Voices (7 page)

'There's so much traffic here. Hotels are like that. People are like ants, in and out, up and down, never a moment's peace. At catering college we were told that a hotel isn't a building or rooms or service, but people. A hotel's just people. Nothing else. Our job is to make them feel good. Feel at home. Hotels are like that.'

'I'll try to remember that,' Erlendur said, and thanked him.

He checked whether Henry Wapshott had returned to the hotel, but he was still out. However, the head of reception was back at work and he greeted Erlendur. Yet another coach had pulled up outside, full of tourists, who swarmed into the lobby, and he gave Erlendur an awkward smile and shrugged, as if it was not his fault they couldn't talk and their business would have to wait.

7

Gudlaugur Egilsson joined the hotel in 1982, at the age of twenty-eight. He had held various jobs before, most recently as a nightwatchman at the Ministry for Foreign Affairs. When it was decided to employ a full-time doorman at the hotel, he got the job. Tourism was booming then. The hotel had expanded and was taking on more staff. The previous hotel manager couldn't remember exactly why Gudlaugur was selected, but he didn't recall there having been many applicants.

He made a good impression on the hotel manager. With his gentlemanly manner, polite and service-minded, he turned out to be a fine employee. He had no family, neither a wife nor children, which caused the manager some concern, because family men often proved to be more loyal. In other respects Gudlaugur did not say much about himself and his past.

Shortly after joining the staff he went to see the manager and asked if there was a room at the hotel for him to use while he was finding himself a new place to live. After losing his room at short notice he was on the street. He pointed out that there was a little room at the far end of the basement corridor where he could stay until he found a place of his own. They went down to inspect the room. All kinds of rubbish had been stored away in it and Gudlaugur said he knew of a place where it could all be kept, although most of it deserved to be thrown out anyway.

So in the end Gudlaugur, then a doorman and later a Santa Claus, moved into the little room where he would stay for the rest of his life. The hotel manager thought he would be there for a couple of weeks at the very most. Gudlaugur spoke in those terms and the room was not the sort of place anyone would want to live permanently. But Gudlaugur demurred about finding himself proper living quarters and soon it was taken for granted that he lived at the hotel, especially after his job developed more towards caretaking than being a straightforward doorman. As time wore on it was seen as a convenient arrangement to have him on call round the clock, lest something went wrong and a handyman was needed.

'Shortly after Gudlaugur moved into the room, the old manager left,' said Sigurdur Óli, who was up in Erlendur's room describing his meeting. It was well into the afternoon and beginning to get dark.

'Do you know why?' Erlendur asked. He was stretched out on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. 'The hotel had just been expanded, loads of new staff recruited and he leaves shortly afterwards. Don't you find that strange?'

'I didn't go into that. I'll find out what he says if you think it's of the slightest importance. He didn't know Gudlaugur had played Santa Claus. That started after his day and he was really shocked to hear that he was found murdered in the basement.'

Sigurdur Óli looked around the bare room.

'Are you going to spend Christmas here?'

Erlendur didn't answer.

'Why don't you get yourself off home?'

Silence.

'The invitation still stands'

'Thank you, and give my regards to Bergthóra,' Erlendur said, deep in thought.

'What's the name of the game anyway?'

'It's none of your business, if the game ... actually has a name.'

'I'm off home, anyway,' Sigurdur Óli said.

'How's it going with starting a family?'

'Not too well.'

'Is it your problem or just a coincidence between the two of you?'

'I don't know. We haven't had ourselves checked. But Bergthóra's started talking about it'

'Do you want children anyway?'

'Yes. I don't know. I don't know what I want'

'What's the time?'

'Just gone half past six.'

'Go home,' Erlendur said. 'I'm going to check out our other Henry'

Henry Wapshott had returned to the hotel but was not in his room. Erlendur had reception call him, went up to the floor he was staying on and knocked on his door, but met no response. He wondered whether to get the manager to open the room for him, but first he would need a search warrant from a magistrate, which could take well into the night, besides which it was altogether uncertain whether Henry Wapshott was in fact the Henry whom Gudlaugur was supposed to meet at 18.30.

Erlendur was standing in the corridor weighing up the options when a man probably in his early sixties came around the corner and walked in his direction. He was wearing a shabby tweed jacket, khaki trousers and a blue shirt with a bright red tie; he was balding, with his dark hair fondly combed right across the patch.

'Is it you?' he asked in English when he reached Erlendur. 'I was told someone was asking after me. An Icelander. Are you a collector? Did you want to see me?'

'Is your name Wapshott?' Erlendur asked. 'Henry Wapshott?' His English was not good. These days he could understand the language reasonably well, but spoke it badly. Global crime had forced the police force to organise special English courses, which Erlendur had attended and enjoyed. He was beginning to read books in English.

'My name's Henry Wapshott,' the man said. 'What do you want to see me about?'

