The Polar Bear Killing Page 5

She had been so stupid! First Magnus and now an unknown German! What was she thinking? What was happening to her?

  She sat on the bed. It just seemed so unfair. Other people could have fun. Other people could get drunk, sleep with a man. She spent so much time doing the right thing, looking after her mother, being a conscientious cop. Then she let down her guard just once and look what happened.

  She saw the empty vodka bottle in the bin. She knew there wasn’t an off-licence in town, so she grabbed her laptop and searched. The nearest was at Thórshöfn, sixty-five kilometres away. It was a long way, but no one would miss her if she drove there and back. She would drink the whole bottle. Screw them. Screw them all.

  Her phone rang. She checked it. Magnus. Screw him, too. She tossed it on to the bed and let it whine.

  Then what would she do? After she woke up from her drunken stupor? When she eventually had to return to Reykjavík, to her mother, to her job, to her mortgage?

  She was sure that Ólafur would report her. But then what would happen was not clear. They could throw the rulebook at her, or they could give her a break. Inspector Baldur, the head of the Violent Crimes Unit, didn’t like her much, although he respected her commitment to the Icelandic language and they shared a similar distaste for the way English was creeping into every aspect of Icelandic society like a weed. Above him was Thorkell Holm, the chief superintendent in charge of CID, whose decision it would probably be. But above him, the national police commissioner was a big fan of Vigdís. Reykjavík was no longer 100 per cent white and he did not want its police force, especially its CID, to be 100 per cent white either. She felt bad about how she had let him down.

  And then there was Magnus. Magnus who himself had started an affair with a murder suspect, Ingileif, who was now his girlfriend. He had got away with it somehow. He at least would understand. But he didn’t have much political clout, except again with the commissioner.

  No. Vigdís should not give up yet. She should get a grip – go back to her habitual ways of self-discipline and diligence. If she could prove Martin was innocent, that would help. And although she couldn’t believe the man she had just slept with was guilty of murder, if he was, he should be punished.

  But what could she do, banished to her hotel room?

  She looked at her laptop and opened it up. What had Martin said the Facebook group was called that had alerted him to the polar bears in Iceland? Animal Blood Watch. That was it.

  Vigdís got to work. She found the group. And she found out who had urged Martin and Alex to come to Raufarhöfn. Very interesting.

  Her phone rang again.

  Magnus.

  She hesitated and then picked it up.

  ‘Hi, Magnús.’

  ‘Vigdís! What were you doing?’

  ‘You’ve heard then.’

  ‘Baldur told me. You were seen snogging a murder suspect. He is sending me out there to relieve you. Is it true?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Vigdís.

  ‘But why?’

  There was silence. ‘I don’t know,’ said Vigdís. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Are you OK?’

  Vigdís took a deep breath. ‘Not really, Magnús.’

  ‘OK. We’ll talk when I get there. I did find something out about Gudrún, by the way.’

  ‘Yes?’

  Magnus told her how Gudrún was an animal-rights activist and how she had left university a couple of days early to return to Raufarhöfn to look for the mother polar bear.

  ‘That makes perfect sense,’ said Vigdís. ‘I’ve just been checking the Facebook group. You can see the flurry of messages after the first reports of the polar bear being shot. Everyone was angry, and someone with the nickname “Foxgirl” suggested that volunteers come out to Raufarhöfn and disrupt the search for a second bear. Two members said they would go – Alex Einarsson and Martin Fiedler. Martin said he was flying from Düsseldorf to Iceland.’

  ‘Is Foxgirl Gudrún?’

  ‘It’s not absolutely certain, but that would be my guess. Whoever it is, she lives in or near to Raufarhöfn and goes to university in Reykjavík. “Foxgirl” makes sense when you think of the Melrakkaslétta with all its foxes.’

  ‘It must be her, mustn’t it?’ said Magnus.

  ‘We can ask her,’ said Vigdís. ‘She won’t know how difficult it is to get Facebook to give us confirmation. Also, it turns out the interpreter we were using to interview Martin Fiedler is also in the group.’

  ‘Now you’re off the case, I was going to call Ólafur to tell him about Gudrún. But you should do it.’

  ‘He won’t listen to me.’

