‘So what are you suggesting? That Zak shot him?’
‘Or told one of his mates back in Iceland.’
Sophie felt her ears redden. Everyone around the table was looking at her, apart from Josh, who clearly was the only one who didn’t know she was going out with Zak.
‘What?’ Josh said, aware that something was wrong.
‘You’re such an arsehole, Josh,’ said Tori.
‘What do you think, Sophie?’ It was one of the other guys, Eddie. The question was well meant, he was trying to give Sophie a chance to defend her boyfriend.
‘That doesn’t make any sense,’ said Sophie. ‘Icelanders don’t do that sort of thing.’
‘I bet Zak was pleased about what happened to Lister,’ said Josh, still not quite getting it.
‘He wasn’t,’ said Sophie. ‘I know him, you don’t, and he had nothing to do with it.’
‘Yeah, Josh,’ said Tori. ‘You talk a lot of shit. Don’t mouth off about stuff you know nothing about.’
The penny dropped. Josh glanced around the group. ‘Sorry. I didn’t know he was a friend of yours,’ he said to Sophie.
She smiled weakly. ‘That’s OK,’ she said.
But as soon as the conversation moved on she finished her drink and slipped away. She was desperate to get out of there.
Magnus paced up and down in his tiny room. He felt imprisoned. Árni had been waiting for Frikki, and when Frikki eventually returned home with his girlfriend, Árni had whisked him back to the station. He and Vigdís were interviewing the boy at that very moment. Magnus wanted to be there too. And if that wasn’t possible, he wanted to know what Frikki was saying. But he couldn’t disturb them; he just had to wait.
He had called Sharon Piper to find out if there was any news on the French couple holidaying in India. Nothing yet. Magnus swore as he hung up. Matching a verbal description was not conclusive. Magnus really needed a positive ID on Ísak if he was to get himself back on the case. Without it, any attempt to link Óskar’s death to Iceland was just speculation. As Snorri and Baldur would make very clear. Having called Sharon once, Magnus couldn’t very well call her again.
It was getting dark and he was hungry. He grabbed his coat and headed outside. Around the corner and up the hill towards the church was Vitabar, the nearest thing the neighbourhood had to a diner. Magnus ordered a burger and a beer. He wolfed the burger down too quickly.
Rather than go back to his apartment he wandered the streets. Any call would come through to his cell phone. He found himself in the square in front of the Hallgrímskirkja. The church rose tall above him, illuminated against the night sky. Beneath it the statue of Leifur Eiríksson, the first European to discover America, stared out over the city to the west.
Sending Magnus home, perhaps.
His phone rang. It was Vigdís.
‘Hi. Did he talk?’ Magnus asked her.
‘No,’ Vigdís said.
‘What do you mean, no? Didn’t he say anything at all?’
‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’
‘What, has he got a lawyer or something?’
‘He doesn’t want one. It’s weird. He just sits there looking miserable. Not arrogant or cocky, you know the way they sometimes are when they think they can keep quiet and you can’t touch them. It looks like he’s just about to cry.’
‘So? Didn’t you make him cry?’
‘Hey, Magnús, cool it,’ said Vigdís.
‘All right.’ Magnus realized Vigdís had a point. He knew she was a good detective. He had to trust her. And there was no harder suspect to interview than one who said nothing at all. ‘Sorry, Vigdís. What’s your gut telling you?’
‘He’s guilty as hell. He knows what we are talking about. I asked him about Gabríel Örn and Óskar and Julian Lister and he showed no surprise at any of it. He knows the names of Harpa and Sindri and Björn. And it seems like he knows he is going to jail.’
‘Then why isn’t he talking?’
‘I don’t know. I think the softly-softly approach will work best. And if that doesn’t do it, we can always try keeping him in overnight.’
‘Is Baldur OK with that?’
‘I’ve squared it with him.’
‘A night in the cells can work wonders,’ Magnus said. ‘I wish I could be there too. Call me if you get anywhere, will you?’
Magnus returned to his apartment, waiting for Vigdís to call again. None came. Nor did he hear from Ingileif. That was strange. The Icesave meeting had taken place in the late afternoon. What was she doing afterwards?
