Read Online Silence of the Grave by Arnaldur Indriðason - Free Book Online

talking to a man he did not know in the slightest, Erlendur fell silent.
"I can imagine it's difficult for parents to have to go through this," the surgeon said.
"What happened?"
"Placenta abruptio. A massive internal haemorrhage that occurred when the placenta was torn, combined with toxic effects that we are still awaiting the results on. She lost a lot of blood and we haven't managed to bring her back to consciousness. That need not mean anything in particular. She's extremely weak."
After a pause the surgeon said, "Have you contacted your people? So they can be with you or . . ."
"There aren't any 'my people'," Erlendur said. "We're divorced. Her mother and I. I've let her know. And Eva's brother. He's working in the countryside. I don't know whether her mother will come here. It's like she's had enough. It's been very tough for her. All the time."
"I understand."
"I doubt that," Erlendur said. "I don't understand it myself."
He took out a couple of small plastic bags and a box of pills from his coat pocket and showed them to the doctor.
"She might have taken some of this," he said.
The surgeon took the drugs from him and looked at them.
"Ecstasy?"
"Looks like it."
"That's one explanation. We identified a number of substances in her blood."
Erlendur hesitated. He and the surgeon said nothing for a while.
"Do you know who the father is?" the surgeon asked.
"No."
"Do you think she knows?"
Erlendur looked at him and shrugged in resignation. Then they fell silent again.
"Is she going to die?" Erlendur asked after some time.
"I don't know," the surgeon said. "We can only hope for the best."
Erlendur hesitated about asking his question. He'd been grappling with it, horrific as it was, without reaching any conclusion. He was not certain that he wanted to insist. In the end he went ahead.
"Can I see it?"
"It? You mean . . . ?"
"Can I see the foetus? Can I have a look at the baby?"
The surgeon looked at Erlendur without the slightest hint of surprise on his face, only understanding. He nodded and told Erlendur to follow. They walked along the corridor and into an empty room. The surgeon pressed a button and the fluorescent lights on the ceiling flickered before shedding a bluish white light around the room. He went over to a cold steel table and lifted up a little blanket to reveal the dead baby.
Erlendur looked down and stroked his finger across its cheek.
It was a girl.
"Will my daughter come out of this coma, can you tell me that?"
"I don't know," the doctor said. "It's impossible to tell. She'll have to want to herself. It depends a lot on her."
"The poor girl," Erlendur said.
"They say that time heals all wounds," the surgeon said when he felt Erlendur was about to lose his grip. "That's just as true of the body as of the mind."
"Time," Erlendur said, putting the blanket back over the baby. "It doesn't heal any wounds."

7
He sat by his daughter's bedside until about six in the evening. Halldóra did not turn up. Sindri Snaer kept his word and did not come to the city. There was no one else. Eva Lind's condition was unchanged. Erlendur had neither eaten nor slept since the previous day, and was exhausted. He was in touch with Elínborg by telephone during the day and decided to meet her and Sigurdur Óli at the office. He stroked his daughter's cheek and kissed her on the forehead when he left.
He didn't talk about the night's events when he sat down with Sigurdur Óli and Elínborg at their meeting that evening. The two of them had heard through the station grapevine about what had happened to his daughter, but didn't dare ask about it.
"They're still scratching their way down to the skeleton," Elínborg said. "It's going terribly slowly. I think they're using toothpicks now. The hand you found is sticking up out of the ground, they're down to the wrist. The medical officer examined it, but the only definite thing he can say is that it's a human with fairly small hands. Not much joy there. The archaeologists haven't found