‘Harpa didn’t mention that you and she still had a relationship.’
Björn shrugged. ‘It’s not a secret. As I said, she was upset. You probably didn’t ask her.’
‘No, we didn’t,’ Magnus admitted. But he still had the impression Harpa had been trying to hide it. ‘Had you two met before the night Gabríel Örn died?’
‘No. We first met at the demo that afternoon. I had come down from Grundarfjördur for it specially. I had been to one of the Saturday protests before Christmas and, well, I thought it was important to be there. I wanted to be heard. I wanted the government to resign.’
‘Tell me about that evening.’
Björn’s story tallied pretty closely with Harpa’s. He was vague on the details, arguing quite reasonably that the whole thing had happened nine months before. Magnus took him backwards and forwards over the same ground and tried to trip him up.
Nothing.
So Magnus changed the subject. ‘Has Harpa told you about Óskar Gunnarsson?’
‘Yes,’ Björn said. ‘She said you thought she was linked in some way to his murder.’
‘We were just asking questions.’
‘You should be careful how you ask them,’ Björn said. ‘Harpa has never got over Gabríel Örn’s suicide. From what she tells me about him the man was a jerk, but I think in some ways that makes it worse for her. She feels guilty about going out with him, about breaking it off. She’s a mess. Your questions don’t help.’
‘Do you think she had anything else to feel guilty about?’
‘No,’ said Björn calmly.
‘Had you ever met Óskar?’
‘No,’ said Björn.
‘Has Harpa told you anything about her relations with him?’
‘No. I didn’t think there were any.’
Magnus took out a photograph of Óskar. ‘Do you know who this is?’
‘That’s him, isn’t it? I’ve seen his picture in the paper.’
‘That’s right. Now, does he remind you of anyone?’
Björn studied the picture. ‘Looks a bit like Hugh Grant perhaps. Darker hair.’
‘No. Someone you know.’
Björn shook his head.
‘Markús.’
Björn looked at Magnus in surprise. ‘What? Harpa’s Markús?’ He studied the picture more closely. ‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘No, it’s not. Didn’t you know?’
‘What do you mean, didn’t I know? Know what? What are you suggesting?’
‘I’m suggesting that Óskar was Markús’s father.’
‘That is ridiculous.’
‘Harpa confirmed it.’
‘When?’
‘Yesterday.’
Björn studied the photograph more carefully.
‘She didn’t tell you then?’ Magnus said.
‘I still don’t believe you.’
‘Did she say who the father was?’
‘No. I asked her once, she didn’t want to answer, and so I never asked her again. It was none of my business.’ He handed the photograph back to Magnus. ‘It’s still none of my business.’
Magnus had to admire Björn’s composure. A couple of fishermen strolled past, nodded at Björn and Páll, and stared at Magnus, the stranger from out of town, with undisguised curiosity.
‘Did you know that Harpa travelled to London recently?’ Magnus asked.
‘Yes. A couple of months back. Just for a few days.’
‘Do you know why?’
‘She said she needed a break.’
‘How could she afford it?’
Björn shrugged. ‘I don’t know. She used to be a banker. She’s probably got savings. It’s true she’s usually careful with money, but she deserved a treat.’
‘Did she tell you she saw Óskar?’
‘No,’ said Björn.
‘Are you jealous?’ Magnus asked.
‘Of course I’m not jealous!’ Björn said. ‘Look. If there’s one person in this world I trust, it’s Harpa. Who she saw before she met me is none of my business. I had no idea that Óskar was Markús’s father, and frankly I still don’t believe you. But if he was, maybe Harpa went to see him, I don’t know. And if she did, I’m not surprised she kept it a secret from me.’
‘Does it make you angry that Harpa keeps secrets from you?’
Björn stared hard at Magnus. His blue eyes were remarkably bright. And angry. But Magnus got the impression it was with him, not with Harpa. ‘No.’
‘Björn. Where were you on Tuesday night?’
‘Let me guess. Was that when Óskar was killed?’
‘Just answer the question.’
‘I was out at sea that day. Got back about seven. A good catch, lots of mackerel. Helped unload and clean up. Came home.’
‘And Wednesday morning?’
‘Went out again, early in the morning. Same boat. The Kría. She’s out right now, but she’ll be back later this afternoon. One of the regular crew had flu. Gústi is the skipper. Páll knows him.’ He nodded to the constable. ‘He can check with the crew. And actually on Tuesday night I went to the fishing company’s office to pick up some pay they owed me. You can ask Sóley, she’ll tell you. In fact they probably have it written down.’
He stared at Magnus. ‘So I wasn’t in London shooting bankers.’
‘Did you get what you needed?’
Magnus and Páll were walking back along the quayside towards the police station.
‘He’s a cool customer,’ Magnus said. ‘It’s hard to say whether he’s telling the truth. If he wanted to lie, he could do it well, I’m sure.’
‘I’ll check out his alibi,’ said Páll. ‘But I bet it will stand up. Which means he can’t have shot that banker.’
‘You’re probably right,’ said Magnus. ‘But be thorough. In a small town like this, people could easily cover for their friends.’
‘Gústi is an honest man,’ said Páll. ‘In fact, I’d have to say that Björn has a very good reputation here.’
‘Tell me,’ Magnus said. ‘Do you know him well?’
‘Quite well. As you say, this is a small town. He had his own boat, the Lundi. Bought it off his uncle. He was very successful, bought up more quotas, worked long hours. But he did it all on borrowed money, and when the kreppa came he had to sell. Since then he’s been crewing on other people’s boats whenever he can.’
‘Have you seen Harpa around?’
‘I think so. Curly dark hair? About one eighty high?’
Magnus was only just getting used to thinking metric again. Heights still confused him, but that sounded about right. ‘That’s her.’
‘She’s been here a couple of times.’
‘Does Björn ever get into trouble?’
‘No. Not here at any rate. I think he used to go down to Reykjavík to party every now and then. He stays with his brother Gulli down there.’
They walked on.
‘Magnús?’
‘Yes?’
‘I can’t imagine Björn murdering anyone.’
Magnus paused and looked at the constable. He had a bit of a belly and an imposing moustache, but he had kind eyes. And they were troubled.
‘Is Björn a friend of yours?’ Magnus asked.
‘No. Not exactly. But…’
‘But what?’
‘Did you have to tell him about his girlfriend’s son? I mean that the father was a banker? What does that really have to do with the police? Isn’t that a secret she has a right to keep from her boyfriend if she wants to?’
Magnus felt a flash of irritation. In a town like this, with a population of a thousand people, two thousand max, the loyalty of the local cop was more likely to be with his buddies than with a detective parachuted in from the big city.
But then Magnus needed Páll.
‘Murder is always painful. To the victims, to their friends and family, obviously, to all kinds of other people. Murder investigations hurt witnesses. I know you like Björn, and I hear what you say about him being a good guy. But we’ve just got to ask the questions. Every now and then we piss people off, good people. Although, unlike you, I’m not convinced Björn fits into that category.’
Páll grunted.