The noise refused to stop, and gradually Erlendur realised that it was his telephone. He answered and heard the hotel manager's voice.
'You must come down to the kitchen,' the manager said. 'There's someone here you should talk to.'
'Who is it?' Erlendur asked.
'A lad who went home sick the day we found Gudlaugur,' the manager said. 'You ought to come.'
Erlendur got out of bed. He was still in his clothes. He went into the bathroom, looked in the mirror and perused the several days' stubble, which made a noise like sandpaper being rubbed over rough timber when he stroked it. His beard was dense and coarse like his father's.
Before going downstairs he telephoned Sigurdur Óli and told him to go to with Elínborg to Hafnarfjördur to take Gudlaugur's sister in for questioning. He would meet them later that day. He did not explain why he wanted to talk to her. He did not want them to blurt it out. Wanted to see her expression when she realised that he knew she had been lying.
When Erlendur went into the kitchen he saw the hotel manager standing with an exceptionally skinny man in his twenties. Erlendur wondered whether the contrast with the manager was playing tricks on his vision; beside him, everyone looked skinny.
"There you are,' the manager said. 'Anyone would think I'm taking over this investigation of yours, locating witnesses and whatever.'
He looked at his employee.
'Tell him what you know.'
The young man began his account. He was fairly precise about details and explained that he had started to feel ill around noon on the day Gudlaugur was found in his room. In the end he vomited and just managed to grab a rubbish sack in the kitchen.
The man gave the manager a sheepish look.
He was allowed to go home and went to bed with a bad fever, a temperature and aches. Since he lived alone and did not watch the news he hadn't mentioned to anyone what he knew until this morning when he came back to work and heard about Gudlaugur's death. And he was certainly surprised to hear what had happened, and even though he didn't know the man well – he had only been working in the hotel for just over a year – he did sometimes talk to him and even went down to his room and—
'Yes, yes, yes,' the manager said impatiently. 'We're not interested in that, Denni. Just get on with it.'
'Before I went home that morning Gulli came into the kitchen and asked if I could get him a knife.'
'He asked to borrow a knife from the kitchen?' Erlendur said.
'Yes. At first he wanted scissors, but I couldn't find any so then he asked for a knife.'
'Why did he need scissors or a knife, did he tell you?'
'It was something to do with the Santa suit.'
'The Santa suit?'
'He didn't go into detail, just some stitches he needed to unpick.'
'Did he return the knife?'
'No, not while I was here, then I left at noon and that's all I know.'
'What sort of a knife was it?'
'He said it had to be a sharp one,' Denni said.
'It was the same kind as this,' the manager said, reaching into a drawer to take out a small steak knife with a wooden handle and fine-serated blade. 'We lay these for people who order our T-bone steak. Have you tried one? Delicious. The knives go through them like butter.'
Erlendur took the knife, examined it and thought to himself that Gudlaugur may have provided his murderer with the weapon that was used to kill him. Wondered whether that business about the stitching of his Santa suit was just a ploy. Whether Gudlaugur had expected someone in his room and wanted to have the knife at hand; or had the knife been lying on his desk because he needed to mend his Santa suit and the attack was sudden, unpremeditated and sparked by something that happened in the little room? In that case, the attacker had not gone to Gudlaugur's room armed, not gone there with the purpose of killing him.
'I need to take that knife,' he said. 'We need to know if the size and type of blade match the wounds. Is that all right?'
The hotel manager nodded.
'Isn't it that British chap?' he said. 'Have you got anyone else?'
'I'd like to have a quick word with Denni here,' Erlendur said without answering him.
The manager nodded again and stayed where he was, until the penny dropped and he gave Erlendur an offended look. He was accustomed to being the centre of attention. When he did get the message he noisily invented some business to attend to in his office and disappeared. Dennis relief when his boss was no longer present proved shortlived.
'Did you go down to the basement and stab him?' Erlendur asked.
Denni looked at him like a doomed man.
'No,' he said hesitantly, as if not quite sure himself. The next question left him even more in doubt.
'Do you chew tobacco?' Erlendur asked.
'No,' he said. 'Chew tobacco? What...?'
'Have you had a sample taken?'
'Eh?'
'Do you use condoms?'
'Condoms?' said Denni, still at a total loss.
