peace. He longed to see the stars that were obscured behind the clouds. He wanted to seek solace in them: the awareness of something greater and more important than his own consciousness, the awareness of vast tracts of time and space where he could lose himself for a while.

The family had lived in rather cramped conditions in the little house that now stood derelict. The brothers had to share a bedroom. Their parents had the other bedroom, and apart from that there was a big kitchen with a pantry opening off it, and a little parlour containing old furniture and family photographs, some of which now hung in the sitting room of Erlendur’s flat. He took a trip out east every few years to sleep in the ruins of what had once been his home. From there he would walk or ride up onto the moors, and even sleep under the open sky. He enjoyed travelling alone; the gradual sensation of being overwhelmed by the profound solitude of his childhood haunts, surrounded by places and incidents from a past that was still so vivid to him, that filled him with nostalgia. He knew it only existed in his memory. When he was gone there would be nothing left. When he was gone it would be as if none of it had ever existed.

Like the evening when he and Bergur were lying in the darkness of their room, too over-excited to sleep, and heard a car drive into the yard. They heard the front door open and their parents” voices inviting someone in. They heard but did not recognise the visitor’s deep voice. Visitors were rare at this time of night. The brothers did not dare to leave their room but Erlendur opened the door a crack and they lay and eaves-dropped. They could see the kitchen, the visitor’s feet, solid black shoes and black trousers, his crossed legs. They could see one of his hands resting on the kitchen table, big, with thick fingers and a gold ring sunk into the flesh. They could not hear what was said. Their mother stood by the table, half turned away from them, and they could see one of their father’s shoulders where he sat diagonally opposite the visitor. Erlendur went to the window and peered out at the car. He did not know the make, had never seen the car before.