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  Harpa turned to the woman. ‘Dísa? Do you mind if I speak to these two people for a minute? It won’t take long.’ She glanced at Magnus as she said these words.

  Magnus nodded.

  ‘Go ahead,’ said the woman named Dísa, her curiosity aroused.

  Harpa led Magnus and Sharon to a table in the far corner of the bakery.

  ‘Do you mind if we speak English?’ said Magnus. ‘This is Detective Sergeant Piper of Scotland Yard.’ He didn’t think that Sharon actually worked out of Scotland Yard, but it sounded good.

  ‘That’s fine,’ said Harpa. Magnus was surprised to note a slight relaxing of the tension in Harpa’s shoulders. ‘I’ve told you I know nothing about Óskar’s murder.’ Her English accent was good: British English.

  ‘Yes, you have told me that,’ said Magnus. ‘Thing is, we know you and Óskar met at a party in London four years ago.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Harpa. ‘Well, yes, of course we did. I was working in the London office then. The head of the office used to have quite a few parties. I am sure that Óskar will have come to one or two.’

  ‘I’ve spoken with María Halldórsdóttir,’ Magnus said. ‘She figures you and Óskar got along very well at one of these parties.’

  ‘That was just a rumour,’ said Harpa. ‘There was nothing in it. María was jealous, that’s all. She’s imagining it.’

  Magnus didn’t say anything.

  ‘What?’ said Harpa. ‘What is it? Don’t you believe me? I wouldn’t be so stupid as to have an affair with the boss.’

  Magnus relaxed and smiled. ‘No, of course not. You got a picture of your son, by the way?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Harpa. ‘On my phone.’ She pulled out her phone and began searching for the photo. Then she stopped suddenly, and made to put the phone away. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘I made a mistake. I don’t have a picture of him.’

  ‘Come on, Harpa,’ said Magnus. ‘You can’t hide what he looks like from us. Markús is his name, right? Just show us.’

  Harpa fiddled with the buttons on her phone and passed across a picture of a little boy smiling next to a football on a beach of black sand.

  Magnus took a photograph out of his pocket and laid it next to the phone. Despite the differences in age, it was quite clear that Óskar Gunnarsson and Markús Hörpuson were related. The same cleft chin. The same big brown eyes.

  Harpa’s shoulders sagged.

  ‘Did Óskar know?’ Magnus asked.

  Harpa shook her head. ‘I never told him. I made sure he never met Markús. I didn’t want him to know.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It really was only one night. I was drunk. So was he. I’m not trying to say he forced himself on me or anything, but it was a mistake. We never mentioned it again. The first couple of times we met in a business situation, it was awkward, but then we both succeeded in ignoring what had happened and so things became easier. Until I realized I was pregnant, of course.’

  ‘Did he suspect he was the father?’

  ‘He might have done; we never spoke about it. We really didn’t know each other that well, he had no idea what my sex life was like. In fact it wasn’t that exciting, but he didn’t know that.’

  ‘But when you lost your job, you weren’t tempted to ask Óskar for money?’ Magnus asked.

  ‘No,’ said Harpa. ‘I didn’t want Markús to have Óskar for a father, however rich he was. We had no connection. And I suppose I didn’t want to share my son with a man I barely knew.’ She leaned forward. ‘Please don’t tell anyone about this. I don’t want Óskar’s parents to know they are grandparents. It may sound awful, but I don’t want to introduce people I don’t know into Markús’s life.’

  ‘I won’t tell them for now,’ Magnus said. ‘I can’t make any promises about later. That will depend on what this investigation turns up.’

  ‘It won’t turn up anything,’ said Harpa, defiantly.

  ‘In that case you have nothing to worry about,’ said Magnus.

  ‘You were fired from Ódinsbanki, weren’t you?’ asked Sharon.

  ‘Yes,’ said Harpa.

  ‘Did you hold Óskar responsible?’

  ‘No. Not directly.’

  ‘What do you mean, not directly?’

  ‘Well, it was him who led the expansion of the bank. He grew it too fast, borrowed too much money from the bond markets. That’s why it went bust eventually, and why I lost my job.’

