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in thought, his eyes on the distant moor. It was still cloaked in the same cloud as when Erlendur had arrived several days earlier, having driven the entire journey from Reykjavík non-stop. He had felt the urge to head out east that autumn after reaching a dead end in his investigation of the alleged suicide of a woman at Thingvellir. The case had hinged on hypothermia and this had had the odd effect of stirring up memories of his brother perishing in the mountains above Eskifjördur.
    ‘Jakob wasn’t quite what he seemed,’ Ezra said at last. ‘I don’t judge people. I’m in no position to – I’m far from perfect myself. But Jakob had some quality that put people on their guard. I wouldn’t call it dishonesty, exactly, but he was a tricky customer. And people sensed it. They all knew him. But then everybody knows everyone else around here. I suppose Reykjavík’s grown so big you don’t even know your own neighbours.’
    Erlendur nodded.
    ‘Over the years all sorts of rumours circulated,’ Ezra continued. ‘That he’d thrown her out of the house, driven her away and so on. You’ll have heard them, of course.’
    ‘Some.’
    ‘Then he drowned in the fjord here and that was that. He didn’t marry again after Matthildur died. Took to drink and let himself go to seed. Then he had the accident – his vessel went down. They managed to drag Jakob and the other man ashore but the boat was smashed to pieces.’
    ‘And that was here in Eskifjördur?’
    ‘Over on the other side of the fjord, there. They were coming home in a terrible gale and the boat capsized. It was the middle of winter.’
    ‘Tell me one thing – is it possible that someone didn’t want Matthildur to be found?’
    ‘I expect you’d have a better idea about that than me,’ Ezra said, regarding him with small, watery eyes.
    Erlendur smiled suddenly. ‘What did people guess had happened?’
    ‘They didn’t have far to look for an explanation. The rivers were running high – both branches of the Thverá – and the Eskifjördur River had turned into a raging torrent. It’s possible she was washed away. Maybe you know that one of the British soldiers was found in the sea after being carried downstream. They only discovered his body by chance.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘I suppose she must have gone the same way,’ Ezra said, his eyes wet. ‘It seems the most likely explanation to me.’

8
    AS ERLENDUR LISTENED to the old man, he remembered what Hrund had said about him living alone all his life. Erlendur could have guessed as much as soon as he entered the house. The signs of a recluse, which he knew only too well, revealed themselves in the few, spartan possessions, the worn furnishings and lack of ornaments, the absence of everything required to make a place homely. At that moment a cat wended its way into the kitchen and rubbed against Erlendur’s leg, before slipping under the table and jumping onto Ezra’s lap where it made itself comfortable, observing them curiously.
    ‘So people didn’t approve of Jakob?’ Erlendur said.
    ‘No, I don’t suppose they did,’ Ezra replied hesitantly, stroking the cat absent-mindedly. ‘There was gossip, as I said. It wasn’t taken seriously . . . well, not too seriously, but mud sticks and the rumours dogged him until he died. And still do, I gather,’ he added, glancing up.
    ‘What did you think?’
    ‘Me? I don’t know what difference my opinion would make.’
    ‘Weren’t you friends?’
    ‘Yes, we were.’
    ‘Was she going to leave him?’
    ‘I wouldn’t know.’
    ‘Did you ask him?’
    ‘No,’ said Ezra. ‘And I don’t know if anyone else did either, because there was no reason to.’
    ‘I’ve heard it said that she used to haunt him,’ Erlendur continued. ‘Have you any idea what they meant by that?’
    ‘Well, that’s a load of rubbish, obviously. You’d have to believe in ghosts for a start. An educated man like yourself would hardly do that. Though it’s true he