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didn’t know much about her situation but got the impression she lived alone. A prominently placed photograph showed her beaming at the camera, flanked by three boys and a husband. He assumed her sons had long since flown the nest. He didn’t ask about the husband. Perhaps they were divorced. Or he was dead. She soon supplied the answer.
    ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Yes, I felt I had to put a few words down on paper. Felt it would do me good. To write about my brother. It was his heart, you know. My husband went the same way four years ago. So, you’ve been interested in our Dagbjört for quite a while?’
    ‘Ever since I first read her files, about seven years ago,’ said Erlendur. ‘I don’t remember the actual events – I’m too young – but there was a good deal written about her disappearance at the time and I’ve read all of it, along with the police reports. About her route to school. The boyfriend she’s supposed to have had in Camp Knox.’
    ‘And what … do you think you can find out what happened?’
    ‘No, I’m not getting my hopes up,’ said Erlendur. ‘And neither should you.’
    ‘Then what’s the point of this meeting?’
    ‘I wanted to see you, to hear the family’s version of the story, if you’d be willing to share it with me,’ said Erlendur. ‘You mustn’t expect me to come up with any magic solution. I’m just …’
    ‘What?’
    ‘I’m just trying to get a handle on what happened,’ said Erlendur.
    ‘Out of curiosity?’
    ‘Yes, I’ll be frank with you – out of curiosity. I have a particular interest in this kind of case. I want to look into her story in more detail. In my own time. If I discover any new evidence, anything that might shed light on the mystery, naturally I’ll inform you and my colleagues in CID. I want to gather information about her disappearance and see if I can find a fresh angle. A quarter of a century has passed and soon it’ll be too late to … do anything.’
    ‘You mean there’ll be no one left for you to talk to?’
    Erlendur nodded. ‘Both her parents are dead. When I read about your brother I thought to myself that if I was going to act, I couldn’t wait any longer. It was now or never.’
    ‘I see. You’re in a race against time.’
    ‘But as I said, you shouldn’t get your hopes up about any new leads. I can’t stress that strongly enough. Anyway, I think I’ve got a fairly clear picture of what happened, from the public point of view, but of course that’s only a fraction of the whole story.’
    Svava studied Erlendur with searching grey eyes, sizing him up, trying to gauge whether she could trust him. She sensed that he had been honest with her, admitting his curiosity, laying his cards on the table. She felt this was important.
    ‘You’re a policeman,’ she said, ‘but you’re not here in an official capacity?’
    ‘No, and I’ll quite understand if you don’t want to talk to me.’
    Svava smiled. ‘You’re very serious,’ she said, ‘for such a young man. Why are you … why are you doing this?’
    Erlendur had no answer ready. Why was he doing this? Why couldn’t he leave well alone? Why did he have to reopen old wounds and wallow in grief and loss?’
    ‘Is it something to do with those mournful eyes of yours?’ she asked. ‘Has anyone ever told you? What beautiful eyes you’ve got?’
    Erlendur was embarrassed; he hadn’t been prepared for this.
    ‘I’m just interested in missing-persons cases.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘I have been for a long time. I’m fascinated by accounts of accidents and disasters. I come from the East Fjords where there are quite a few stories of that nature. They’ve always been part of my life.’
    Instinct told her that he was no longer being completely honest, no longer telling the whole truth, and had closed off the small chink he had opened into his soul. He didn’t meet her eye as he answered her question but lowered his gaze to the table as if afraid she would