Free Voices by Arnaldur Indridason Page A

night had fallen, with a search warrant and forensics experts. They examined the marks on the carpet. They examined the marble floor and the drinks cabinet. They took samples. They swept up tiny grains from the marble. They plucked at the spilt drop on the cabinet. They went upstairs to the boy's room and took samples from the head of his bed. They went to the laundry room and looked at the cloths and towels. They examined the dirty laundry. They opened the vacuum cleaner. They took samples from the broom. They went out to the dustbin and rummaged around in the rubbish. They found a pair of the boy's socks in the bin.
The father was standing in the kitchen. He dialled a lawyer, his friend, as soon as the forensics team appeared. The lawyer came round promptly and looked at the warrant from the magistrate. He advised his client not to talk to the police.
Erlendur and Elínborg watched the forensics team at work. Elínborg glared at the father, who shook his head and looked away.
'I don't understand what you want,' he said. 'I don't get it.'
The boy had not said it was his father. When Elínborg asked him, his only response was that his eyes filled with tears.
The head of forensics phoned two days later.
'It's about the stains on the stair carpet,' he said.
'Yes,' Elínborg said.
'Drambuie.'
'Drambuie? The liqueur?'
'There are traces of it all over the sitting room and a trail on the carpet up to the boy's room.
Erlendur was still staring at the ceiling when he heard a knock on the door. He got to his feet, opened the door and Eva Lind darted into his room. Erlendur looked along the corridor, then closed the door behind her.
'No one saw me,' Eva said. 'It would make things easier if you could be arsed to go home. I can't suss out what you're playing at.'
'I'll get myself home,' Erlendur said. 'Don't worry about that. What are you doing here? Do you need anything?'
'Do I need a special reason to want to see you?' Eva said. She sat down at the desk and took out a packet of cigarettes. She threw a plastic bag onto the floor and nodded towards it. 'I brought you some clothes," she said. 'If you plan to hang around at this hotel you'll need to change.'
'Thank you,' Erlendur said. He sat down on the bed facing her and borrowed a cigarette from her. Eva lit them both.
'It's nice to see you,' he said, exhaling.
'How's it going with Santa?'
'Bit by bit. What's new with you?'
'Nothing.'
'Have you seen your mother?'
'Yes. Same as usual. Nothing happens in her life. Work and television and sleep. Work, television, sleep. Work, television, sleep. Is that it? All that awaits you? Am I staying clean so I can slave away until I croak? And just look at you! Hanging round in a hotel room like a dickhead instead of getting your arse back home!'
Erlendur inhaled the smoke and blew it out through his nose.
'I didn't mean to—'
'No, I know,' Eva interrupted him.
'Are you giving in?' he said. 'When you came yesterday ...'
'I don't know if I can stand it.'
'Stand what?'
'This fucking life!'
They sat smoking, and the minutes passed.
'Do you sometimes think about the baby?' Erlendur asked at last. Eva was seven months' pregnant when she miscarried, and sank into a deep depression when she moved in with him after leaving hospital. Erlendur knew that she had nowhere near shaken it off. She blamed herself for the baby's death. The night that it happened she called him for help and he found her lying in her own blood outside the National Hospital after collapsing on her way to the maternity ward. She came within a hair's breadth of losing her life.
'This fucking life!' she said again, and stubbed out her cigarette on the desktop.
The telephone on the bedside table rang when Eva Lind had left and Erlendur had gone to bed. It was Marion Briem.
'Do you know what time it is?' Erlendur asked, looking at his watch. It was past midnight.
'No,' Marion said. 'I was thinking about the saliva.'
'The saliva on the condom?' Erlendur said, too lethargic to lose his