‘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.
It was bad enough having to lie to Dísa, or at least to conceal the truth. But it was Markús that Harpa was having real problems with. She couldn’t look him in the eye. She couldn’t look her own son in the eye!
He had begun to realize something was wrong. Usually so well behaved, he had started to act up. That would only get worse.
And now that the police knew that Óskar was his father, it would be impossible for Harpa to keep that quiet. Markús would find out in the end, as would Óskar’s family. Maybe even the press. And then, eventually, he would discover that his mother was a murderer.
Harpa had a strong bond with her son. The fear that that might be shattered terrified her.
She was desperate to call Björn. But he was out in the middle of the Atlantic somewhere.
She couldn’t go on like this. She should put an end to it all. Go to the police station and confess everything. Face up to what she had done. She hadn’t meant to kill Gabríel, the judge would understand that. Perhaps she would be found guilty of manslaughter instead of murder. She would go to jail, but not for the rest of her life. This was Iceland after all, with its famously lenient legal system.
But they would arrest Björn as well. He would probably be locked up as an accessory or conspirator or whatever they called it, as would the others who had helped her, even that student, Ísak, who had been suspicious of her at first. They had done so much for her, she couldn’t betray them now.
And what about Markús? Sure, her mother would look after him, look after him very well, but Harpa couldn’t bear the thought of missing him grow up.
She took a deep breath. Somehow she would have to get through this, stick to her story, keep her wits about her, keep herself out of jail. Somehow she would have to find the strength to do that.