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  Unnur moved a pile of exercise books off the sofa to make room for Magnus. ‘Sorry. Marking.’

  He sat down.

  ‘I think I could just about recognize you,’ Unnur said. ‘Your hair’s a bit darker, it used to be really red. You must have been seven or eight then.’

  ‘I don’t really remember you,’ said Magnus. ‘I wish I recalled more of that time in Reykjavík.’

  ‘Before everything went wrong?’ Unnur said.

  Magnus nodded.

  ‘So, what can I tell you?’ she asked as she poured Magnus some coffee. Her face was hard and firm, almost defiant.

  ‘Can you tell me something about my mother?’ Magnus said. ‘What she was really like? I have two different memories of her. I remember warmth and laughter and happiness in our house in Reykjavík. Then distance – we didn’t see her very much, my brother and I stayed up here with my grandfather and she was in Reykjavík a lot of the time. At the time I thought she was always tired; now I am pretty sure she was drunk.’

  Unnur smiled. ‘She was good fun. Really good fun. We were at school together, here in Stykkishólmur.’

  ‘I went to school here as well,’ Magnus said.

  ‘It was a good school,’ Unnur said. ‘It still is. I teach there now – English and Danish. Anyway we became best friends when we were about thirteen, I suppose. Margrét was smart. She loved to read, as did I. And the boys liked her. We both spent a summer together in Denmark at a language school, which was fun. And we decided we wanted to go to Reykjavík and become teachers.’

  Unnur was warming up. ‘We had a blast. We shared a flat together in 101; we had a great time. We both qualified and started teaching in schools in Reykjavík, different schools. Margrét met your father, they fell in love, got married, and I moved out to make room for him. We got along very well, the three of us. We were all good friends.’

  Unnur paused. ‘Are you sure to want to hear this?’ she asked Magnus.

  ‘Yes. And please tell me the truth, however unpleasant it is. Now I am here I want to know.’

  ‘All right. That was when your mother started to drink. I mean we all drank, although in those days it was mostly spirits, it still wasn’t legal to sell beer in Iceland and wine was almost unheard of. But Margrét began to drink more than us. At the time, I didn’t know why. She wasn’t unhappy with her life, and up till then she didn’t seem to be unhappy with Ragnar.’

  ‘At the time?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve thought about it a lot since then, and perhaps I do know the reason.’ Unnur took a deep breath. ‘Her father was a brute. I was scared of him at school, I’ve always been scared of him. And he had a weird relationship with Margrét. He was fond of her, doted on her, yet he was very strict. He had a strong psychological hold over her: that was why she wanted to move away to Reykjavík, I am sure. He messed with her head.’

  That didn’t surprise Magnus.

  Unnur took a sip of coffee. ‘Anyway, then you and Óli showed up. Your mother was fine most of the time, but then she would get depressed about something, drink a lot and give Ragnar a hard time. A very hard time.’

  She bit her lip. ‘And now we come to the difficult bit. Ragnar used to confide in me about her. One time, they had been having a massive fight about him going to America. He had done a fellowship at MIT for a couple of years, before he met your mother, and they wanted him back to teach. It was some strange branch of mathematics, topology or something?’

  ‘Riemann surfaces.’

  ‘She changed her mind and didn’t want to go. They had a major row about it. He and I had a drink together, and then, well…’ She hesitated. ‘Well. I had always fancied him ever since I had first seen him. I always wished he had chosen me. I was wrong, very wrong. So was he. We have no excuses.’ She looked straight at Magnus. ‘I’m not going to make excuses to you, of all people.’

  ‘Thanks for telling me about it,’ said Magnus. His mind was a turmoil of confused judgements, against his father, against his mother, against the woman sitting opposite him. But he wanted to find out the truth, so he suppressed them, at least for now.

  ‘Then Margrét began to suspect something. Your father thought the best thing to do was to be honest, admit everything. I thought that was a really bad idea, but he didn’t listen to me.’ Unnur shook her head. ‘So he told her. It tipped her over the edge as far as drinking was concerned. She kicked Ragnar out. Ragnar dumped me. He went to America by himself. The whole thing was horrible.’

