Hypothermia Read Online Free PDF Page B

changed.
    ‘Was that all right?’ the medium asked.
    ‘I think so,’ said the high-voiced woman. ‘What was . . . ?’
    She hesitated.
    ‘Did anyone you recognise make contact?’ the medium asked.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Good, I . . . Why am I so cold . . . ? My teeth are chattering.’
    ‘There was a different voice . . .’
    ‘Different?’
    ‘Yes, not yours.’
    ‘What did it say?’
    ‘It said I should be careful.’
    ‘I don’t know what it was,’ the medium said. ‘I don’t remember any—’
    ‘It reminded me . . .’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘It reminded me of my father.’
    ‘The cold . . . doesn’t come from there. The intense cold that I’m feeling. It’s directly connected to you. There’s something dangerous about it. Something you should beware of.’
    Erlendur reached out and turned off the tape. He couldn’t face listening to any more. It felt disrespectful. The recording contained material that touched his conscience. He felt as if he were listening at a door. He couldn’t bear to dishonour the woman’s memory by eavesdropping any further.

6
     
    The old man was waiting for Erlendur at the front desk. He used to come to the police station with his wife but now that she had passed away he came to see Erlendur alone. The couple had dropped by his office regularly for nearly thirty years now, first every week, then every month, then several times a year, then once a year and finally at two- to three-yearly intervals on their son’s birthday. Over the years Erlendur had become well acquainted with them and with the sorrow that drove them to seek him out. Their younger son, Davíd, had walked out of their house in 1976 and had never been heard from again.
    Erlendur shook the old man’s hand and showed him to his office. On the way he asked him how he was doing. The old man said he had moved into a nursing home some time ago but was not happy there. ‘It’s full of nothing but old people,’ he said. He had come down to the station by taxi and asked if Erlendur could call a car to pick him up when their meeting was over.
    ‘I’ll get someone to give you a lift home,’ Erlendur said, opening the door of his office for him. ‘So the nursing home’s not very lively, then?’
    ‘Not very, no,’ the old man said as he took a seat.
    He had come to enquire after news of his son, although he knew, and had long known, that no news would be forthcoming. Erlendur understood this extraordinary persistence and had always received the couple civilly and shown them the consideration of listening to them. He knew that they had always followed the news – read the papers, listened to the radio and watched the television – in the faint hope that someone had somewhere found a clue relating to their son’s disappearance. But in all these years there had not been a single lead.
    ‘He would have been forty-nine today,’ the old man said. ‘The last birthday he celebrated was his twentieth. He invited all his college friends over, and Gunnthórunn and I had to leave the house for the duration. The party went on till the early hours. He never got to celebrate his twenty-first.’
    Erlendur nodded. The police had never found any clues relating to their son’s disappearance. It had been reported thirty-six hours after Davíd had left home. He sometimes studied at a friend’s house till late at night and went in to school with him in the morning, and had mentioned to his parents that he was going round to see him that evening and might stay over. They were revising for their final exams and were due to finish sixth-form college that spring. He had also mentioned that he needed to go to a bookshop. When he didn’t come home from school the following day, his parents began to ring around and ask after him. It transpired that he had not turned up to classes that morning. They called his friend who said that Davíd had not visited him, nor had he mentioned his plans for that evening. The friend had