“Oh my God, I’m so nervous. What do you think people will make of it?”

“I can still barely switch on a microwave,” Erlendur said. “So maybe I’m not…”

“The publishers loved it,” Elinborg said. “And the photos of the dishes are brilliant. They commissioned a special photographer to take them. And there’s a separate chapter on Christmas food…”

“Elinborg.”

“Yes.”

“Were you calling about anything in particular?”

“A skeleton in Lake Kleifarvatn,” Elinborg said, lowering her voice when the conversation moved away from her cookery book. “I’m supposed to fetch you. The lake’s shrunk or something and they found some bones there this morning. They want you to take a look.”

“The lake’s shrunk?”

“Yes, I didn’t quite get that bit.”

Sigurdur Oli was standing by the skeleton when Erlendur and Elinborg arrived at the lake. A forensics team was on the way. The officers from Hafnarfjordur were fiddling around with yellow plastic tape to cordon off the area, but had discovered they had nothing to attach it to. Sigurdur Oli watched their efforts and thought he could understand why village-idiot jokes were always set in Hafnarfjordur.

“Aren’t you on holiday?” he asked Erlendur as he walked over across the black sand.

“Yes,” Erlendur said. “What have you been up to?”

“Same old,” Sigurdur Oli said in English. He looked up at the road where a large jeep from one of the TV stations was parking at the roadside. “They sent her home,” he said with a nod at the policemen from Hafnarfjordur. “The woman who found the bones. She was taking some measurements here. We can ask her afterwards why the lake’s dried up. Under normal circumstances we ought to be up to our necks on this spot.”

“Is your shoulder all right?”

“Yes. How’s Eva Lind doing?”

“She hasn’t done a runner yet,” Erlendur said. “I think she regrets the whole business, but I’m not really sure.”