I suppose the author didn't realize he was yelling the truth so loudly. I guess the weirdest thing is that it's obvious he's gay, and being gay is crucial to unravelling the murder, but Erlendur figures out this proclivity only about seven tenths through the novel. His daughter, the drug addict, drops in, and he meets an intriguing medical technician he takes to dinner, and his colleagues do all the legwork down in Harfyfjordfyord or someplace to gather the key info about the deceased, a down and out boy soprano turned doorman. In fact, he's so comfortable indoors that he decides to check into the hotel while he's there handling the case. I'm still waiting to find out what Iceland is really like, whether it's as starkly beautiful as I think it is, but Erlendur is still inveistigating murders by heading inside, this time in a hotel.
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