  ‘He may do. And if he doesn’t, that’s his fault. If you can still help solve this thing, that won’t do you any harm.’ There was a pause. ‘Remember how I met Ingileif? It doesn’t have to be the end of the world.’

  ‘I do,’ said Vigdís. ‘I was there.’

  Magnus and Vigdís had gone together to Ingileif’s gallery on Skólavördustígur in Reykjavík to interview her. Even at that stage Vigdís had noticed how struck Magnus was with her.

  ‘See you later,’ said Magnus. ‘And good luck.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  Vigdís went straight to the police station and found Ólafur. ‘What is it?’ he demanded.

  ‘I have checked the Facebook group Martin and Alex used. And I have spoken to Magnús about Gudrún Halldórsdóttir.’

  ‘I told you that you were off the case.’

  ‘I know. But you will want to hear what I’ve got.’

  Ólafur sighed. He was feeling the pressure – he needed something to break his way. He did want to know what Vigdís had got.

  ‘So tell me.’

  Vigdís told him and Ólafur listened this time. Closely.

  ‘I need to go talk to this girl,’ Ólafur said.

  ‘Can I come?’ said Vigdís.

  Ólafur opened his mouth to say no, but hesitated. ‘All right,’ he said, grabbing his coat. ‘But stay quiet. I’ll do the talking.’

  Although it was only a two-minute walk to Halldór’s house, Ólafur took a police car and a uniformed officer. Gudrún answered the door and led them into the living room. A couple in their seventies sat on a sofa, staring at a skinny man of about twenty-three with a shaven head, wearing jeans and a stained T-shirt.

  Sveinn. The fair curls of the teenager in the family photo had all gone.

  Grief stalked the room. The family looked shattered, all four of them.

  To Vigdís’s surprise, rather than demanding to speak to Gudrún immediately, Ólafur started with the grandparents. But it made sense: get as much background as possible before confronting a suspect.

  First they spoke to the grandparents alone in the kitchen over cups of coffee. It turned out that they were Halldór’s parentsin-law – his own parents were both dead. They didn’t say much that the police didn’t know already. They had good things to say about Halldór and how he had brought up their grandchildren after their daughter’s death, although Vigdís got the impression that they were unhappy with his decision to move the family from Reykjavík to Raufarhöfn, about as far away from them as it was possible to go in Iceland.

  Then it was Sveinn’s turn. He didn’t touch his coffee. He seemed nervous, fiddling with a cigarette, desperate to light up. His eyes darted around the room, from the detectives, to the door, to his cigarette. A strung-out junkie, Vigdís thought. She felt sorry for him – he must be feeling the pressure. She would have taken him outside so he could at least have a smoke, but that hadn’t seemed to have occurred to Ólafur, and she decided she should just keep quiet and be grateful that Ólafur had let her come along.

  ‘How were relations between you and your father?’ Ólafur began.

  ‘Not good,’ Sveinn replied unhappily. ‘Dad was really angry when I left university. Chemistry just wasn’t my thing and he didn’t understand that. And I’m sure you know I got busted for possession. Dad assumed I was a pusher. Which I’m not.’ He glared at Ólafur, daring
him to contradict him. Vigdís wasn’t convinced. ‘I didn’t talk to him much after that.’

  ‘Did you talk to Gudrún?’ Ólafur asked.

  ‘Yeah. Not often. But every now and then.’

  ‘And how was the relationship between her and her father?’

  ‘Oh, Gudrún is a good girl,’ Sveinn said. ‘You can tell that just from looking at her. Works hard, passes exams, has nice clean boyfriends. Dad used to point out to me what a good girl she was.’

  ‘So no major arguments?’ Vigdís said.

  ‘Not until last week.’

  ‘Last week?’

  ‘Yeah. Gudrún called me. I’d seen the news about how Dad had shot the polar bear and was a big hero. I knew Gudrún would be upset about that; she’s a big Save the Whales supporter. And save the orang-utan. And the chimpanzee. So I was pretty sure I could guess her attitude to Dad shooting a polar bear.’

  Ólafur glanced at Vigdís. Gudrún hadn’t said anything about an argument.

  ‘So they had a fight?’ Ólafur asked.