  ‘So who did you hold directly responsible?’ Magnus asked.

  Harpa’s eyes held his. She then closed her own. ‘Oh, God, here we go.’

  ‘Gabríel Örn?’

  Harpa nodded. ‘I’ve told you that.’

  Magnus glanced at Sharon. It was too early to do a full-blown interview with Harpa. Apart from anything else, such interviews had to be in Icelandic if they were going to provide admissible evidence. Also Baldur would disapprove. But there was one last question he had to ask. ‘Harpa, where were you on the night Óskar was killed?’

  Harpa flinched. ‘He was killed in London, wasn’t he?’

  Magnus nodded.

  ‘Well, I was in Iceland.’

  ‘Can you prove it?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Um, I came in to work here early the following morning. You can check with Dísa if you want.’

  Three-quarters of an hour later, Magnus pulled up outside the airport terminal.

  ‘Thank you for introducing me to Harpa,’ Sharon said. ‘I appreciate the difficulty.’

  ‘Her alibi was good for that night,’ said Magnus. ‘But I do think there is some link. I just thought you should know what her story is. In case something turns up your end.’

  ‘Óskar was an interesting man,’ Sharon said.

  ‘The press here hate him,’ Magnus said. ‘And his banker buddies.’

  ‘I can understand that,’ said Sharon. ‘But the people who actually knew him seemed in awe of him.’

  ‘I guess that’s how he got people to follow him,’ Magnus said. ‘He had success written all over him. But I can’t help getting the feeling that’s why he died.’

  ‘Are you suggesting he deserved to die?’

  ‘No, not at all. That’s not for us to judge, is it? And I’ve investigated the murders of far more unpleasant people than Óskar; I’m sure you have too. He hasn’t actually killed anyone himself, has he?’

  ‘No, but he bankrupted a whole country. Him and his mates.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Magnus. Of course Óskar and his buddies hadn’t destroyed the economy on purpose. It wasn’t what you’d call premeditated, more accidental. Manslaughter rather than homicide. But people went to jail for manslaughter.

  ‘What are you going to do now?’ Sharon asked. ‘Drop the investigation?’

  ‘Baldur wants me to. But Gabríel Örn’s suicide just doesn’t sound right to me. I’m off duty this weekend. I think I’ll nose around, maybe speak again with some of the people we interviewed after his death.’

  ‘Keep in touch,’ Sharon said.

  ‘I will,’ said Magnus. ‘And good luck with Charlie.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  HAFNARFJÖRDUR WAS A fishing port on the edge of the lava field just outside Reykjavík, on the way back from the airport. Magnus drove past the enormous aluminium smelter at Straumsvík, where Gabríel Örn’s body had washed ashore back in January. A golf course ran alongside the road, winding higgledypiggledy through the lava, each green like a vivid crater. Magnus turned off the highway.

  The harbour was surrounded by a ring of low hills. The town had become a popular location for Iceland’s wealthier middle classes, and some of the houses had exchanged hands at sky-high prices a couple of years before. But not any more, of course.

  Magnus drove along the ridge until he came across a development still under construction. There was even a crane standing motionless over a half-finished house. Somehow Magnus didn’t think anyone was going to finish the house in a hurry.

  Some of the dwellings at the far e
nd of the development were occupied, and it was outside one of these that Magnus checked the copy of the interview with Ísak Samúelsson that Árni had conducted after Gabríel Örn’s death. Once again, Árni’s notes were sketchy. They stated Ísak was a student, although Árni hadn’t recorded where, and that he lived with his parents, one of whom, Samúel Davídsson, was a government minister, or had been in January when the interview had been conducted. Presumably not any longer, since the pots-and-pans revolution.

  Magnus got out of his car and walked up to the white singlestorey detached house. It was well designed, with a great view of the harbour, and would have been an attractive place to live, had it not been for the construction site a hundred metres away.

  He rang the bell. No reply. He waited a minute and tried again.

  The door was opened by a thin woman wearing a headscarf. At first Magnus thought she was an old lady, but as he looked closer he realized she was probably not much older than fifty.

  She smiled, a brief flicker of life in a weary face.

  Cancer.

