Silence of the Grave - Страница 6

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“Where’s Perla?” she asked, shivering beneath the blanket.

“Perla?” Erlendur said angrily. “That’s the kind of name you give to a puppy!”

“Where’s my girl?” the woman repeated. She looked 30 or so, with hair cut short, wearing make-up that had run under the shower and was now smeared all over her face. Her upper lip was swollen, she had a bump on her forehead and her right eye was bruised and blue.

“You’ve no right even to ask about her,” Erlendur said.

“What?”

“Stubbing out cigarettes on your baby?”

“What? No! Who…? Who are you?”

“Or is it the brute who beats you up who does that too?”

“Beats me up? What? Who are you?”

“I’m going to take Perla away from you,” Erlendur said. “I’m going to catch the man who does that to her. So you need to tell me two things.”

“Take her away from me?”

“A girl used to live here a few months back, maybe a year ago, do you know anything about her? Her name’s Eva Lind. Slim, black hair…”

“Perla’s a pest. Cries. All the time.”

“Poor you…”

“It drives him crazy.”

“Let’s start with Eva Lind. Do you know her?”

“Don’t take her away from me. Please.”

“Do you know where Eva Lind is?”

“Eva moved out months ago.”

“Do you know where to?”

“No. She was with Baddi.”

“Baddi?”

“He’s a bouncer. I’ll tell the papers if you take her away. What about that? I’ll tell the papers.”

“Where is he a bouncer?”

She told him. Erlendur stood up and called an ambulance and the emergency shift at the Child Welfare Council, giving a brief account of the circumstances.

“Then there’s the second thing,” Erlendur said as he waited for the ambulance. “Where’s that bastard who beats you up?”

“Leave him out of this,” she said.

“So he can keep doing it? Is that what you want?”

“No.”

“So where is he?”

“It’s just…”

“Yes, what? What’s just…”

“If you’re going to take him…”

“Yes.”

“If you’re going to take him, make sure you kill him. If you don’t, he’ll kill me,” she said with a cold smile at Erlendur.

Baddi was muscular with an unusually small head, and he worked as a bouncer at a strip club called Count Rosso in the centre of Reykjavik. He hadn’t been on the door when Erlendur arrived, but another bouncer of a similar build had told Erlendur where he could find him.

“He’s taking care of the privates,” the bouncer had said, and Erlendur didn’t understand him immediately.

“The private dancing,” the bouncer explained. “Private shows.” Then he rolled his eyes in resignation.

Erlendur walked inside the club which was lit up with dull red lights. There was one bar in the room, a few tables and chairs and a couple of men watching a young girl sliding up against a metal pole on a raised dance floor to the monotonous beat of a pop tune. She looked at Erlendur, started dancing in front of him as if he were a likely customer, and slipped off her tiny bra. Erlendur gave her a look of such profound pity that she became flustered and lost her footing, then regained her balance and wriggled away from him before dropping her bra casually to the floor in an attempt to preserve some dignity.

Trying to work out where the private shows might be held, he saw a long corridor directly opposite the dance floor and walked over to it. The corridor was painted black with stairs at the end leading down to the basement. Erlendur could not see very well, but he inched his way down the stairs until he reached another black corridor. A lonely red light bulb hung down from the ceiling and at the end of the corridor stood a huge beefy bouncer with his stout arms crossed over his chest, and he glared at Erlendur. In the corridor between them were six doors, three on either side. He could hear the sound of a violin playing melancholy music in one of the rooms.

The muscular bouncer walked up to Erlendur.

“Are you Baddi?” Erlendur asked him.

“Where’s your girl?” the bouncer demanded, his little head protruding like a wart on top of his fat neck.

“I was about to ask you that,” Erlendur said in surprise.

“Me? No, I don’t set up the girls. You have to go upstairs and get one and then bring her down here.”

“Oh, I see,” Erlendur said, realising the misunderstanding. “I’m looking for Eva Lind.”

“Eva? She quit ages ago. Were you with her?”

Erlendur stared at him.

“Quit ages ago? What do you mean?”

“She was here sometimes. How do you know her?”

