He felt a stab in his guts when he heard footsteps on the stairs. He took a deep breath and focused his mind on the flow of hot air from his nostrils and over his upper lip. This calmed him, and he stood up as Úrsúla appeared in the kitchen. He poured coffee into a cup and handed it to her.

‘I have bad news,’ he said. ‘Pétur was found dead in the harbour last night.’

Úrsúla swayed, putting out a hand to the worktop to support herself, and dropped onto a barstool. She still had the cup in her hand, and she didn’t seem to have noticed that some of the contents had spilled onto the table. Gunnar picked up a cloth and wiped the surface clean.

‘At the moment it’s not known if he drowned, or died of other causes. There are marks on his body consistent with having been in a fight.’

Úrsúla nodded and looked thoughtfully down at the worktop. 235

‘So it’s too late to try and get hold of him,’ she muttered.

There was a depth of regret in her voice, and Gunnar understood how significant this had to be for her. The man who had been with her father when he died, finally silenced and gone, and with him the knowledge of what had really taken place in that cell all those years ago.

‘Isn’t it strange that he should lose his life right now?’ she added, subdued and slumped on the stool.

‘I don’t know,’ Gunnar said. ‘I don’t know what to think. The cops said that he was well known for getting into all kinds of rucks with people, so maybe it was an accident. Maybe he fell into the water. Maybe the marks on the body are from before last night. Maybe he was in a fight earlier in the day and took his own life by jumping in the water. It’s difficult to tell.’

Úrsúla made no reply, but slumped even further down on the stool. Gunnar didn’t know what he ought to do or say. He placed a cautious hand on her back and muttered something about how sorry he was. His insignificant words of sympathy seemed to break the dam, as she suddenly broke into loud sobs.

He had the feeling that her tears weren’t for the dead homeless man, but more for his lot in life; and not just for his life but for another that had been similar. He felt that Úrsúla wept for her father.

106

Marita had read through the paperwork the police had left with her three times, and some of it a fourth time, but she still failed to understand how her sweet boy could have put such vile things into words. Where had this shocking loathing for a woman’s body come from? Along the corridor she heard Kiddi’s bedroom door open and then the bathroom door open and shut. She got up and fetched breakfast cereal and milk, placing them on the table with 236a bowl and a spoon. She poured coffee into her mug and waited for the coming conflict.