  ‘My name is Magnus, I am with the Metropolitan Police,’ Magnus said, fudging his official status a bit. Fortunately the Icelandic police were less scrupulous about introducing themselves and flashing badges than their American counterparts. ‘Can I speak to Ísak?’

  ‘Oh, he’s not here,’ the woman said. ‘He’s at university.’

  ‘On a Saturday?’ Magnus asked. ‘Is he in a library?’ Magnus hoped he was: it would be easy enough to track him down.

  ‘Oh, no.’ The woman smiled again. Magnus warmed to that smile. He hoped that her condition was a result of chemotherapy rather than the cancer itself. Of course there was no way of knowing and he couldn’t ask. ‘He’s in London.’

  ‘London? He’s at university in London?’

  ‘Yes. At the London School of Economics. He has just started his final year.’

  Magnus inwardly cursed Árni. He wondered whether Reykjavík’s finest detective had never found out where Ísak went to university, or had found out but decided that it wasn’t important enough to make a note of. Either eventuality was pretty bad. Moron.

  ‘I assume you are his mother?’

  The woman nodded.

  ‘Do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions? It’s in relation to the death of Gabríel Örn Bergsson back in January.’

  ‘Of course, come in,’ the woman said. ‘My name is Aníta. Let me get you some coffee.’

  ‘Please don’t bother,’ said Magnus.

  ‘Nonsense. It’s one of the few things I can still do. My husband is playing golf: he won’t be back for hours.’

  Magnus took off his shoes and followed Aníta into the kitchen where a pot of coffee was waiting. Agonizingly slowly she poured a cup for him. They sat at the kitchen table.

  The woman seemed to be tired out already. Magnus resolved to get through his questions as fast as possible. ‘So Ísak was a student in London last year?’

  ‘Yes. He came back home for Christmas. And he was very interested in the demonstrations. Although term had started at the LSE he came back just for the opening of Parliament. He said it was a historic moment and he wanted to be there. I suppose he was right.’

  ‘So he went to the demonstration the day Gabríel Örn was killed?’

  ‘Yes. His father was furious, of course. He lost his job as a result of the protests.’ Aníta hesitated. ‘You said “was killed”. Didn’t the poor man commit suicide?’

  ‘Er, that’s what we thought,’ said Magnus. ‘So your son and your husband disagree politically?’

  ‘You can say that again. Samúel has been a member of the Independence Party since he was eighteen, and Ísak is a committed socialist. They disagree on everything: climate change, the aluminium smelters, Europe, you name it. It’s ironic, really, since they are both so fascinated by politics.’

  ‘How radical is Ísak?’ Magnus asked.

  Aníta paused. ‘That’s an interesting question,’ she said. ‘By today’s standards, I suppose he is radical. I mean most of his friends want to go off and become bankers or go to law school. Or at least wanted to until this year. But Ísak still reads Marx and Lenin, although I don’t think he’s a communist or anything. Compared to my generation he’s just mildly to the left. Iceland has changed, hasn’t it?’

  ‘It certainly has,’ said Magnus.

  ‘Perhaps it will change back,’ Aníta said. ‘To the way it was. I hope it does before…’

  Magnus was about to say ‘before what?’ when he realized the woman was referring to her cancer. She was growing greyer by the minute in front of him. He would be quick.

  ‘Did Ísak know a woman by the name of Harpa Einarsdóttir? She used to work at Ódinsbanki?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. I suppose he might do, but most of his friends are still at university. Was she the woman he had a fight with in the bar?’

  Magnus nodded.

  ‘No. That was the first time he met her.’ She frowned. ‘I don’t know what he was doing. He had never done anything like that before. He drinks sometimes when he’s out with his friends at weekends, but he never gets into fights. It must have been the excitement of the demonstration.’

  ‘What about Björn Helgason, a fisherman from Grundarfjördur?’

  ‘I very much doubt it,’ Aníta said. ‘One or two of his friends from school might have become fishermen, but he never mentioned anyone going to Grundarfjördur.’

  And Björn Helgason was probably ten years older than Ísak, Magnus thought. ‘Or Óskar Gunnarsson? The former chairman of Ódinsbanki. He has lived in London for the past year.’

