Father Christmas is dead

The Silence of the Grave, Indridason’s previous novel, won the three international crime-writing awards, including Britain’s Gold Dagger. It featured his Icelandic series detective, the lugubrious policeman Erlendur, who returns in Voices to investigate the murder of a doorman at one of Reykjavik’s smartest hotels. It’s just before Christmas, and the hotel management is less than co-operative for fear of scandal. The doorman, who was about to appear at a children’s party, was found stabbed in his Santa Claus outfit with his trousers around his ankles and a condom drooping from his penis.

At first sight, then, the murder looks as if it might be the consequence of a sexual encounter that turned sour. But the doorman was once a child singer who, for a few short months before his voice broke, was on the brink of international stardom. His two records are now collector’s items capable of commanding large prices. One person who is more than willing to pay for them is staying at the hotel — an Old Etonian, a convicted paedophile obsessed with choirboys. Or is the murder simply a family matter concerning the victim’s estranged father and sister, who have their own reasons to hate the dead man? Another possibility is that it is in some way connected with the hotel itself, whose placidly affluent surface covers a multitude of vices and crimes.

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Intercut with the main investigation is the fall-out from another case led by Erlendur’s colleague Elinborg. She has wrapped a net of circumstantial evidence tightly round a father accused of assaulting his young son. But the son refuses to confirm his father’s guilt.

Another narrative thread deals with Erlendur’s private life. His pleasures at home consist of drinking Chârtreuse, eating boiled smoked lamb and reading about mountaineering fatalities, which may not strike everyone as a recipe for a fun evening.