  ‘I can imagine.’

  ‘Margrét wouldn’t speak to me, unsurprisingly. I never saw her after that. Of course I heard about her, the drinking, her parents looking after you and Óli, and then her death.’

  Magnus swallowed. He knew his mother had drunk half a bottle of vodka and driven into a rock. ‘Was that suicide, do you think?’ It was a question he had asked himself countless times.

  ‘I think so,’ said Unnur. ‘But I really don’t know. That’s no more than an opinion. Your grandparents swore that she didn’t crash on purpose. The rumours around Stykkishólmur were that she did. But no one really knows. When someone is that drunk they don’t know what they are doing anyway, do they?’

  ‘No,’ said Magnus. ‘They don’t.’

  They sat in silence for a moment. ‘What about my father?’ he asked. ‘What was he like?’

  ‘He was a fine man,’ said Unnur. ‘Kind. Considerate. Very smart. Very good-looking.’

  That was too much for Magnus. ‘He can’t have been that fine a man,’ he said. ‘Screwing his wife’s best friend.’

  Unnur tensed. ‘No,’ she said coldly. ‘He can’t have been.’ She looked directly at Magnus. ‘Perhaps you had better go now. You are right, this is painful for both of us.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Magnus, fighting to control himself. ‘The thing is, I thought he was a wonderful man too, and then I find out he did this to Mom. But I do appreciate you telling me.’

  Unnur hesitated. ‘It must be tough for you,’ she said. ‘And I suppose that wasn’t such a wonderful thing that we did, was it?’

  ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘I met a doctor in Reykjavík. We got married, had children. I moved back here to teach, and he works in the hospital. I’m OK. No, better than OK, happy.’

  ‘Unlike my parents.’

  ‘Unlike your parents,’ Unnur said. ‘It’s not really fair, is it? I mean, it was me who caused all this. I remember them both very fondly, before everything got messed up, before I messed everything up.’

  Magnus remained silent. Despite his instincts, who was he to apportion blame? But Unnur’s sense of guilt seemed justified. He wasn’t going to absolve her either.

  ‘I heard about Ragnar, of course,’ Unnur said. ‘Did they ever find out who did it?’

  ‘No,’ said Magnus. ‘They think that a random stranger drove into town, stabbed my father, and then left leaving no trace.’

  ‘I suppose that happens in America,’ Unnur said.

  ‘Not really,’ said Magnus. ‘I ended up becoming a homicide detective there. And usually there is a reason why one person kills another. It may be a stupid reason, but there is a reason.’

  ‘Just not in this case.’

  Suddenly the suspicions that had been bubbling deep under the surface of Magnus’s consciousness ever since he had first heard of his father’s infidelity forced themselves into the open. He couldn’t ignore the connections his detective’s brain was making, couldn’t order it to stop doing what it had been trained to do.

  But unlike the rush of excitement he usually experienced when things slipped into place, he now felt suddenly cold. His throat was dry, and when he spoke the sound that came out was little more than a croak.

  ‘I wonder.’

  Unnur noticed something was wrong; she was watching him closely. ‘What do you wonder?’

  ‘Whether Grandpa was in some way responsible.’

  Unnur frowned for a moment and then smiled.

  This i
rritated Magnus. ‘What’s so funny?’ ‘There is no chance of that,’ Unnur said. ‘I mean, he’s a nasty old man, for sure, and he had a terrible hold over your mother. And he didn’t like Ragnar at all. But that’s the point. He was glad Ragnar went to the States and left Margrét here. In fact, that was what he wanted all along.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, at first Margrét was very excited about MIT. She had always wanted to live abroad and this seemed like a great opportunity for both of them.’

  ‘So she intended to go with Dad?’

  ‘Absolutely. But when she told her parents, they went ballistic, both of them. I don’t know why exactly, they got it all out of proportion. Hallgrímur demanded Margrét stay in Iceland, but she insisted on going with Ragnar. It became a trial of strength. Her parents used every psychological weapon at their disposal. Made her feel guilty, refused to speak to her, that kind of thing. They were difficult people to oppose.’

