Diary I
July 16, 1910. Started the day early at Reykholt. Wonderful weather, sunshine and clear skies. Had salmon to eat, with melted butter and bread to accompany. Before setting off today we had coffee and sandwiches with all kinds of fillings, meat, sausage, etc. The pastor refused to accept any money for the accommodation, but we were allowed to pay for the picnic. Traveled diagonally across Reykholtsdalur valley by Kópareykir. Here there were young women washing clothes in a hot spring…
July 17, 1910. As we arrived at Svínadalur, we met a man who told us that a motorboat would be sailing that evening from Saurbær to Reykjavik, carrying passengers. We hastened our journey and managed to arrive in time to be ferried on board…
July 18, 1910. Arrived Reykjavik at six a.m. after a difficult sea crossing. Everybody was up by the time I got home, cold and tired. Slept for the better part of the day…
Halldór was standing by the north window, looking out. There was a good view to both the north and south from the detective division’s floor, though people working on the south side of the building often complained about the heat when it was sunny. Reykjavik’s Criminal Court headquarters was on the floor below, and Halldór knew that despite the good views, the building was cramped and in many ways unsuitable for so many staff.
It had finally stopped snowing, and by now was quite bright, though the wind was kicking up. Halldór could see north across the bay to Engey Island, and in the distance, snow-covered Mount Akrafjall, the dark-blue sea separating the two. The harbor was to the west, and a Coast Guard boat was just putting out to sea; Halldór thought it might be the Thór. The Coast Guard had plenty to do now, defending the new fifty-mile fishing limits.
It was a quiet morning in the detective division. One man had been arrested for alleged assault, and interviews in a rape case had been completed. Apart from that, two men had been taken into custody and charged with car theft and driving under the influence that had resulted in a fatal accident.
Halldór picked up binoculars that lay on the windowsill and followed the Coast Guard boat as it turned out into the bay and headed into the north wind. From the back of the room came a series of rhythmic clicks and squeaks; a man was talking on the phone at his desk, squeezing a small fitness tool with his free hand.
“But he was totally unmanageable!” the man exclaimed.
Halldór put the binoculars down, turned his gaze back to the room, and looked sadly at Egill Ingólfsson, his subordinate. He knew what the case was about. Egill had supervised an arrest the previous Tuesday that had resulted in a confrontation and now complaints were being made.
Egill was tan and semi-bald, with snow-white, close-cut hair and a long pointed nose. His tight white short-sleeved shirt showed off an athletic chest.
“He already had the mark on his face when we arrested him,” Egill said, frowning and squeezing the fitness tool even harder.
The room contained three old desks, a few filing cabinets, and two typewriters. Innermost was Halldór’s small office.
At the other end of the room, Erlendur Haraldsson, another colleague, was trying on some ski boots and had scattered the packaging all over the floor. He had rolled his trousers up above his knees, displaying his hairy legs, and now crouched, rocking back and forth to test the fit of the boots. He was a little over six feet tall, with a slender frame that got wider the farther down you went.
“You have to break new ski boots in before using them for the first time,” he replied to Halldór’s unasked question.
Halldór simply nodded, feigning only minimal interest. Erlendur was about to take a winter vacation, going with his family on a long-planned ski trip to Austria the coming Saturday. They had been saving up for two years, and Erlendur hardly talked about anything else.
“Is Halli looking forward to it?” Halldór asked in order to say something. Halli was Erlendur’s younger child, a lad of seventeen, loved by everybody but educationally impaired and hard of hearing. He was good at math but challenged in other areas.
“I’ll say,” Erlendur replied. “He has become very good at skiing. He goes to Skálafell on his own by bus, and was working for his uncle in the Kerlingafjöll mountains all summer.”
“Now, you listen to me,” Egill barked angrily into the phone, “we arrested the guy; he resisted and got a few scrapes. I got some scrapes as well.” He put the fitness tool down and examined the back of his slightly scraped hand.
“Bloody rude of the lad to chew your knuckles,” Erlendur interjected.
“Oh yeah, is that what she says?” Egill spat into the phone, shooting an annoyed glance at Erlendur. He covered the mouthpiece and explained to Halldór, “It was the girl who complained.”