'No girlfriend?'
'Girlfriend?'
'That you have to make sure you don't get pregnant?'
Denni said nothing.
'I don't have a girlfriend,' he said in the end; Erlendur sensed a note of regret. 'What are you asking me all this for?'
'Don't worry about it,' Erlendur said. 'You knew Gudlaugur. What kind of a man was he?'
'He was cool.'
Denni told Erlendur that Gudlaugur had felt comfortable at the hotel, did not want to leave and in fact feared moving out after he was sacked. He used all the hotel services and was the only member of staff who got away with that for years. He ate cheaply at the hotel, put his clothes in with the hotel laundry and didn't pay a penny for his Utile room in the basement. Redundancy came as a shock to him, but he said he could manage if he lived frugally and might not even have to earn himself a living any more.
'What did he mean by that?' Erlendur asked.
Denni shrugged.
'I don't know. He was quite mysterious sometimes. Said lots of things I couldn't suss out.'
'Like what?'
'I don't know, something about music. Sometimes. When he drank. Most of the time he was just normal.'
'Did he drink a lot?'
'No, not at all. Sometimes at weekends. He never missed a day's work. Never. He was proud of that although it's not such a remarkable job. Being a doorman and stuff
'What did he say to you about music?'
'He liked beautiful music. I don't remember exactly what he said.'
'Why do you think he said he didn't need to earn himself a living any more?'
'He seemed to have money. And he never paid for anything so he could save up for ever. I guess that's what he meant. That he'd saved enough.'
Erlendur remembered asking Sigurdur Óli to check Gudlaugur's bank accounts and resolved to remind him. He left Denni in the kitchen in a state of confusion, wondering about chewing tobacco and condoms and girlfriends. As he walked past the lobby he caught sight of a young woman arguing noisily with the head of reception. He seemed to want her out of the hotel, but she refused to leave. It crossed Erlendur's mind that the woman who wanted to invoice this man for his night of fun had shown up, and he was about to go away when the young woman noticed him and stared.
'Are you the cop?' she called out.
'Get out of here!' the head of reception said in an unusually harsh tone.
'You look exactly like Eva Lind described you,' she said, sizing up Erlendur. 'I'm Stína. She told me to talk to you.'
*
They sat down in the bar. Erlendur bought them coffee. He tried to ignore her breasts but had his work cut out doing so. Never in his life had he seen such a huge bosom on such a slim and delicate body. She was wearing an ankle-length beige coat with a fur collar, and she draped it over the chair at their table to reveal a skintight red top that hardly covered her stomach and black flared trousers that barely stretched above the crease between her buttocks. She
was heavily painted, wore thick, dark lipstick and smiled to reveal a beautiful set of teeth.
'Three hundred thousand,' she said, carefully rubbing under her right breast as if it itched. 'Were you wondering about the tits?'
'Are you all right?'
'It's the stitches' She winced 'I mustn't scratch them too much. Have to be careful.'
'What—?'
'New silicon,' Stína interrupted him. 'I had a boob job the other day.'
Erlendur took care not to stare at her new breasts.
'How do you know Eva Lind?' he asked.
'She said you'd ask that and told me to tell you that you don't want to know. She's right. Trust me. And she also told me you'd help me with a Utile business and then I could help you, know what I mean?'
'No,' Erlendur said. 'I don't know what you mean.'
'Eva said you would.'
'Eva was lying. What are you talking about? A little business, what does that involve?'
Stína sighed.
'My friend was busted with some hash at Keflavík airport. Not much, but enough for them to put him away for maybe three years. They sentence them like murderers, those fuckers. A bit of hash. And a few tabs, right! He says he'll get three years. Three! Paedophiles get three months, suspended. Fucking wankers!'
Erlendur didn't see how he could help her. She was like a child, unaware of how big and complicated and difficult it is to deal with the world.
'Was he caught at the terminal?'
'Yeah.'
'I can't do anything,' Erlendur said. 'And I don't feel inclined to. You don't keep particularly good company. Dope smuggling and prostitution. What about a straightforward office job?'
'Won't you just try?' Stína said. 'Talk to someone. He mustn't get three years!'
'To get this perfectly straight,' Erlendur said with a nod, 'you're a prostitute?'