A door opened along the corridor and a young man walked out, zipping up his flies. Erlendur could see a naked girl bending down to pick up some clothes from the floor in the room. The young man squeezed past them, patted Baddi on the shoulder and disappeared up the stairs. The girl in the room looked Erlendur in the face, then slammed the door.

“Do you mean down here?” Erlendur said in astonishment. “Eva Lind was down here?”

“Long time ago. There’s one who looks just like her in this room,” Baddi said with all the enthusiasm of a used-car salesman, and pointed to a door. “She’s a medical student from Lithuania. And that girl playing the violin. Did you hear her? She’s in some famous school in Poland. They come over here. Make some money. Then go on studying.”

“Do you know where I can find Eva Lind?”

“We never say where the girls live,” Baddi said with a peculiarly beatific expression.

“I don’t want to know where the girls live,” Erlendur said wearily. He took care not to lose his temper, knew he had to be cautious, had to obtain the information diplomatically, even though he felt most of all like wringing the man’s neck. “I think Eva Lind’s in trouble and she asked me to help her,” he said as calmly as he could possibly manage.

“And who are you, her dad?” Baddi said sarcastically, with a giggle.

Erlendur looked at him, wondering how he could get a hold on that little bald head. The grin froze on Baddi’s face when he realised that he had scored a bull’s-eye. By accident as usual. He slowly took one step backwards.

“Are you the cop?” he asked.

Erlendur nodded.

“This is a completely legitimate establishment.”

“That’s none of my business. Do you know about Eva Lind?”

“Is she lost?”

“I don’t know,” Erlendur said. “She’s lost to me. She spoke to me earlier and asked me to help her, but I don’t know where she is. I was told you knew her.”

“I was with her for a while, did she tell you that?”

Erlendur shook his head.

“She’s hopeless to be with. A real nutter.”

“Can you tell me where she is?”

“It’s a long time since I’ve seen her. She hates you. Did you know that?”

“When you were going out with her, who got her stuff for her?”

“You mean her dealer?”

“Her dealer, yes.”

“Are you going to lock him up?”

“I’m not going to lock anyone up. I’ve got to find Eva Lind. Can you help me or not?”

Baddi weighed up his options. He didn’t need to help this man at all, or Eva Lind. She could go to hell for all he cared. But there was an expression on the detective’s face that told him it would be better to have him on his side rather than against him.

“I don’t know anything about Eva,” he said. “Talk to Alli.”

“Alli?”

“And don’t tell him I sent you.”

5

Erlendur drove into the oldest part of town, down by the harbour, thinking about Eva Lind and thinking about Reykjavik. He had been born elsewhere and considered himself an outsider even though he had lived in the city for most of his life and had seen it spread across the bays and hills as the rural communities depopulated. A modern city swollen with people who did not want to live in the countryside or fishing villages any more, or could not live there, and came to the city to build new lives for themselves, but lost their roots and were left with no past and an uncertain future. He had never felt comfortable in the city.

Felt like a stranger.

Alli was about 20, scrawny, gingery and freckled; his front teeth were missing, his face was drawn and wan and he had a nasty cough. He was where Baddi had said he would be, sitting inside Kaffi Austurstraeti, alone at a table with an empty beer glass in front of him. He looked asleep, his head drooping and his arms folded over his chest. He wore a dirty green parka with a fur collar. Baddi had given a good description of him. Erlendur sat down at his table.

“Are you Alli?” he asked, but received no reply. He looked around the bar. It was dark inside and only a handful of people sat at the occasional table. A miserable country singer performed a melancholy song about lost love over a loudspeaker above them. A middle-aged barman sat on a stool behind the bar, reading a dogeared paperback.

Erlendur repeated the question and at length prodded the man’s shoulder. He woke up and looked at Erlendur with gormless eyes.

“Another beer?” Erlendur asked, trying his best to smile. A grimace moved across his face.

“Who are you?” Alli asked, his eyes glazed. He made no attempt to conceal his idiotic expression.

“I’m looking for Eva Lind. I’m her father and I’m in a hurry. She phoned me and asked for help.”

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