In the end he found solace in a saga, the tried and tested medicine from his adolescence. He picked the Saga of the People of Eyri. Within a few minutes he was lost in the world of the Norse settlers, of Ketill Flat Nose, Björn the Easterner, who had built the first farmhouse at Bjarnarhöfn, Arnkell, Snorri Godi, and Thórólfur Lame Foot. The countryside around Bjarnarhöfn seemed closer and more real in the saga than in his own memory.
At about eleven o’clock his doorbell rang. It was Ingileif.
‘Hi,’ she kissed him as he answered the door. ‘Hi, Katrín.’ She waved at Magnus’s landlady as she climbed the stairs to his room. She tripped on a step. ‘Whoops-a-daisy.’
When they got into his room, she kissed him again. ‘Sorry I’m so late,’ she said.
‘That’s OK.’
‘I’m so drunk.’
Magnus had guessed. ‘Where were you?’ he asked, trying to keep any hint of accusation out of his voice.
‘Solving your case.’
‘What do you mean?’
Ingileif began to unbutton his shirt. ‘I’ll tell you afterwards.’
‘What do you mean, solving my case? Did you see Sindri at the Icesave meeting?’
‘Yup.’ Ingileif smiled. Magnus’s shirt was undone now. Her hands moved down to his pants.
‘You planned to see him all along?’
‘Yup.’
Magnus felt the anger rise. He had specifically told Ingileif not to do that. He backed away.
‘What’s wrong with that?’ Ingileif said. ‘You’d have been so proud of me. He told me everything.’
‘What? What did he tell you?’
Ingileif sat on Magnus’s bed. ‘Everything. How he shot Óskar. And the British Chancellor. Everything.’
‘He shot the chancellor?’
‘Well, not him, exactly. Him and his friends.’
Magnus sat down next to her on the bed. Angry though he was with Ingileif, he was desperate to know what she had found out. ‘Who are his friends?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t ask him. But there’s a group of them. He’s the leader. They think capitalism is all wrong. I can tell you all about what’s wrong with capitalism, I listened to hours of it.’
She swayed on the bed, and seemed about to keel over, when she straightened herself up. ‘I placed myself next to him at the Icesave meeting in Austurvöllur. He started talking to me. We went for some coffee. Had some more coffee. Went to his place. Had something to drink. Had some more to drink. Had some more to drink. Then he started to take my clothes off.’
‘And then?’
Ingileif giggled. ‘And then I came home to you, what do you think? He was a little upset. I think he thought I had taken advantage of him.’
‘He might have been right,’ said Magnus.
‘Hey! He admitted that they planned to kill the people they thought were responsible for the kreppa. The chairman of a bank. The British ex-Chancellor of the Exchequer. And other people.’
‘Other people? Like who? Did you find out?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Ingileif. She giggled. ‘I got him to tell me. Ingólfur Arnarson.’
‘Who’s he? Apart from the guy who discovered Iceland.’
‘I don’t know. I suggest you look him up in the phone book and tell him to lock his door. And then you arrest Sindri.’
‘I can’t arrest Sindri,’ Magnus said.
‘Why not?’ Ingileif said. ‘He confe
ssed, didn’t he? I can stand up in court and tell them what he told me.’
‘As evidence that’s useless,’ Magnus said harshly. ‘What do you mean, useless? You’re just jealous.’
‘Jealous? Why would I be jealous?’
‘Yes, jealous. Because I found out more in one night than you’ve been able to find out in a whole week.’
‘That’s ridiculous!’ said Magnus. What really riled him was that there was a germ of truth in what Ingileif said. He was jealous. And she had used illegal methods: she had cheated, not just the law but him. ‘We can’t use any of that evidence. And if the defence attorneys discover there is a link between you and me, which they will, then there is a good chance that the case would be thrown out for entrapment.’
Actually Magnus had no idea whether that would apply in Iceland. But it would certainly have been one hell of a problem in America.
‘How can you be angry with me when I helped you like that?’ said Ingileif. ‘Can you imagine how creepy it is to talk to that lecherous old man for hours, have his hands all over me, when all I’m trying to do is help you?’
