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you go thinking I’m some kind of fool, mate. I’m no fool, let me tell you.’
    â€˜Do you know things about Hannibal?’
    â€˜Oh, leave me alone. Why don’t you talk to that stupid prick Bergmundur? He knew Hannibal better than me. Saw him in the square only yesterday. Back on the bottle, the bloody fool. Not for the first time,’ he added, with an oddly censorious expression, as if he himself never touched a drop except on special occasions.
    *   *   *
    Little was to be gained from the couple who used to live above Hannibal’s cellar. Erlendur had finally tracked them down to a grotty rented place near the swimming pool in Laugardalur. They had been out the night of the fire yet were convinced that Hannibal was responsible. Not that they spoke badly of him. In fact, they showed sympathy for his plight.
    â€˜We didn’t mind him sleeping there,’ explained the woman whose name was Málfrídur. She had a puffy red face, a large splayed nose and a big mouth, which was prevented from closing properly by protruding teeth. Her husband, who was waiting by the stove for the coffee to percolate, also looked like a drinker: grubby vest, braces hanging down over his trousers, bare feet. The flat was dirty and there was an unpleasant smell whose source Erlendur could not identify. Burnt offal, he suspected.
    â€˜We liked the bum,’ said the man, pouring coffee into some glasses.
    â€˜Sad what happened to him,’ added Málfrídur.
    â€˜He didn’t have any enemies that you were aware of?’
    â€˜No,’ said the man, ‘but it’s tough on the streets. Wasn’t the poor sod drunk when he fell in?’
    â€˜Do you believe he started the fire himself?’ asked Erlendur.
    â€˜Yes, it was just him being clumsy, wasn’t it?’ said Málfrídur, her mouth hanging open.
    â€˜Mind you, he blamed the brothers next door,’ her husband pointed out.
    â€˜Yes, but that was a load of nonsense,’ said Málfrídur. ‘They had no motive.’
    â€˜Any idea why he accused them?’ asked Erlendur. ‘Had he got on the wrong side of them?’
    â€˜No, the brothers had nothing to do with it,’ insisted Málfrídur.
    â€˜I didn’t like them,’ remarked her husband. ‘Never did.’
    â€˜That’s different.’
    â€˜Why didn’t you like them?’ asked Erlendur, looking at the man.
    â€˜They wouldn’t so much as give you the time of day, even though we were neighbours. And they were mixed up in some kind of shady business, if you ask me. Selling home-made spirits – that sort of thing. Turned their noses up at us. I went round once; asked if they’d sell me some booze – I’d noticed a constant stream of people coming and going from their place. Late at night, mostly. All sorts. They denied they had any, but I know they were lying.’
    â€˜Was Hannibal aware of this?’
    â€˜Haven’t a clue. We never discussed it. Then all the comings and goings stopped. I don’t know if it had anything to do with me going over there. They were nasty pieces of work, those brothers.’
    â€˜They used to be glued to their telly all evening,’ said Málfrídur.
    â€˜Oh?’
    â€˜Yes, it was on every night. We could see from our window. They were telly addicts, if you ask me. Total addicts.’
    â€˜Then they moved out,’ said the man.
    â€˜Yes, soon after that business with Hannibal,’ added the woman. ‘And we haven’t laid eyes on them since.’

9
    Erlendur stood at the Grensásvegur–Miklabraut junction, directing traffic round a three-car pile-up. Two police vehicles and two ambulances had been called to the scene, along with a fire engine to cut an injured driver from the wreckage. An estate car had cannoned into the back of another, smaller vehicle, forcing it through a red light and into the box