Strange Shores (24 page)

‘I haven’t seen any pictures of him but my impression is that his teeth stuck out.’

‘You could put it like that,’ Ezra said, nonplussed. ‘You want to discuss dentistry now?’

‘Maybe. What happened when he died?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Was he dead when they brought him to you at the ice house?’

Ezra gaped. ‘Of course he was.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Absolutely,’ said Ezra. ‘Both men were certified dead.’

‘The doctor wasn’t local.’

‘No, he wasn’t from round here.’

‘He did a short stint as a locum for your GP. He didn’t bother to examine the bodies very closely, did he?’

‘I’m not a doctor,’ protested Ezra. ‘And you seem to know much more than me. Look, I’ve no idea what you’re on about and I want you to leave.’

‘Then let me explain,’ said Erlendur. ‘It suddenly struck me that you were at the ice house the day Jakob was brought in. They assumed he’d drowned, like his companion. Perhaps the doctor was lousy at his job. Perhaps he thought he could get away with examining only one of them properly, since they were both in the same condition. Perhaps he didn’t listen carefully enough for Jakob’s heartbeat. I don’t know if you’re aware but at very low temperatures the heartbeat slows right down. All the bodily functions slow down and respiration becomes very shallow. An inattentive doctor could have failed to notice that Jakob was still alive.’

‘I don’t follow you,’ said Ezra.

‘That’s why I went over to Djúpivogur yesterday. Because Jakob was buried there. I spoke to a nice old bloke, Thórdur – maybe you know him? Thórdur told me about an extraordinary case of survival in freezing temperatures and it occurred to me that you might remember the story of the three men from the west, whose bodies were pulled from the sea. They froze to death in a warehouse that night because no one had realised they were still alive.’

Ezra regarded him in silence.

‘I also spoke to the daughter of the man who believed he heard a noise coming from Jakob’s coffin when it was lowered into the grave. Sound familiar?’

No response.

‘Still don’t know what I’m talking about?’

‘No.’

‘Her father got into a hell of a lot of trouble for mentioning it and later regretted ever having made such a foolish claim. But when I put all these facts together, it came to me that I ought to stop by the cemetery and take a look at Jakob’s grave.’

Ezra did not react.

‘The story about you and Matthildur really got to me, Ezra – what Jakob did to her; what he did to you. I can imagine the torment you’ve been through. So my mind started running on how even the best of men can commit terrible acts of retaliation, can find themselves capable of appalling crimes.’

Ezra turned away and stared out of the window at the shed again. The door was open and swung a little in the breeze, the rusty hinges squeaking.

‘They justify it to themselves as revenge,’ continued Erlendur.

‘I don’t understand why you won’t leave me alone,’ said Ezra in a low voice.

‘
I couldn’t get it out of him
. That’s what you told me.’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘When I asked you if he’d told you where Matthildur was. We were talking about Jakob’s body being brought in after the shipwreck. You said:
I couldn’t get it out of him
. Was that in the ice house?’

‘I haven’t a clue what you’re on about.’

‘Was he still alive?’

No answer.

‘I dug up Jakob’s coffin,’ said Erlendur.

Slowly, Ezra turned from the window, looking as if he was not sure he had heard right.

‘I opened it up.’

Ezra looked aghast.

‘I had to know,’ said Erlendur. ‘I had to know what happened. I couldn’t help myself.’

‘Are you out of your mind?’ Ezra gasped. ‘Do you think I’d believe such a crazy lie? Get out of here right now and stop persecuting me! This is the final straw.’ He raised his voice. ‘I thought I could trust you but this is madness. Madness! Stop it at once.’

‘I knew you wouldn’t believe me so I brought you a pair of little objects that I found in the coffin,’ said Erlendur, reaching into his pocket. ‘I don’t know if you’ll recognise them.’

He walked over to where Ezra was standing and placed the contents of his pocket on the worktop.

At first Ezra’s gaze seemed riveted to his, then he looked down. He frowned, unable to work out what Erlendur had placed there.

‘What . . . what are they?’ he whispered.

‘Look closer,’ said Erlendur.

Ezra bent and examined the minute objects. There were two of them: small, grey and somehow familiar, yet he couldn’t think what they were. They looked like small, oddly shaped pebbles.

‘What are they?’ he repeated.

‘He tore at the coffin lid with all his strength,’ said Erlendur.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Don’t you recognise them?’

