He had now made his way all the way down to the Grandi district. There was an acquaintance down here who had an old net store where he was sure he’d be allowed to take a nap. He walked along the quayside, looking down at the boats and the still water, in which the lights of the city on the far side of the harbour were reflected. The street lights seemed sharply defined in the frosty air, while the Harpa concert hall looked gloomy and forbidding, its lights facing the other way, towards the city. The light in the glass that faced Grandi was a reflection, as if the building was part of the sea, a kind of iceberg that had just broken free from the land. Through the dark mirror of the glass, though, he could make out the line of yellow light at the top of the restaurant where the smart set dined and drank.

Pétur glanced behind him as he heard a car approach, but it wasn’t the black car so he didn’t worry about it. His leg was killing him after all that walking, running and climbing over fences. He’d 233find a box or a bale of net to support it when he reached his pal’s store. He took out the half-bottle and was about to glug down what was left, but decided against it as it could be payment for shelter. Those who had a place to lay your head were normally more willing if there was a drop of something to share.

‘Pétur!’

The call came from behind him, and he felt the chill along his whole spine, like snow down your neck that melts and slithers all the way down your back. He turned and found himself looking into the eyes of the Devil himself. It hadn’t been enough to watch out for a black car, and he hadn’t realised that the Devil could wear a disguise. He had popped up from one of those little rental cars that tourists ran around in. This one was an innocent pearl white.

The Grandi quayside was dark and there wasn’t much life in the district at this time of day, so there was no point calling for help. His leg wasn’t going to let him run anymore; at any rate, not quickly enough to escape the Devil’s clutches.

234

Sunday

105

While he never touched coffee himself, he knew how to make it good and strong. A spoonful for each cup and one for the pot, as his mother had taught him. By now the coffee had probably been in the jug too long, even though it wasn’t yet seven o’clock, as he hadn’t been able to find a Thermos and hadn’t wanted to disturb the family upstairs by rooting through the kitchen cupboards. He hadn’t been able to get back to sleep after the message from the police had reached him, and he had decided that Úrsúla would need a decent cup of coffee once he had given her the news.