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Authors: Arnaldur Indridason
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not remember the model from the files.
The woman pondered. These strange questions were confusing her.
'It was a Ford,' she said. 'I think it was called a Falcon.'
'From the case files, it doesn't look as if there were any clues to his disappearance in the car.'
'No, they couldn't find anything. One of the hubcaps had been stolen, but that was all.'
'In front of the coach station?' Sigurdur Óli asked.
'That's what they thought.'
'A hubcap?'
'Yes.'
'What happened to the car?'
'I sold it. I needed the money. I've never had much money.'
She remembered the licence plate and mechanically repeated the number to them. Sigurdur Óli wrote it down. Erlendur gestured to him, they stood up and thanked her for her time. The woman stayed put in her chair. He thought she was bitterly lonely.
'Where did all the machinery he sold come from?' Erlendur asked, for the sake of saying something.
'The farm machinery? It came from Russia and East Germany. He said it wasn't as good as the American stuff, but much cheaper.'
Erlendur could not imagine what Sindri Snaer wanted from him. His son was completely different from his sister Eva, who felt Erlendur had not pressed hard enough for the right to see his children. They would never have known he existed if their mother had not been forever bad-mouthing him. When Eva grew up she tracked down her father and vented her anger mercilessly. Sindri Snaer did not seem to have the same agenda. He neither grilled Erlendur about destroying their family nor condemned him for taking no interest in him and Eva when they were just children who believed their father was bad for walking out on them.
When Erlendur got home Sindri was boiling spaghetti. He had tidied up the kitchen, which meant he had thrown away a few microwave-meal packets, washed a couple of forks and cleaned inside and around the coffee machine. Erlendur went into the living room and watched the television news. The skeleton from Lake Kleifarvatn was the fifth item. The police had taken care not to mention the Soviet equipment.
They sat in silence, eating the spaghetti. Erlendur chopped it up with his fork and spread it with butter while Sindri pursed his lips and sucked it up with tomato ketchup. Erlendur asked how his mother was doing and Sindri said he had not heard from her since he'd come to the city. A chat show was starting on the television. A pop star was recounting his triumphs in life.
'Eva told me at New Year that you had a brother who died,' Sindri said suddenly, wiping his mouth with a piece of kitchen roll.
'That's right,' Erlendur said after some thought. He had not been expecting this.
'Eva said it had a big effect on you.'
'That's right.'
'And explains a bit what you're like.'
'Explains what I'm like?' Erlendur said. 'I don't know what I'm like. Nor does Eva!'
They went on eating, Sindri sucking up spaghetti and Erlendur struggling to balance the strands on his fork. He thought to himself that he would buy some porridge and pickled haggis the next time he happened to pass a shop.
'It's not my fault,' Sindri said.
'What?'
'That I hardly know who you are.'
'No,' Erlendur said. 'It's not your fault.'
They ate in silence. Sindri put down his fork and wiped his mouth with kitchen roll again. He stood up, took a coffee mug, filled it with water from the tap and sat back down at the table.
'She said he was never found.'
'Yes, that's right, he was never found,' Erlendur said.
'So he's still up there?'
Erlendur stopped eating and put down his fork.
'I expect so, yes,' he said, looking into his son's eyes. 'Where's this all leading?'
'Do you sometimes look for him?'
'Look for him?'
'Are you still searching for him?'
'What do you want from me, Sindri?' Erlendur said.
'I was working out in the east. In Eskifjördur. They didn't know we . . .' Sindri groped for the right word . . . 'knew each other, but after Eva told me about that business with your brother I started asking the locals, older people,
The woman pondered. These strange questions were confusing her.
'It was a Ford,' she said. 'I think it was called a Falcon.'
'From the case files, it doesn't look as if there were any clues to his disappearance in the car.'
'No, they couldn't find anything. One of the hubcaps had been stolen, but that was all.'
'In front of the coach station?' Sigurdur Óli asked.
'That's what they thought.'
'A hubcap?'
'Yes.'
'What happened to the car?'
'I sold it. I needed the money. I've never had much money.'
She remembered the licence plate and mechanically repeated the number to them. Sigurdur Óli wrote it down. Erlendur gestured to him, they stood up and thanked her for her time. The woman stayed put in her chair. He thought she was bitterly lonely.
'Where did all the machinery he sold come from?' Erlendur asked, for the sake of saying something.
'The farm machinery? It came from Russia and East Germany. He said it wasn't as good as the American stuff, but much cheaper.'
Erlendur could not imagine what Sindri Snaer wanted from him. His son was completely different from his sister Eva, who felt Erlendur had not pressed hard enough for the right to see his children. They would never have known he existed if their mother had not been forever bad-mouthing him. When Eva grew up she tracked down her father and vented her anger mercilessly. Sindri Snaer did not seem to have the same agenda. He neither grilled Erlendur about destroying their family nor condemned him for taking no interest in him and Eva when they were just children who believed their father was bad for walking out on them.
When Erlendur got home Sindri was boiling spaghetti. He had tidied up the kitchen, which meant he had thrown away a few microwave-meal packets, washed a couple of forks and cleaned inside and around the coffee machine. Erlendur went into the living room and watched the television news. The skeleton from Lake Kleifarvatn was the fifth item. The police had taken care not to mention the Soviet equipment.
They sat in silence, eating the spaghetti. Erlendur chopped it up with his fork and spread it with butter while Sindri pursed his lips and sucked it up with tomato ketchup. Erlendur asked how his mother was doing and Sindri said he had not heard from her since he'd come to the city. A chat show was starting on the television. A pop star was recounting his triumphs in life.
'Eva told me at New Year that you had a brother who died,' Sindri said suddenly, wiping his mouth with a piece of kitchen roll.
'That's right,' Erlendur said after some thought. He had not been expecting this.
'Eva said it had a big effect on you.'
'That's right.'
'And explains a bit what you're like.'
'Explains what I'm like?' Erlendur said. 'I don't know what I'm like. Nor does Eva!'
They went on eating, Sindri sucking up spaghetti and Erlendur struggling to balance the strands on his fork. He thought to himself that he would buy some porridge and pickled haggis the next time he happened to pass a shop.
'It's not my fault,' Sindri said.
'What?'
'That I hardly know who you are.'
'No,' Erlendur said. 'It's not your fault.'
They ate in silence. Sindri put down his fork and wiped his mouth with kitchen roll again. He stood up, took a coffee mug, filled it with water from the tap and sat back down at the table.
'She said he was never found.'
'Yes, that's right, he was never found,' Erlendur said.
'So he's still up there?'
Erlendur stopped eating and put down his fork.
'I expect so, yes,' he said, looking into his son's eyes. 'Where's this all leading?'
'Do you sometimes look for him?'
'Look for him?'
'Are you still searching for him?'
'What do you want from me, Sindri?' Erlendur said.
'I was working out in the east. In Eskifjördur. They didn't know we . . .' Sindri groped for the right word . . . 'knew each other, but after Eva told me about that business with your brother I started asking the locals, older people,
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