‘No,’ said Ezra, ‘I don’t. Please, tell me what they are.’

‘His teeth,’ said Erlendur. ‘Jakob’s front teeth. They were lying beside him in the coffin.’

EZRA’S REACTION DID
not surprise Erlendur. He stumbled back from the sink, lost his footing and fell to one knee, knocking over the kitchen table in the process. Erlendur made a move to help him but Ezra pushed him off.

‘Get away from me!’ he yelled.

Erlendur righted the table instead and went to pick up the glass and plate that had fallen on the floor.

‘Get out!’ shouted Ezra, averting his eyes from the teeth that lay side by side on the worktop.

Erlendur picked them up and put them back in his pocket. He had known he would need proof to convince Ezra that he had really dug up Jakob’s body. Spotting the teeth lying on the base of the coffin by the weak light of the lantern, he had decided to take them with him. He didn’t believe in ghosts but even so he had felt uneasy about bringing them into the farmhouse and had left them in the car overnight.

‘What kind of sick behaviour is this?’ Ezra shouted at Erlendur when he had recovered from the worst of his shock. ‘How dare you?’

‘I examined what was left of Jakob and it wasn’t a pretty sight,’ said Erlendur. ‘Head wrenched back. Jaw gaping.’

Ezra had slumped into a worn wicker chair in the corner, where he sat with bowed head. It seemed he no longer trusted himself to meet Erlendur’s eye. He was chalk white.

‘Do you want to know my theory about how his teeth fell out?’ asked Erlendur, pulling up a chair and sitting down.

‘Who are you?’ groaned Ezra, raising his hurt, angry face. ‘Who would do such a thing? You must be sick.’

‘So I’ve been told,’ said Erlendur. ‘I want to know what happened in the ice house when Jakob was brought in.’

Ezra remained mute.

‘I suspect the reason his teeth fell out was connected to the marks I saw on the coffin lid. Do you want to know what I think?’

Ezra sat with his head buried in his hands.

‘Can you face the truth?’ asked Erlendur.

‘Those teeth could have come from anywhere,’ protested Ezra unconvincingly.

‘No, they couldn’t,’ Erlendur contradicted. ‘And you know it.’

‘I beg you. Please, for God’s sake, go and never come back. I don’t know why you’re persecuting me. I haven’t done you any harm, I don’t even know you. You bullied me into telling you about Matthildur. Isn’t that enough? Just leave me to die in peace.’

‘Did Jakob tell you what he’d done with her?’

‘No, he never told me. Have pity on me and get out. Leave me alone.’

‘If there’s the slightest chance, I want to help you find her,’ said Erlendur. ‘You ask why I won’t leave you alone and I can understand your question. I hope you understand my answer.’

Ezra’s face remained hidden.

‘It’s very simple,’ said Erlendur. ‘I want to help you, Ezra. That’s the only answer I can give. And I think that’s what I’m doing, though it may be hard for you to recognise, especially now. But I want to find Matthildur. If you know where she is, Ezra, I want you to tell me. If you don’t know, I’ll do what I can to see that you find her.’

‘I don’t know where she is,’ said Ezra. ‘And you’ll never find her.’

‘I’m not after a culprit,’ Erlendur continued. ‘I’m not looking for crimes or trying to mete out punishment. This is not a police matter. You needn’t be afraid that it’ll go beyond these four walls. Eventually, someone will notice that the ground has been disturbed in Djúpivogur cemetery. I don’t know when – it might take days or weeks, even months. I asked two of the locals about Jakob. They might make the connection but they don’t know who I am or where I come from, only that I’m researching shipwrecks in the East Fjords. And even if the disturbance is discovered, no one would dream that the coffin had been disinterred. It’ll just look like a spot of vandalism to a small area of the graveyard. At least that’s what I’m banking on.’

Ezra did not interrupt Erlendur’s speech.

‘All I want is to find Matthildur,’ he said. ‘We have that in common, if nothing else.’

‘Why?’ asked Ezra.

Now it was Erlendur’s turn to be lost for words.

‘You’ve never found your brother,’ suggested Ezra softly.

‘That’s right.’

‘But you think you can find my Matthildur?’

‘I don’t know,’ Erlendur admitted. ‘You’ll have to tell me about Jakob. I understand how hard it is, especially after all these years. But you must tell me.’

‘There’s nothing to tell.’

‘Ezra, help me find her.’

