They got to their vehicles, Magnus’s Range Rover parked next to Páll’s police car outside the wooden police station.
Ingileif was waiting. She had that air of barely suppressed excitement that Magnus knew well.
‘Good interview?’ she asked.
‘OK, I guess,’ said Magnus. ‘What is it?’
‘Páll, isn’t it?’ said Ingileif, giving the constable her best smile.
‘That’s right.’
‘I assume the town library isn’t open on Sundays?’
‘No.’
‘But you know the librarian?’
‘Yes. She’s my wife’s cousin.’
‘Is there any chance that you could get her to open it up for us?’
Páll glanced at Magnus. ‘Why?’
Ingileif looked at Magnus, her eyes shining. ‘When I was wandering around, I remembered something. A Benedikt Jóhannesson short story. I think it’s called something like “The Slip”. I need to show it to you.’
‘Is this police business?’ Páll asked Magnus.
‘No,’ Magnus said.
‘Of course it is!’ said Ingileif. ‘It’s about a murder. At Búland’s Head, fifty years ago.’
Páll raised his eyebrows. ‘I can’t get the library open for you, but my wife is a keen reader of Benedikt’s. She’s from around here, and he used to live over by the Berserkjahraun. We’ll see if she’s got the book you want.’
The policeman’s house was on the edge of town: it took all of five minutes to drive there. His wife’s name was Sara, and she did indeed have a copy of Benedikt Jóhannesson’s short stories. Eagerly, Ingileif found “The Slip”. It was only five pages.
She skimmed it and then began to read out loud. A boy was riding a horse along a cliff. He met the man who had raped his sister riding the other way. They squeezed past each other and the boy gave the other man’s horse a shove. Man and horse fell into the sea below.
‘Well?’ said Ingileif, her eyes shining.
‘You think Benedikt pushed my great-grandfather into the sea at Búland’s Head?’
‘Don’t you?’
Magnus glanced at Páll and his wife and their poorly concealed expressions of curiosity. He had blurted out his family’s secrets in front of these strangers without thinking, but it would be useful to learn if there was any local gossip that might cast some more light on those events. So he explained how his great-grandfather had died, and also the chapter in Moor and the Man that suggested that Gunnar had killed Benedikt’s father.
‘I remember that,’ said Sara. ‘It caused a little local scandal when that book came out. I was about fifteen at the time, I remember my parents discussing it. The mysterious disappearance of the farmer at Hraun was still talked about around these parts, even though it had happened fifty years before. And Benedikt’s book hinted at a solution, one that the locals noticed right away. He was murdered by his neighbour. And that was your great-grandfather?’
‘Yes. He lived at Bjarnarhöfn. I hadn’t heard anything about it until recently.’
‘And then of course Benedikt himself was murdered soon afterwards. But that was down in Reykjavík. I don’t think they ever caught whoever did it.’
‘Were there any rumours of a local connection?’
‘No, certainly not. That’s the kind of thing that happens in the big city, isn’t it? Nothing to do with people from around here.’
‘And nothing about Gunnar’s death on Búland’s Head?’
‘No. There were occasional accidents up there, especially in the old days before the road was improved. And of course there were lots of stories about trolls throwing people into the sea.’
‘I bet,’ said Magnus.
‘Are you investigating all this?’ Páll asked Magnus.
‘Only in a personal capacity,’ Magnus said. ‘It’s not official police business by any means. But thank you, Sara, for letting us look at your book. And please keep this to yourselves.’
Magnus knew he couldn’t be a hundred per cent sure of their discretion, but Páll was a policeman and they seemed decent enough.
‘No problem,’ said Sara, with a smile. ‘Although you can imagine how much the town would love this gossip. Stay and have some lunch with us. I’ve made some soup. I’m sure there is enough for two more.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE SOUP WAS indeed tasty; lamb and vegetables. Páll and Sara had two noisy but good-humoured kids and both Magnus and Ingileif enjoyed the good-natured warmth. Páll had to take the boy to basketball practice, so they left soon after the meal was over.
‘So, what do you think of that story?’ Ingileif asked. ‘Do you think your great-grandfather was pushed?’
Magnus smiled. ‘It’s the classic question, isn’t it? Did he fall or was he pushed? In this case I suppose it’s possible he was pushed. But who by?’
‘It must have been Benedikt himself.’
‘Or someone he knew well. A brother? I can’t believe he would as much as admit to it in a story.’
‘Perhaps he had to get it out of his system somehow,’ Ingileif said. ‘After all, that chapter in Moor and the Man is clearly about Gunnar.’
‘It could all be a coincidence,’ Magnus said.
‘You’re a cop. You don’t believe in coincidences, surely?’
‘Actually, I do,’ said Magnus. ‘In real life coincidences happen. You have to keep an open mind.’
‘So are we going to see Unnur? Find out if she has read that short story?’
‘I’ll give her a call,’ said Magnus.
Unnur agreed to meet them in an old restaurant in Stykkishólmur. It was a warm, cosy place, but empty apart from a Spaniard and an Icelander talking to each other about fish in English. There was a good view of the harbour, where a ferry was gathering speed as it headed off towards the West Fjords.
Unnur was waiting for them with a cup of coffee. Magnus introduced Ingileif.
‘I didn’t want to meet at the house this time,’ Unnur said. ‘My husband is at home, and I haven’t told him about the stuff with your father. I’m not proud of it: I’d rather he didn’t know.’
‘I understand,’ said Magnus. ‘But don’t worry. Like I said on the phone, we won’t talk about that.’
‘You read the chapter in Moor and the Man?’ Unnur asked.
‘I did,’ Magnus said. ‘You think that shows that Gunnar killed his neighbour?’
‘Yes. I’m pretty sure. As you can imagine there was a lot of gossip around here when the book came out. It didn’t take long for someone to spot the similarity. I was still working in Reykjavík at the time, but it was all the conversation of family visits.’
‘Do you know what Benedikt said about it?’
‘Oh, he denied it, but no one believed him. I think he was surprised that people had made the connection. And of course your grandfather said it was all nonsense. As you can imagine, he was angry about the whole thing. It was my aunt who convinced me that there was something in it.’
‘Your aunt?’
‘Yes. My uncle’s wife. She was also Benedikt’s older sister. She lived at Hraun at the time.’
‘And she confirmed the story?’
‘No,’ said Unnur. ‘She wouldn’t say anything. She just gave this kind of knowing smile.’
‘Did you know Benedikt?’
‘Only vaguely. We met once or twice at some of the larger family gatherings. A nice guy, very clever, rather quiet. His mother had sold the farm at Hraun and moved into town here. She used to own a clothes shop. I can just about remember it. She died some time in the sixties. But you said you have found another story?’
‘Yes. Ingileif remembered it. Do you own any of his short-story collections?’
‘No,’ Unnur said.
‘Well, there’s one called “The Slip”,’ Ingileif said. She summarized the story for Unnur, who listened closely.
‘I see,’ she said. ‘I seem to remember that Gunnar fell off a cliff somewhere, didn’t he?’
‘Yes,’ said Magnus. ‘On Búland’s Head. And he was riding a horse at the time. That was something my grandfather did tell me.’