'Maybe we shouldn't stand out here in the corridor,' Erlendur said. 'Can we go in your room? Or...?'

Wapshott looked at the door, then back at Erlendur.

'Maybe we should go down to the lobby,' he said. 'What is it you want to see me about? Who are you?'

'Let's go downstairs,' Erlendur said.

Hesitantly, Henry Wapshott followed him to the lift. When they were down in the lobby Erlendur went to the smokers' table and seats to one side of the dining room, and they sat down. A waitress appeared at once. Guests were beginning to sit down to the buffet, which Erlendur found no less tempting than the day before. They ordered coffee.

'It's very odd,' Wapshott said. 'I was supposed to meet someone at precisely this spot half an hour ago, but the man never came. I didn't get any message from him, and then you're standing right outside my door and you bring me down here.'

'What man were you going to meet?'

'He's an Icelander. Works at this held. His name's Gudlaugur.'

'And you were going to meet him here at half past six today?'

'Right,' Wapshott said. 'What...? Who are you?'

Erlendur told him he was from the police, described Gudlaugur's death and how they had found a note in his room referring to a meeting with a man called Henry, who was clearly him. The police wanted to know why they were going to meet. Erlendur did not mention his suspicion that Wapshott may well have been in the room when Santa was murdered. He just mentioned that Gudlaugur had worked at the hotel for twenty years.

Wapshott stared at Erlendur while he gave this account, shaking his head in disbelief as if he failed to grasp the full implications of what he was being told.

'Is he dead?'

'Yes.'

'Murdered?'

'Yes.'

'Oh my God,' Wapshott groaned.

'How did you know Gudlaugur?' Erlendur asked.

Wapshott seemed rather remote, so he repeated the question.

'I've known him for years,' Wapshott said eventually, smiling to reveal small, tobacco-stained teeth, some of the lower ones with black crests. Erlendur thought he must be a pipe smoker.

'When did you first meet?' Erlendur asked.

'We've never met,' Wapshott said. 'I've never seen him. I was going to meet him for the first time today. That's why I came to Iceland.'

'You came to Iceland to meet him?'

'Yes, among other things.'

'So how did you know him? If you never met, what kind of relationship did you have?'

'There was no relationship,' Wapshott said.

'I don't understand.'

'There's never been any "relationship",' Wapshott repeated, putting the final word in quotation marks with his fingers.

'What then?' Erlendur asked.

'Only one-sided worship,' Wapshott said. 'On my part.'

Erlendur asked him to repeat the last words. He could not understand how this man, who had come all the way from England and had never met Gudlaugur, could worship him. A hotel doorman. A man who lived in a dingy little room in a hotel basement and was found dead with his trousers round his ankles and a knife wound through his heart. One-sided worship of a man who played Father Christmas at children's parties.

'I don't know what you're talking about,' Erlendur said. Then he remembered that, in the corridor upstairs, Wapshott had asked him if he was a collector. 'Why did you want to know if I was a collector?' he asked. 'What did you mean?'

'I thought you were a record collector,' Wapshott said. 'Like me.'

'What kind of record collector? Records? You mean ...?'

'I collect old records,' Wapshott said. 'Old gramophone records. LPs, EPs, singles. That's how I know Gudlaugur. I was going to meet him here just now and was looking forward to it, so you must understand it's quite a shock for me to hear that he's dead. Murdered! Who could have wanted to murder him?'

His surprise seemed genuine.

'Did you meet him last night maybe?' Erlendur asked.

At first, Wapshott didn't realise what Erlendur meant, until it dawned on him and he stared at the detective.

'Are you implying... do you think I'm lying to you? Am I ...? Are you saying I'm a suspect? Do you think I had something to do with his death?'

Erlendur watched him, saying nothing.

'How absurd!' Wapshott raised his voice. 'I've been looking forward to meeting that man for a long time. For years. You can't be serious."

'Where were you around this time last night?' Erlendur asked.

'In town,' Wapshott said. 'I was in town. I was at a collectors' shop on the high street, then I had dinner at an Indian restaurant not far away.'

'You've been at the hotel for a few days. Why didn't you meet Gudlaugur before?'

'But... weren't you just saying that he's dead? What do you mean?'

'Didn't you want to meet him as soon as you checked in? You looked forward to meeting him, you said. Why did you wait so long?'

'He decided the time and venue. Oh my God, what have I got myself into?'

'How did you contact him? And what did you mean by "one-sided worship"?'

Henry Wapshott looked at him.

'I mean—' Wapshott began, but Erlendur didn't allow him to complete the sentence.

'Did you know he worked at this hotel?'

'Yes.'

'How?'

'I'd found out. I make a point of researching my subjects. For collection purposes'

'And that's why you stayed at this hotel?'

'Yes.'

'Were you buying records from him?' Erlendur continued. 'Is that how you knew each other? Two collectors, the same interest?'