‘His hands all over you?’ Magnus asked.
‘You see you are jealous.’
‘Yes, I damn well am jealous!’ Magnus shouted. ‘I didn’t ask you to do all that. I didn’t ask you to seduce Sindri.’
‘I didn’t exactly seduce him. And anyway, I can talk to whoever I want.’
‘Talk, yes. But everything else?’
‘Are you accusing me of sleeping with other men?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Magnus. But it was a question that always nagged at the back of his mind with Ingileif. ‘Maybe. Do you?’
Ingileif stared at him. ‘Do up your shirt. I’m off.’
For a moment Magnus thought of asking her to stay, but only for a moment. Under her rules she could come and go as she pleased. Then so be it.
She went, banging the door behind her.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Wednesday, 23 September 2009
HARPA SMELLED THE coffee. She opened her eyes. Blinked.
Her head was heavy with sleep and she was confused. Above her, not very far above her, were wooden beams and a roof. She was lying in a sleeping bag. Next to her was another sleeping bag, empty.
But it had the familiar smell of Björn: male sweat and a hint of fish.
She leaned on her elbow. The coffee smelled good.
She was in a hut. Grey early morning light slipped in through the top of a window. She could hear someone moving about below.
‘Björn?’
‘Good morning.’
She slid over to the top of a ladder. She realized she was in a raised sleeping loft in some kind of hut. Panic overtook her, but disappeared when she saw Björn’s reassuring smile. ‘Here. Come down and have a cup of coffee. Do you want some breakfast?’
Carefully she climbed down the ladder. She was wearing a T-shirt and underpants, but the hut was warm. Wood was burning in a stove.
Her head was still muzzy. She felt as if she had just woken up from a dream, except she was waking up into a dream.
‘Björn, where are we?’ she asked.
He kissed her quickly on the lips. ‘In a mountain hut. I thought we could get away for a few days.’
Harpa blinked. ‘You know, I don’t remember coming here at all.’
‘You were very tired. You slept in the car.’
‘Did I?’ Harpa scrambled to make sense of it. She could remember Björn coming to meet her in the bakery, and then nothing. Very strange.
‘Where’s Markús?’
‘With your parents. We left them a note.’
‘I don’t remember that.’
‘Well, I left them a note.’
Harpa sat on a chair by the table and sipped her coffee. Her brain cleared a little. ‘Where is this hut, Björn?’
‘Near Grundarfjördur. It’s on the old road from Stykkishólmur to Borgarnes. But no one comes here any more. It’s very peaceful.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Harpa.
Björn took her hand over the table. ‘You’ve been under a lot of pressure recently. You need a rest.’ He squeezed it. Smiled. For a moment she was comforted by that smile.
Then she withdrew her hand. ‘Wait a minute. We didn’t talk about this, did we? We were going to the police. To tell them about Sindri and the student. Isn’t that where we were driving?’
Björn swallowed. ‘No.’
‘Björn. What’s going on here?’ Then Harpa’s eyes widened. ‘You’ve kidnapped me, haven’t you?’
‘No,’ said Björn.
‘OK. In that case let me find my phone and I’ll ring the police.’ She grabbed her handbag which was lying by the door and rummaged inside it.
‘There’s no reception here,’ said Björn.
‘Where’s my phone, Björn?’
‘You don’t need it. There’s no reception.’
Harpa looked up from the bag. ‘You’ve taken it, haven’t you. My God, you have kidnapped me. Björn, what the hell is going on?’
‘I think we should spend some time…’
‘That’s bullshit.’ A look of panic overwhelmed Harpa’s features. ‘You did shoot Óskar and Lister, didn’t you? You want to stop me going to the police!’
‘I didn’t kill anyone.’
‘Then what the hell are we doing here?’ Harpa shouted.
‘Sit down,’ Björn said. ‘And I’ll explain.’
‘You had better,’ said Harpa. But she sat down. She sipped her coffee.
‘To start with, I haven’t killed anyone,’ Björn said. ‘I promise.’
‘But you know who has?’
Björn nodded his head. ‘I know who has.’