  ‘I remember,’ said Magnus.

  ‘At first Margrét held out. But it was eating her up. She began to drink a lot. She fought with Ragnar, she was just totally unreasonable. And in the end she changed her mind. Said that Ragnar should go by himself, and that she would stay in Iceland with you and Óli.

  ‘Ragnar was furious. That’s when… well… it happened between me and him.’

  Unnur paused. Sighing.

  ‘So, when Margrét found out about the affair her parents were overjoyed. They had won, Ragnar lost, their daughter and grandchildren stayed in Iceland.’

  ‘I see,’ said Magnus. But the thought that his grandfather might have been responsible for his father’s murder, once expressed, could not be easily abandoned. ‘That’s not quite the story that I heard from my cousin. She said that it was the affair that caused Margrét to drink. That led to her death.’

  ‘That’s not right,’ said Unnur. ‘Like I said, she had been drinking seriously for several months before then. I’m sure it’s the story Hallgrímur made up. He was hardly likely to admit that he drove his own daughter to drink, was he?’

  ‘No,’ said Magnus. ‘But do you not think that later, after my mother had died, and especially after my father took us away from them, my grandfather might have wanted revenge?’

  ‘Perhaps. I mean, as I said, he certainly didn’t like your father. But I get the impression that there are many people whom your grandfather doesn’t like. And I don’t think he kills all of them.’ She frowned, thinking. ‘And anyway, why wait? I mean it was ten years after your mother died, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Eight,’ said Magnus. ‘And that is a good point. I don’t know. But I can imagine him capable of it.’

  ‘That’s true.’

  Unnur paused, as if considering whether to say more. Magnus recognized the signs. He waited. Eventually she spoke. ‘Did you know Hallgrímur’s father murdered someone?’

  ‘What! I never heard anything about that.’

  ‘Of course you didn’t. It was his neighbour at Hraun. Jóhannes.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  Unnur stood up and searched her shelves. She handed Magnus an old paperback. Moor and the Man by Benedikt Jóhannesson.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Read chapter three.’ They were interrupted by the sound of a car pulling up. ‘You’d better go now, that’s my husband.’

  Still trying to make sense of all he had heard, Magnus stared dumbly at the book in his hands. Another murder in his family?

  ‘Magnús?’

  ‘All right, I’ll go,’ he said. ‘Thanks for the coffee. And for speaking to me so honestly.’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Unnur. ‘Keep the book. And read chapter three.’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  AS FRIKKI DROVE along the busy Miklabraut his heart was singing. He and Magda had taken the bus back from the airport to Reykjavík, and another out to Breidholt, and then they had spent the afternoon in bed, screwing. Seeing the sun outside, Magda had said why don’t they go down to the Grótta beach on Seltjarnarnes to walk and see the sunset? It was something they used to do after their shifts at the hotel. Frikki wasn’t going to argue, and his mate Gunni had lent him his car.

  Frikki glanced across at Magda. She was glowing. She always glowed. She always had this incredible goodness about her, like she was always looking on the bright side, everything was wonderful, everyone was a good person, he was a good person. And he could tell that today she was really happy. She had put on a little weight, she was always soft and round and cuddly and now she was softer and rounder, but he didn’t care. She had got herself a job in a hotel in Warsaw. A bloody miracle when there were all those other Poles coming back from hotels all over Western Europe. Except it wasn’t really a miracle. Any hotel manager would be able to tell what an amazing girl she was.

  Frikki already felt a better person, and she had only been with him for a few hours. If only she could stay; her strength would rub off on him. He was a fucking good cook, none of his bosses could deny that, and with Magda around employers would give him the chance to prove it. But she was staying one week, that was all. He was determined to enjoy every second of it.

  Magda smiled as she caught him glancing at her, and put her hand on his thigh as he was driving. ‘Do you remember that bakery in Seltjarnarnes? The one with those delicious strawberry pastry things?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Can we stop there on the way? We might get there just before it closes.’