'Prostitute, prostitute,' Stína said, producing a cigarette from a little black handbag over her shoulder. 'I dance at The Marquis. She leaned forwards and whispered con-spiratorially to Erlendur: 'But there's more money in the other business.'
'And you've had customers at this hotel?'
'A few,' Stína said.
'And you've been working at this hotel?'
'I've never worked here.'
'I mean do you pick up the customers here or bring them over from town?'
'Whatever I please. They used to let me be here until Fatso threw me out'
'Why?'
Stína started itching under her breasts again and gave the spot a cautious rub. She winced and forced a smile at Erlendur, but clearly didn't feel particularly well.
'A girl I know went for a boob job that went wrong,' she said. 'Her tits are like empty bin liners'
'Do you really need all that breast?' Erlendur couldn't refrain from asking.
'Don't you like them?' she said, thrusting them forward but grimacing as she did. 'These stitches are killing me,' she groaned.
'Well, they are ... big,' Erlendur admitted.
'And straight off the shelf? Stína boasted.
Erlendur saw the hotel manager enter the bar with the head of reception and stride over to them in all his majesty. Looking around to make sure no one else was in the bar, he hissed at Stína when he was still a few metres away from her.
'Out! Get out, girl! This minute! Out of here!'
Stína looked over her shoulder at the hotel manager, then back at Erlendur and rolled her eyes.
'Christ,' she said.
'We don't want whores like you at this hotel!' the manager shouted.
He grabbed her as if to throw her out
'Leave me alone,' Stína said. 'I'm talking to this man here.'
'Watch her tits!' Erlendur shouted, not knowing what else to say. The hotel manager looked at him, dumbfounded. 'They're new,' Erlendur added by way of explanation.
He stood up, blocked the hotel manager's path and tried to push him away, but with little success. Stína did her utmost to protect her breasts, while the head of reception stood at a distance, watching the goings-on. Eventually he came to Erlendur's aid and they managed to shuffle the furious hotel manager out of reach of Stína.
'Everything ... she ... says about ... me is ... fucking lies!' he wheezed. The effort was almost too much for him; his face poured with sweat and he was panting for breath after the struggle.
'She hasn't said anything about you,' Erlendur said to calm him down.
'I want ... her ... to ... get out ... of here.' The hotel manager slumped down in a chair, took out his handkerchief and started mopping his face.
'Cool it, Fatso,' Stína said. 'He's a meat merchant, you know that?'
'A meat merchant?' Erlendur didn't immediately grasp the meaning.
'He takes a slice from all of us who work at this hotel,' Stína said.
'A slice?' Erlendur said.
'A slice. His commission! He takes a cut from us.'
'It's a lie!' the hotel manager shouted. 'Get out, you fucking whore!'
'He wanted more than half a share for himself and the head waiter,' Stína said as she carefully rearranged her breasts, 'and when I refused he told me to fuck off and never come back.'
'She's lying,' the hotel manager said, slightly calmer. 'I've always thrown those girls out, and her too. We don't want whores at this hotel.'
'The head waiter?' Erlendur said, visualising the thin moustache. Rósant, he thought the name was.
'Always thrown them out,' Stína snorted as she turned to Erlendur. 'He's the one who phones us. If he knows one of the guests is up for it or has money he phones to let us know and plants us in the bar. Says it makes the hotel more popular. They're conference guests and the like. Foreigners. Lonely old men. If there's a big conference on, he phones'
'Are there many of you?' Erlendur asked.
'A few of us run an escort service,' Stína said. 'Really high class.'
Stína gave the impression that she was not as proud of anything as being a prostitute, apart perhaps from her new breasts.
'They don't run a bloody escort service,' the manager said, breathing normally again. 'They hang around the hotel and try to hook guests and take them up to the rooms, and she's lying about me phoning them. You fucking bitch of a whore!'
Thinking it inadvisable to continue the conversation with Stína at the bar, Erlendur said he needed to borrow the head of receptions office for a moment – otherwise they could all go down to the police station and resume there. The hotel manager let out a groan and gave Stína the evil eye. Erlendur followed her out of the bar and into the office. The hotel manager stayed behind. All the wind seemed to have been knocked out of him, and he shooed the head of reception away when he went over to attend to him.
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