  ‘A massive one. But it wasn’t just that Gudrún was upset that he had killed the polar bear. It was how he had done it.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Gudrún has a friend who works in the petrol station – Lilja. Anyway, she told Gudrún she had spoken to an old farmer who lives on the other side of the river from where the bear was shot. Apparently, Dad let a little girl wander over to the bear so he could shoot it, rather than getting the little girl out of the way and letting the bear escape. Gudrún was horrified that Dad would use a child as bait like that.’ Sveinn broke the cigarette between his fingers and swore. ‘But I’m not surprised. If Dad thought he had a chance to be the guy who shot the polar bear, then he would take some big risks. And not just with his own life.’

  ‘Did your father teach you to shoot?’ Vigdís asked.

  Sveinn frowned. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Were you any good?’

  Sveinn nodded. ‘Not bad. Not as good as Dad, though. He was an excellent shot.’

  ‘What about Gudrún?’

  ‘She wasn’t a bad shot either, for a girl. Not as good as me.’ Sveinn’s brows knitted again. ‘Hold on. What are you suggesting?’

  ‘We’re just asking questions,’ Ólafur said.

  ‘No, you’re not. You’re suggesting that Gudrún shot Dad, aren’t you? Well, you know what? You’re out of your minds. You’ve met Gudrún. She would never shoot anyone, let alone Dad, no matter how angry she was with him.’

  ‘Just a couple more questions,’ said Ólafur.

  ‘No! No way! I’m not answering any more questions.’ Sveinn got to his feet and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. ‘You two are mental, you are. Bloody useless. All you cops are bloody useless. My dad was bloody useless.’ A tear appeared in his eye, but he rushed from the kitchen before it had a chance to escape. He threw open the back door and lit up outside.

  Ólafur glanced at Vigdís. ‘I think we need to invite Gudrún down to the station, don’t you?’

  Björn was waiting for them.

  ‘We heard back from the digital forensics guys in Reykjavík,’ he said. ‘Just a preliminary report, but it seems that between 14.38 and 17.53 on the afternoon of the murder, Martin – or someone acting as Martin – was playing Call of Duty online.’

  ‘Who with?’

  ‘Three people. Two Germans and a Dutchman.’

  Ólafur glanced at Vigdís. ‘Sounds as if Martin may be telling the truth. He was playing a computer game when the shot was heard at about five or five-fifteen.’

  Vigdís’s heart had leaped at the news, but she was determined not to let it blind her. She needed her head to be in control.

  ‘Possibly,’ she said. ‘Alex may have gone out and shot Halldór while Martin was playing the game. Or Martin may have constructed an alibi somehow with some German friends.’

  ‘Björn, see what the digital guys can do to confirm that he really was online. And get the Europol people in Reykjavík to get in touch with Germany. We need real detectives to talk to real people about this, not online bullshit.’

  ‘It will take a while to go through Europol.’

  ‘Which is why we need to get on to it quickly.’

  ‘Yes, Ólafur!’

  ‘Now, let’s talk to Gudrún.’ Ólafur hesitated. ‘And Vigdís. I’ll lead, but if you want to ask something, do.’

  Halldór’s daughter looked alone and vulnerable in the interview room. Ólafur switched on the recorder and introduced himself, Vigdís, the uniformed officer and Gudrún.

  ‘Why am I here?’ Gudrún said. She looked scared.

  ‘Because you lied to us,’ said Ólafur.

  ‘Lied? What do you mean?’

  ‘You didn’t tell us that you had left university two days early to try to save the mother polar bear. Or that you had had a big argument with your father just before he died.’

  The anxiety on Gudrún’s face ratcheted up. ‘Did my brother tell you this?’

  ‘Yes. And your tutor at the university. But the question is, why didn’t you tell us?’

  Gudrún lowered her eyes to the desk.

  ‘Look at me, Gudrún,’ said Ólafur. ‘Why did you lie to us?’

  Gudrún didn’t look up.

  ‘Are you Foxgirl?’ Vigdís asked. ‘Did you tell Alex and Martin to come to Raufarhöfn and disrupt the hunt for the other bear?’

  Now Gudrún looked up. She nodded miserably.

  ‘Did you think we wouldn’t find out?’

  ‘I don’t know. I suppose so.’

  ‘Did you talk to Martin and Alex when they got here?’ Vigdís asked.