  Once again, Frikki wasn’t going to argue. Ten minutes later he pulled up on Nordurströnd, and they both went inside the warm shop. Magda let out a little squeal of delight when she spotted the only two strawberry delicacies still left, and Frikki asked the woman behind the counter how much they were.

  Then he froze. As did the woman.

  ‘Hello,’ she said.

  ‘Hello,’ said Frikki.

  ‘You remember me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The woman smiled nervously. ‘How are you doing?’

  ‘All right,’ said Frikki. ‘Still haven’t found a job.’

  ‘As you can see, I have,’ said the woman. ‘Took a while though. Have you seen any of our friends?’

  ‘No,’ said Frikki. ‘And you?’

  ‘I see Björn every now and then. I’ve had people stop by asking me questions recently.’

  ‘The police?’ Frikki asked in a low voice and with a glance towards Magda, who seemed preoccupied with the cakes.

  ‘Yes. Don’t worry, I haven’t told them anything. They don’t know anything about you, do they?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Frikki. ‘I’ve never spoken to them.’

  ‘Good.’ The woman smiled. ‘Let’s hope it stays that way. That will be four hundred and fifty krónur.’

  Frikki handed her the money. ‘Nice to see you,’ he said.

  ‘And you.’

  ‘Who was that?’ Magda asked as they left the bakery. Frikki and she spoke a mixture of English and Icelandic to each other, and Magda could understand Icelandic reasonably well. ‘You Icelanders never introduce people!’

  ‘Sorry. It’s a woman I met last winter during the protests. I haven’t seen her since then. Her name is Harpa.’

  ‘What was that about the police?’ Magda asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ Frikki said.

  ‘What do you mean, “nothing”?’ Magda said. ‘I could see it was something.’

  Frikki hesitated. A dozen different stories flashed across his brain, but he didn’t want to lie to Magda. Then again, he didn’t want to tell her the truth either.

  ‘There was some trouble after the demonstrations. The police asked some questions.’

  ‘What kind of questions?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it, Magda,’ Frikki said.

  ‘OK,’ Magda shrugged, although Frikki could tell she wasn’t happy. They got into the car. ‘Let’s go. And I will try to save this pastry for when we get to the beach.’

  On the long drive
back to Reykjavík Magnus thought about what Unnur had said. She had been quite convincing that his grandfather was actually glad that Ragnar had been caught in an affair with her. Yet there was no doubt that Hallgrímur must have disliked Ragnar intensely.

  Could his grandfather really be responsible for his father’s death?

  Hallgrímur would have been in his sixties when Ragnar was stabbed in Duxbury. Magnus knew he was still farming actively at that age, and he would have been fit and strong enough to stab Ragnar. Especially in the back. The medical examiner’s report was etched on Magnus’s brain. The first stab wound was probably taken in the back, with the two subsequent ones in the chest, after Ragnar had fallen. This, together with the lack of any sign of a break-in, suggested that Ragnar had not felt threatened by whoever had called on him that day. It also meant that the murderer did not have to be big and strong enough to overcome him.

  Stabbed in the back. Yes, Magnus could imagine Hallgrímur stabbing someone in the back.

  But was Hallgrímur in the United States at the time? Magnus had never checked on that specific point. His grandfather seemed embedded in Bjarnarhöfn, part of the soil. Magnus could scarcely imagine him travelling as far as Reykjavík, let alone Boston. When he had visited Iceland himself just after his father’s death, there had been no mention of any travel to America. That was something he would have to check up on. Since 2001 he was sure US Immigration records would show everyone who had come into the country. But Ragnar was killed in 1996.

  There should be a way of checking it out.

  It didn’t quite feel right, though. Magnus knew that Hallgrímur was a cruel and vindictive man. For that reason he could imagine the pleasure that the old man would have felt at the discovery of Ragnar’s affair, even if it hurt his daughter. It was true that when his father had come back to Iceland to retrieve Magnus and Óli, the two men had had almighty rows; in the heat of the moment Magnus could just about imagine Hallgrímur killing his father then.