Reykjavik Nights by Arnaldur Indridason

man. Someone’s been having you on, mate.’
    â€˜So you deny it?’
    â€˜It’s total bullshit,’ said Ellert. ‘I hope you’re not going around spreading this kind of shit.’
    â€˜No, I’m not.’ Erlendur rose to his feet. ‘Well, I’d better not take up any more of your time. Thanks, and sorry to bother you.’
    â€˜No problem,’ said Vignir. ‘Sorry we couldn’t be any more help.’
    â€˜Is he in a wheelchair?’ Erlendur blurted out as the credits rolled and the main character appeared. He was unfamiliar with the programme as he did not own a television himself.
    â€˜Yes, it really holds him back,’ Vignir replied earnestly.
    They did not see him out but remained riveted to the screen. Erlendur walked home in the light evening breeze, marvelling that the brothers were more interested in gawping at the fictitious crimes of an American TV series than discussing a mysterious incident in their own lives, an incident that had nearly resulted in the death of a man they knew.

15
    Erlendur was sound asleep when the phone started ringing. Shrill and insistent, it echoed through the flat until finally he dragged himself to his feet and answered it. The man on the other end sounded distinctly agitated.
    â€˜Is that Erlendur Sveinsson?’ he demanded brusquely.
    â€˜Yes, that’s me.’
    â€˜I’ve just been talking to my sister Rebekka. She told me about your conversations and what you said about me and I wanted to tell you that it’s outrageous! To imply … to imply I harmed my brother Hannibal is insane and if you keep spreading lies like that I’ll be forced to take action. How dare you suggest that? How dare you!’
    The brother, Erlendur thought.
    â€˜I won’t have you poking your nose into something that’s none of your business,’ the man went on. ‘And as for spreading lies about me, it’s downright disgusting.’
    â€˜But I don’t believe I have,’ Erlendur objected.
    â€˜No? That’s not what it sounds like to me.’
    â€˜Everything I discussed with your sister was in strict confidence. The thing is, I knew your brother a little and I want to find out how he ended up drowning like that.’
    â€˜You’re interfering in a painful family matter that has nothing whatsoever to do with you and I want you to stop,’ said the man. ‘Right now! Rebekka told me you’re a junior officer and have no involvement with the inquiry. I’ll complain to your superiors if you don’t stop.’
    â€˜Actually, Rebekka was keen to help,’ said Erlendur.
    â€˜What do you mean?’
    â€˜We had a long talk which, let me stress, was in complete confidence. I don’t know what she told you but if you’re under the impression I was disrespectful then I must apologise. I’d very much like to meet you and discuss the matter in person. If you’d be interested.’
    â€˜Meet me? Out of the question! You can leave me alone. And leave my sister alone too. This is none of your business. I repeat, none!’
    â€˜Hannibal was –’
    Before Erlendur could finish the man had slammed down the phone.
    *   *   *
    That night Erlendur was more taciturn than usual. It was one of their quieter shifts. They were on traffic duty and so far all they had done was pick up a man on suspicion of driving over the limit, a charge he stubbornly denied. He had hit a cyclist, a baker on his way to work, who claimed that the man had reeked of alcohol and had shoved a handful of liquorice sweets in his mouth while they were waiting for the police. The cyclist was understandably furious. Not only was he injured but his new bike was practically written off. They dropped him at Casualty on their way to take the driver for a blood test. The whole way there the driver ranted and blustered about the pointlessness of the exercise; it was all