‘And you did go to France?’
Björn nodded again. ‘Yes. I flew to Amsterdam and then rode down to Normandy to prepare the ground for someone else.’
‘Who?’
Björn shook his head.
‘Sindri? Ísak?’
‘Sindri and Ísak are involved, yes.’
‘So Frikki was right?’
Björn nodded. ‘But we did it for a good reason.’
‘Oh, come on, how can killing anyone be for a good reason?’
‘You killed someone, Harpa.’
‘Yes, and I’ve regretted it ever since!’
‘I haven’t,’ said Björn quietly.
Harpa looked at him closely. His blue eyes were steady, strong.
‘I mean the more I thought about it, the more I thought Gabríel Örn deserved to die. He was a nasty man. He treated you like shit.’
‘That’s not a good enough reason to murder him,’ Harpa said.
‘Maybe not, but ruining our country is. People like Gabríel Örn have destroyed Iceland and the people in it. The strong, hardworking honest Icelanders like me, and the thousands like me. You know how hard I worked to build up my fishing business. Why should I lose it all? Why should thousands like me lose it all? Farmers losing their farms, shopkeepers losing their shops, and yes, fishermen losing their boats. Young families losing their houses. You remember Sindri talking about his brother that night after the demo?’
Harpa shook his head.
‘Well, his brother lost his farm to the bank in the end. And killed himself. And now the brother’s wife and kids will have no home and no job. These people have worked hard all their lives. It’s not their fault! And it hasn’t even really started yet. They say unemployment will go up. We’re going to be a nation of paupers for decades. Because of people like Gabríel Örn.’
‘But it’s not just Gabríel Örn’s fault, is it?’ said Harpa.
‘Precisely!’ said Björn, and he struck the table with the flat of his hand. ‘What do they say, there are thirty people who destroyed Iceland?’
‘People like Óskar?’
‘Yes.’
‘And Julian Lister?’
‘Yes.’
Harpa frowned. ‘You’re crazy. You’re all
crazy.’
‘Are we? Sure, the Icelanders protest, but they don’t actually do anything. When the Americans start a war on terror, they take out a couple of countries and kill tens of thousands of people. We should be waging war against these guys. And we’re only talking about four people.’
‘Four?’ Harpa counted them off on her fingers. ‘Gabríel Örn, Óskar, Julian Lister… who’s the other?’
Björn shook his head.
‘So Frikki was right. One more to go?’
Björn didn’t answer.
A tear leaked from Harpa’s eye. ‘I don’t understand you, Björn. I mean Sindri, I do understand. He has always said he believes in violence. He’s deluded himself into practising what he preaches. But you? You are one of the most practical men I know.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ said Björn. ‘But I’ve learned a lot over the last year.’
‘Such as?’
‘Such as that people like my father and Sindri are right. They always said that capitalism hurts real people, people who work and save. It’s a tool for the rich to screw the rest of us. I can see now how that is blindingly obvious. But I never listened to my father. I thought he was a dinosaur from the wrong side in the Cold War. I believed in the Independence Party, that capitalism meant people like me could work hard to build a business. Boy was I wrong. But at least I realize it now. At least I am going to do something about it.’
‘Like kill some people?’
‘Harpa.’ Björn reached across the table for Harpa’s hand. She drew back from him. ‘Harpa, you’ve suffered almost as badly. You lost your job. Your father lost his savings. Gabríel Örn treated you badly, as did Óskar. Don’t you see we’re the good guys here?’
‘You are a murderer, Björn. OK, you didn’t pull the trigger yourself, but you are a murderer.’ Her eyes widened. ‘Wait a minute! Did you pick Óskar because of me? Did you know he was Markús’s father?’
‘The police only told me that on Sunday. But yes, when we were talking about which bank boss to go for, Ódinsbanki seemed a good choice to me.’
‘So you killed him on my account?’
‘Yours, mine and every other ordinary person in Iceland.’
Harpa pursed her lips. Anger flared through the couple of tears that had gathered in tiny pools around her eyes. ‘So what are you doing with me? Holding me prisoner?’
66 Degrees North Page 29