  ‘The banker who was murdered this week?’

  Magnus nodded.

  ‘But I thought you were asking about the other banker’s suicide? You don’t think Ísak had anything to do with that man’s murder, do you?’

  The distress came through strongly in her voice.

  ‘No,’ said Magnus. ‘No, not at all. I’m just trying to establish connections, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, the answer to your question is “no”. My son has never mentioned Óskar Gunnarsson.’

  Magnus decided it was time to wrap things up. As he was leaving, Aníta, who had been frowning deeply, suddenly brightened. ‘Oh, there is one thing. Ísak was here this week. He came home on Monday and flew back to London yesterday. Óskar Gunnarsson was killed at the beginning of the week, wasn’t he?’

  ‘That’s right. Tuesday night.’

  ‘So that means Ísak couldn’t have been involved.’

  ‘I never suggested he was,’ said Magnus, apologetically.

  ‘Maybe not. But you were thinking it, weren’t you?’

  As Magnus left Hafnarfjördur he thought about Ísak. It was a bit of a coincidence that he was a student in London. Magnus believed that Ísak’s mother really had no idea of a connection between Ísak and Óskar, and he was pretty sure that her son was indeed in Iceland when Óskar had been shot. But she was wrong when she said that didn’t mean he was involved. Maybe he hadn’t pulled the trigger, but it was quite possible that he had had something to do with the person who had.

  Harpa was definitely linked to the two dead bankers. In Ísak’s case, the connections were much more tenuous, but still enough to alert Magnus’s interest. The next person to check out was Björn Helgason.

  Magnus had the report of Árni’s interview with him in the car. It was probably three hours from Hafnarfjördur to Grundarfjördur, but it was a Saturday and he didn’t have anything else to do. But first he decided to drop in on Björn’s brother Gulli, with whom Harpa and Björn had stayed the night of Gabríel Örn’s death.

  Once again checking Árni’s scanty notes, Magnus drove to the address in Vesturbaer, just behind the Catholic Cathedral. He parked outside a square grey three-storey building, and rang the bell marked Gulli. No reply.

  He had just tried again, when a young woman in tracksuit bottoms and a hoodie took out a key to the building.

>   Magnus stopped her and introduced himself. ‘Do you know Gulli Helgason who lives in Flat Three?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, yes I know Gulli,’ she said. ‘What’s he done?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Magnus, his suspicions aroused. ‘Does he often get visits from the police?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ said the woman, looking confused. ‘No, not at all. He’s a nice guy, actually. Good at fixing things. Helps out the neighbours, especially the old lady on the ground floor.’

  ‘Do you have any idea when he’s likely to be back?’ Magnus asked.

  ‘No. I’m pretty sure he’s away on holiday. I haven’t seen him for a few days and his van has been parked there for a while. Hasn’t moved.’

  She nodded towards a blue VW Transporter, with Gulli Helgason’s name and phone number painted on the side panel.

  ‘He’s a decorator, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes. He used to be very busy, but not any more. With the kreppa.’

  ‘No, of course,’ said Magnus. Painters and decorators would have been hit hard, he supposed. ‘Thanks for your help.’

  According to his notes, Árni’s interview with Gulli back in January had confirmed that Björn had been staying with him, and that Gulli had seen Harpa at the flat the morning after Gabríel Örn’s death. It was unlikely that a further interview would reveal more, but you never knew. Magnus would be back.

  After jotting down Gulli’s phone number, Magnus returned to his car and the long drive to Grundarfjördur.

  Harpa walked rapidly along the edge of the bay, head down. The sun was out and the clouds had lifted off Mount Esja, but she scarcely noticed. She had been shaken by the return of the detective Magnús with the policewoman from Scotland Yard. Now the police knew about Óskar and about Markús, they wouldn’t leave her alone.

  She had been distracted all morning, and eventually Dísa had given her an hour off. Harpa had explained that the police were asking about Gabríel Örn’s suicide, and that she was the banker’s former girlfriend. Dísa listened with sympathy, but Harpa could detect a hint of suspicion. Dísa was clearly wondering why in that case the police had asked her where Harpa was on Tuesday and Wednesday.