The old man was stubbornly mute. But Erlendur was not prepared to give up and proceeded to explain how he had come to the decision to dig up Jakob’s remains. How his suspicions had been roused by his conversations with Ezra and Hrund. How they were fuelled by his interest in the human ability to withstand extreme cold; an interest derived from his professional experience. He told him about the spade that had come with the hire car and had proved invaluable during his night-time visit to the graveyard. That he had been terrified some passer-by would see what he was doing and raise the alarm. Erlendur wanted to win back Ezra’s trust, to come across as scrupulous and credible. He described the wooden planks from which the coffin was constructed, how solid it had been despite the passing of more than half a century and yet how easy it had been to break open.

‘I don’t want to hear,’ protested Ezra.

‘But you will though,’ said Erlendur. ‘And don’t claim there’s nothing to tell. I believe you committed a terrible crime, Ezra.’

‘I wanted to know about Matthildur – that was my only thought. The only thing I’d cared about since she disappeared. I wanted to know where she was.’

‘I understand.’

‘All I was thinking about, or could think about, was what she suffered at his hands.’

‘That’s to be expected.’

‘I wanted revenge.’

‘I’m sure you did.’

Ezra’s eyes dropped again. ‘What marks on the coffin lid?’ he mumbled.

Erlendur didn’t grasp what he was asking.

‘You said you saw marks on the coffin lid.’

‘I realised Jakob must have been alive when he was buried. He still had the strength to claw and bite at the lid, but that can’t have lasted long because he’d have suffocated fairly quickly. But I imagine he realised he was shut in a coffin, though that’s only a guess. His death must have been hideous. Indescribably horrible.’

Ezra straightened up in his chair and looked Erlendur in the eye, as if he had made up his mind.

‘He was alive,’ he said. ‘The other man died in the sea. His crewmate. But Jakob survived. And . . .’

‘And what?’

‘I didn’t tell anyone. I kept it secret. I was the only person who knew.’

Ezra smothered his face in his hands again.

‘My God,’ he groaned. ‘I still have nightmares about what I did.’

A STORM HAD
blown up that morning and most of the fishing boats had returned to harbour shortly after midday. The bad weather was not supposed to have extended that far north – the forecast had been for a strong breeze and light precipitation – but not long after lunchtime conditions deteriorated dramatically and a gale began to lash the coast, whipping up a blizzard. The storm affected the entire region as far north as Vopnafjördur, the wind measuring hurricane-force twelve during the worst squalls and temperatures plummeting.

Ezra had been working at the ice house for several years, though there was no ice there these days. Its original function had been superseded by the new fish factory that had opened two years previously. Instead the building was used to store equipment for the fishing fleet and processing plant, under Ezra’s supervision. He had been tidying away boxes of bait when he was told that one of the boats that had gone out that morning was missing, and that Jakob was on board with another man. People were becoming increasingly concerned and phoned round neighbouring villages to see if the men had put into harbour there, but no one had any news of them. The wind was so ferocious by now that it was barely possible to walk the short distance to the next-door building.

The two men had rarely encountered each other in the years since Jakob had informed Ezra of Matthildur’s fate. From what Ezra heard, Jakob had moved away from Eskifjördur for a period, spending time in Egilsstadir and Höfn in Hornafjördur. According to rumour, he had even made a bit of money in the post-war boom that Reykjavík was enjoying. Then, two years ago, he had moved back to Eskifjördur and rented the same house that he had lived in with Matthildur. He had been offered his old job on the
Sigurlína
and been going out with the village fishing fleet ever since. On the few occasions he had cause to drop by the ice house, the men had ignored one another. Although he had never remarried, Jakob had been involved with other women. Ezra, single until he met Matthildur, remained alone.

Twice following that first cataclysmic meeting he had visited Jakob to plead with him to reveal what he had done with her body. Both times Jakob had refused, mocking him and humiliating him as a ‘womaniser’. But when it came to reporting the matter to the authorities Ezra lost his nerve, and instead spent his time trying to think up schemes to force Jakob to tell him the truth. He was not by nature violent and knew he could never beat the information out of the bastard. Nor did he have any money with which to bribe him. Besides, it was in Jakob’s interest to protect himself – a fact he did not deny. When they last spoke he had repeatedly pointed out that if Ezra knew where Matthildur was he could use the information to have Jakob charged with murder. But where there was no body, there could be no trial. ‘It would be best for both of us if she was never found,’ he had said. ‘Best for both of us that she died on the moors.’