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?'

'As I said, I didn't know him, but I was going to meet him in person.'

'What do you mean?'

'You haven't got the faintest idea who he was, have you?' Wapshott said, surprised that Erlendur had never heard of Gudlaugur Egilsson.

'He was a caretaker or a doorman and a Father Christmas,' Erlendur said. 'Is there anything else I need to know?'

'Do you know my specialist field?' Wapshott replied. 'I'm not sure how much you know about collecting in general or record collecting in particular, but most collectors specialise in a certain field. People can be rather eccentric about it. It's incredible what people can be bothered to collect. I've heard of a man who has sick bags from every airline in the world. I also know a woman who collects hair from Barbie dolls'

Wapshott looked at Erlendur.

'Do you know what I specialise in?'

Erlendur shook his head. He was not completely convinced that he had understood the part about airline sick bags. And what was all that about Barbie dolls?

'I specialise in boys' choirs.'

'Boys' choirs?'

'Not only boys' choirs. My special interest is choirboys.'

Erlendur hesitated, unsure whether he had misunderstood.

'Choirboys?'

'Yes.'

'You collect records of choirboys?'

'I do. Of course I collect other records, but choirboys are – how should I put it? – my passion.'

'How does Gudlaugur fit in with all this?'

Henry Wapshott smiled. He stretched out for a black leather briefcase that he had with him. Opening it, he took out the sleeve of a 45 single.

He took his glasses out of his breast pocket and Erlendur noticed that he dropped a white piece of paper onto the floor. Erlendur reached for it and saw the name Brenner's printed on it in green.

'Thank you. A serviette from a hotel in Germany? Wapshott said. 'Collecting is an obsession,' he added apologetically.

Erlendur nodded.

'I was going to ask him to autograph this sleeve for me,' Wapshott said, handing it to Erlendur.

On the front of the sleeve was the name 'GUDLAUGUR EGILSSON' in a little arc of golden letters, with a black-and-white photograph of a young boy, hardly more than twelve years old, slightly freckled, his hair carefully smoothed down, who smiled at Erlendur.

'He had a marvellously sensitive voice,' Wapshott said. "Then along comes puberty and ...' He shrugged in resignation. There was a hint of sadness and regret in his tone. 'I'm astonished you haven't heard of him or don't know who he was, if you're investigating his death. He must have been a household name in his day. According to my sources, he could be described as a well-known child star.'

Erlendur looked up from the album sleeve, at Wapshott.

A child star?'

'He performed on two records, singing solo and with church choirs. He must have been quite a name in this country. In his day.'

'A child star,' Erlendur repeated. 'You mean like Shirley Temple? That kind of child star?'

'Probably, by your standards, I mean here in Iceland, a small country off the beaten track. He must have been pretty famous even if everyone seems to have forgotten him now. Shirley Temple was of course ...'

'The Little Princess,' Erlendur muttered to himself.

'Pardon?'

'I didn't know he was a child star.'

'It was ages ago.'

'And? He made records?'

'Yes.'

'That you collect?'

'I'm trying to acquire copies. I specialise in choirboys like him. He was a unique boy soprano.'

'Choirboy?' Erlendur said almost to himself. He recalled the poster of The Little Princess and was about to ask Wapshott in more detail about the child star Gudlaugur, when someone disturbed him.

'So here you are,' Erlendur heard someone say above him. Valgerdur was standing behind him, smiling. She no longer carried her sampling kit. She was wearing a thin, black, knee-length leather coat with a beautiful red sweater underneath, and she had put on her make-up so carefully that it hardly showed. 'Does the invitation still stand?' she asked.

Erlendur leaped to his feet. But Wapshott had already stood up.

'Sorry,' Erlendur said, 'I didn't realise ... Of course.' He smiled. 'Of course.'