  ‘No,’ said Gudrún. ‘I didn’t want them to know that I was Foxgirl. That I was the daughter of the man who had shot the polar bear. And I didn’t want Dad to find out that I had been in touch with them. So I kept quiet.’

  ‘Does anyone know that you are Foxgirl?’

  ‘My friends at the university. And a couple of people around here.’

  ‘Sonja Jósepsdóttir? The teacher in Húsavík?’

  ‘Yes. She would know who I am.’

  ‘But not Martin Fiedler and Alex Einarsson?’

  ‘No. And definitely not Dad.’

  ‘So what did you argue with your father about?’ Ólafur asked.

  ‘Him shooting the polar bear.’ Gudrún shook her head. ‘I know him. He wanted the glory. He wanted to be the one who shot the bear. In Bolungarvík in the West Fjords they have a stuffed polar bear in the museum. Dad would have loved that. A little museum with a stuffed polar bear “shot by Constable Halldór Sveinsson”.’ She shuddered. ‘Horrible.’

  ‘And what did he say when you criticized him?’

  ‘He said that he had to shoot the bear to protect the little girl. But that’s not what really happened. Lilja in the petrol station told me that the farmer next door saw the whole thing. Dad wasn’t saving the little girl; he was using her as bait to shoot the bear. With a .22! He could easily have missed and then the girl would be dead. All for his vanity!’

  Then Gudrún put her hand to her mouth and began to sob. ‘Listen to me, blaming him. He’s dead now! And I hated him just before he died. He and I loved each other. Why did it have to end like that? With a fight? I want him back. I want Mum back.’

  Ólafur and Vigdís watched the girl break down in front of them. Vigdís glanced at Ólafur. He nodded.

  ‘Gudrún?’ she said gently. ‘Did you shoot your father?’

  The girl stopped sobbing and she looked at Vigdís with incredulity. ‘What?’

  ‘Did you shoot your father?’

  ‘He was shot with a .22 rifle,’ said Ólafur. ‘Your father owned a .22 rifle. You know how to shoot it.’

  ‘I thought those two activists who came shot him? I thought you had arrested them?’

  ‘We can send your father’s gun for analysis. We can see if the bullet we found in your father’s skull was fired from the gun. If you shot him, we will find out.�
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  ‘But I didn’t shoot him!’ said Gudrún. She looked at both detectives, her face a mixture of misery, confusion and fear. ‘I didn’t shoot him,’ she said much more quietly. ‘Oh, my God! You really think I shot my father, don’t you?’

  ‘We know you had an argument with him,’ said Ólafur. ‘We know that you were angry about the polar bear and the little girl. We can check the rifle.’

  ‘Check it then!’ said Gudrún, and then she started to sob. ‘This doesn’t make any sense. I remember what Dad told me about all this. I won’t say anything more to you without a lawyer.’

  And she didn’t.

  They needed to get Halldór’s rifle to Reykjavík for ballistics analysis as fast as possible. Ólafur persuaded the coastguard to lend them one of the helicopters they had been using to look for the polar bear, and one of Edda’s forensic technicians took the bagged-up rifle and hitched a lift to Reykjavík.

  They kept Gudrún in the cell overnight – her father’s police cell. With luck they would hear back within twenty-four hours and then charge her.

  ‘We’ve done just about all we can for today,’ said Ólafur later. ‘I’m going for a run.’

  ‘I’ve still got some paperwork to finish up,’ said Vigdís. ‘If you’ll let me.’

  Ólafur glanced at the other two policemen working at their desks. ‘Come outside with me, Vigdís.’

  She followed him out to his car.

  ‘Well done,’ Ólafur said. ‘That was good work. I’m glad I listened to you.’

  ‘So am I,’ said Vigdís dryly.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry, but when this is over, I will have to submit an official report to Chief Superintendent Thorkell. I will tell him you played an important part in the investigation. But what you did was totally unacceptable. If Martin Fiedler had in fact killed Halldór, you would have ruined any chance of securing a conviction.’

  ‘I know,’ said Vigdís. She had been sure that Martin was innocent. She was also sure that Ólafur was right: she had acted unprofessionally. She couldn’t expect anything else from Ólafur; she had only herself to blame.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘Hi, Vigdís!’

  Vigdís looked up from her paperwork to see the large familiar figure of Magnus grinning at her. She grinned back.