television was switched on and the cancer patient's eyes flashed over at the screen. The mask came back down.
'How's it going with the skeleton? Has everyone forgotten the communists?'
'What's all this talk about communists?'
'Your boss came to say hello to me yesterday, or maybe to say goodbye. I've never liked that upstart. I can't see why you don't want to be one of those bosses. What's the explanation? Can you tell me that? You should have been doing half as much for twice the money ages ago.'
'There is no explanation,' Erlendur said.
'He let it slip that the skeleton was tied to a Russian radio transmitter.'
'Yes. We think it's Russian and we think it's a radio transmitter.'
'Aren't you going to give me a cigarette?'
'No.'
'I haven't got long left. Do you think it matters?'
'You won't get a cigarette from me. Was that why you phoned? So I could finally finish you off? Why don't you just ask me to put a bullet through your head?'
'Would you do that for me?'
Erlendur smiled, and Marion's face lit up for an instant.
'Having a stroke is worse. I talk like an idiot and I can't really move my hand.'
'What's all this guff about communists?'
'It was a few years before you joined us. When was that again?'
'1977,' Erlendur said.
'You said you were interested in missing persons, I remember that,' Marion Briem said, wincing. Marion replaced the oxygen mask and leaned back, with eyes closed. A long while passed. Erlendur looked around the room. The flat reminded him uncomfortably of his own.
'Do you want me to call someone?'
'No, don't call anyone,' Marion said, taking the mask off. 'You can help me make us coffee afterwards. I just need to gather my strength. But surely you remember it? When we found those devices.'
'What devices?'
'In Lake Kleifarvatn. Does nobody remember anything any more?'
Marion looked at him and in a weak voice began recounting the story of the devices from the lake; it suddenly dawned on Erlendur what his old boss was talking about. He only vaguely recalled the matter and had not linked it at all to the skeleton in the lake, although he should have realised at once.
On 10 September 1973 the telephone had rung at Hafnarfjördur police station. Two frogmen from Reykjavík – 'they're not called frogmen any more', Marion chuckled painfully – had chanced upon a heap of equipment in the lake. It was at a depth of ten metres. It soon became clear that most of it was Russian and the Cyrillic lettering had been filed off. Telephone engineers were called in to examine it and established that it was an assortment of telecommunications and bugging devices.
'There was loads of the stuff,' Marion Briem said. 'Tape recorders, radio sets, transmitters.'
'Were you on the case?'
'I was at the lake when they fished it all out but I wasn't in charge of the investigation. The case got a lot of publicity. It was at the height of the Cold War and it was well known that Russian espionage in Iceland took place. Of course, the Americans spied too, but they were a friendly nation. Russia was the enemy.'
'Transmitters?'
'Yes. And receivers. It turned out that some were tuned to the wavelength of the American base at Keflavík.'
'So you want to link the skeleton in the lake with that equipment?'
'What do you think?' Marion Briem said, eyes closed again.
'Perhaps that's not implausible.'
'You bear it in mind,' Marion said, pulling a weary face.
'Is there anything I can do for you?' Erlendur said. 'Anything I can get you?'
'I sometimes watch westerns,' Marion said after a long pause, still sitting with eyes closed.
Erlendur was unsure whether he had heard correctly.
'Westerns?' he said. 'Are you talking about cowboy films?'
'Could you bring me a good western?'
'What's a good western?'
'John Wayne,' Marion said in a fading voice.
Erlendur sat by Marion's side for some time, in case his old boss woke up again. Noon was approaching. He went into the kitchen, made coffee and poured two cups. He
'How's it going with the skeleton? Has everyone forgotten the communists?'
'What's all this talk about communists?'
'Your boss came to say hello to me yesterday, or maybe to say goodbye. I've never liked that upstart. I can't see why you don't want to be one of those bosses. What's the explanation? Can you tell me that? You should have been doing half as much for twice the money ages ago.'
'There is no explanation,' Erlendur said.
'He let it slip that the skeleton was tied to a Russian radio transmitter.'
'Yes. We think it's Russian and we think it's a radio transmitter.'
'Aren't you going to give me a cigarette?'
'No.'
'I haven't got long left. Do you think it matters?'
'You won't get a cigarette from me. Was that why you phoned? So I could finally finish you off? Why don't you just ask me to put a bullet through your head?'
'Would you do that for me?'
Erlendur smiled, and Marion's face lit up for an instant.
'Having a stroke is worse. I talk like an idiot and I can't really move my hand.'
'What's all this guff about communists?'
'It was a few years before you joined us. When was that again?'
'1977,' Erlendur said.
'You said you were interested in missing persons, I remember that,' Marion Briem said, wincing. Marion replaced the oxygen mask and leaned back, with eyes closed. A long while passed. Erlendur looked around the room. The flat reminded him uncomfortably of his own.
'Do you want me to call someone?'
'No, don't call anyone,' Marion said, taking the mask off. 'You can help me make us coffee afterwards. I just need to gather my strength. But surely you remember it? When we found those devices.'
'What devices?'
'In Lake Kleifarvatn. Does nobody remember anything any more?'
Marion looked at him and in a weak voice began recounting the story of the devices from the lake; it suddenly dawned on Erlendur what his old boss was talking about. He only vaguely recalled the matter and had not linked it at all to the skeleton in the lake, although he should have realised at once.
On 10 September 1973 the telephone had rung at Hafnarfjördur police station. Two frogmen from Reykjavík – 'they're not called frogmen any more', Marion chuckled painfully – had chanced upon a heap of equipment in the lake. It was at a depth of ten metres. It soon became clear that most of it was Russian and the Cyrillic lettering had been filed off. Telephone engineers were called in to examine it and established that it was an assortment of telecommunications and bugging devices.
'There was loads of the stuff,' Marion Briem said. 'Tape recorders, radio sets, transmitters.'
'Were you on the case?'
'I was at the lake when they fished it all out but I wasn't in charge of the investigation. The case got a lot of publicity. It was at the height of the Cold War and it was well known that Russian espionage in Iceland took place. Of course, the Americans spied too, but they were a friendly nation. Russia was the enemy.'
'Transmitters?'
'Yes. And receivers. It turned out that some were tuned to the wavelength of the American base at Keflavík.'
'So you want to link the skeleton in the lake with that equipment?'
'What do you think?' Marion Briem said, eyes closed again.
'Perhaps that's not implausible.'
'You bear it in mind,' Marion said, pulling a weary face.
'Is there anything I can do for you?' Erlendur said. 'Anything I can get you?'
'I sometimes watch westerns,' Marion said after a long pause, still sitting with eyes closed.
Erlendur was unsure whether he had heard correctly.
'Westerns?' he said. 'Are you talking about cowboy films?'
'Could you bring me a good western?'
'What's a good western?'
'John Wayne,' Marion said in a fading voice.
Erlendur sat by Marion's side for some time, in case his old boss woke up again. Noon was approaching. He went into the kitchen, made coffee and poured two cups. He
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