Erlendur replied, without elaborating. âDid he stay here often?â
âHe wandered in off the street every now and then. Last time I saw him I had to turn him away for being drunk and making a nuisance of himself. I gather he was sleeping up by the hot-water pipes towards the end.â
âThatâs right. Not far from where they found him in Kringlumýri.â
âPoor man.â
âSo he was sober the times he stayed here?â
âHad to be â we donât allow any drinking.â
âDid you talk to him at all?â
âNo, not that I recall. Just went over the rules with him, as I always do.â
âDid he come here often when he was sober?â
âFrom time to time, as I said, but usually he was in such a state that we couldnât admit him. There were maybe two or three occasions when he was allowed to stay. No more. Then he had to leave in the morning like everybody else.â
âDid he associate with any of your regulars? Can you remember?â asked Erlendur.
âNot off the top of my head. But itâs not a big community.â
âCommunity?â
âReykjavÃkâs drinkers.â
âNo, I suppose not, though they certainly make their mark on the town.â
âThatâs nothing new. Most of them know each other. I vaguely remember him complaining that someone had tried to set fire to him. Can that be right?â
âThe cellar where he was sleeping caught fire, yes. The owner reckoned heâd started the blaze himself by accident. Did he tell you different?â
âWell, as far as I remember, he was extremely resentful about how heâd been treated. The incidentâs stayed with me because that was the last time I saw him. He was fuming about being evicted. Does that fit?â
âSounds right. The cellar was a total dump but at least it was a roof over his head. Did he mention being blamed for the fire?â
âNo, just ranted on about it â he was the worse for wear and didnât hang about long. In my line of work you hear so many sob stories and excuses, so many complaints and accusations about everything under the sun that in the end you stop listening.â
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
When Erlendur left the Fever Hospital shortly afterwards, the drunk man was still standing in the street outside. To combat the unsteadiness of his legs he had propped himself against a fence from where he hailed Erlendur.
âYou pissed too?â
Erlendur stopped and considered the man in his thick winter coat and hat; the grimy hands, the wrinkles etched deep in his face. He could be either side of fifty.
âNo, Iâm not pissed.â Erlendur went over. âWonât they take you?â
âArseholes,â said the man.
âIf you sober up, theyâll give you food and shelter. They canât have everyone wandering around drunk though, can they?â
The man gave him a look of contempt; clearly this was unworthy of a response.
âYou wouldnât by any chance remember a guy called Hannibal? Used to come down here.â
âHannibal?â the man said sharply.
âYes.â
âI knew Hannibal. Why are you asking?â
âI ââ
âHe was drowned like a dog.â
âWhat do you mean?â
âWhat do I mean? I mean someone went out there and drowned the poor sod.â
âWhy do you say that?â
âI just know.â
âDid you see it?â
âNo, I didnât. But I saw plenty of other things.â
âWhy are you so sure, then?â
âHow else did he drown in that puddle? Eh? You tell me!â
âSo you ââ
âMe? No, wasnât me. I had nothing to do with it.â
âSo what did you see?â
âEh?â
âYou said youâd seen plenty of other things. What did you mean?â
âI see things,â repeated the tramp. âAnd I know things too. Donât