‘What aren’t you telling us?’ Daníel said, staring hard into Ebbi’s eyes, while he opened and closed his mouth, like a fish on dry land. ‘Spit it out, man,’ he hissed, pushing him harder against the wall until he finally spoke.

‘I thought it would be too much for her mother. The last time I saw Ísafold, when we had dinner at Mum’s place, she had two black eyes. She’d tried to cover it up with make-up, but you couldn’t miss it.’

Daníel withdrew his hand from Ebbi’s chest and took a step back.

‘And?’ he asked, returning to his usual mild tone. ‘The family had nothing to say about her being treated like that?’

Ebbi shook his head, and his lips twisted into a bitter smile. ‘The old lady worships the ground Björn walks on, so she’s brilliant at just not seeing all the shit stuff he does. She’s even furious with Ísafold for walking out on him. Me, I’m just relieved that she finally did it. I told her that day, and I’d told her a few months before, too, that she would have to leave him. It was getting crazy. He made her steal drugs, and then smacked her about,’ he said. His voice cracked and dropped to a whisper. ‘I offered to take her to the refuge, and I told her she could stay with me. I could have kept my brother away from her, but she seemed to have this faith that it wouldn’t be long before everything would be just fine.’

A single tear escaped from the corner of Ebbi’s eye and ran down his cheek, until he jerked his head to shake it off.

192

80

Now that the time to put his plan into action was approaching, Grímur felt a need to be close to Ísafold, to speak to her. He knew this was stupidly risky, but he had the feeling that he could be close to her by being near her body. He looked around, casting his eyes over the jagged lava before he clambered down into the fissure. He didn’t get close to the suitcase, frightened that it would smell. It looked to have sagged in the middle and appeared to have softened, as well as which it had turned darker, so that in the night-time brightness it looked almost black.

The thought returned to him – just sixteen years for murder, and just two-thirds of that would be served.

‘I promise not to let you down,’ he said out loud. ‘I promise I won’t let you down. I’m sorry.’