Sindri sat down at the dining table and folded his arms. ‘All right, what do you want?’ he said. His deep voice was defiant, but there was something friendly about his puffy eyes that he couldn’t quite hide.
Magnus glanced up at the big painting on the wall by the table. ‘Did you do that?’ he asked.
‘I did.’
‘Is it Bjartur of Summerhouses?’
‘Amazing. A cop who reads.’
‘Independent People is a good book.’
‘It’s a great book. Everyone in Iceland should be forced to read it now. In fact they should have read it five years ago. If there were more Bjarturs around and fewer Ólafur Tómassons, this country would be one of the great survivors of the credit crunch.’
‘There’s something in that,’ said Magnus.
Sindri grunted. He obviously didn’t like policemen agreeing with him.
‘We want to ask you about the protests over the winter,’ Magnus said.
‘Oh, yes? It’s a bit late to round up the usual suspects, isn’t it? But there will be more of them, you know,’ Sindri said. ‘The people won’t put up with this Icesave agreement. Why should our grandchildren and great-grandchildren have to repay debts that were incurred by a bunch of crooks we had no knowledge of?’
‘Why indeed?’ said Magnus.
Sindri was off. ‘The government are just bending over backwards for the British and the Dutch. What is all this crap? “The Icelandic nation will always stand by its obligations.” Why the fuck should we? That’s what I want to know. We should tell the British to get their money off the bankers themselves and leave the rest of us out of it.’
Sindri nodded, encouraging himself. ‘I knew this would happen. We have a socialist government now, but what’s the point? They are just like the last lot, but weaker. They haven’t actually done anything. It’s nearly a year since the banks went bust and they still haven’t brought a banker to justice. Not one single one. Yet you guys raided the squat around the corner and threw ordinary people out on to the streets.’
Magnus had heard of the raid, although it took place just before he arrived in Iceland. Drug-dealers, he had heard, and some of them dangerous at that. But he didn’t defend his colleagues.
‘I get it,’ said Sindri. ‘You’re trying to take me out before the new protests start.’
‘Actually, no,’ said Magnus. ‘We want to ask you about one protest in particular. Tuesday the twentieth of January. The day Parliament came back from its recess.’
‘Oh, I remember that one. Or at least the beginning of it. I missed some of the fun later on that night. Left too early. I went out the next day, the Wednesday, though.’
‘Do you know Harpa Einarsdóttir and Björn Helgason?’ Vigdís asked.
‘No.’
‘You were seen with both of them at the demonstration that day. They stuck with you most of the afternoon.’
‘Have you been looking at your surveillance videos?’ Sindri asked. ‘I’ve often wondered what you did with them.’
‘You are seen with Harpa and Björn.’
‘And lots of other people,’ Sindri said. ‘I like to talk to people at these things. You’ve seen the video footage. You know.’
‘So you don’t remember these two?’ Magnus asked.
Sindri paused. ‘Wait a minute. I think I remember Harpa. Dark curly hair? Cute?’
‘That’s right. Have you seen her since then?’
‘No, unfortunately. And I’ve got no idea who this Björn guy is. I went to all the protests. They all merge into one after a while.’
‘Did you go anywhere with them afterwards?’ Magnus asked.
‘No. I was a bit pissed. I came back here, had a bit more to drink. Went to sleep. As I said, it was a shame. Things got a bit more exciting later on, apparently.’
‘Did you come back here alone?’
‘Quite alone.’
‘Harpa and Björn didn’t come with you?’
‘No.’
‘They were seen following you. Where did they leave you?’
‘I really can’t remember,’ said Sindri. He smiled.
A dead end. Sindri knew it. And Magnus knew it.
‘Have you been abroad recently?’ Magnus asked.
‘No,’ said Sindri. ‘Can’t afford it. No one can afford it these days. I went to Germany at the end of last year to publicize my book, but nothing since then.’
‘And where were you on last Tuesday evening?’
‘Um. Let me think.’ Sindri made a show of struggling to remember. But Magnus had the impression that he had an answer already prepared and he was just delaying for effect. That was interesting.
‘I was in a bookshop. Eymundsson’s. A friend of mine was launching his book there. They’ll remember. Why? What am I supposed to have done?’
‘What about yesterday?’
‘Did nothing. Went to the Grand Rokk at lunchtime. Spent most of the day there.’
‘The Grand Rokk?’ said Vigdís. ‘You mean the bar?’
‘Yes. It’s just around the corner.’ Then Sindri’s eyes widened. ‘Wait a minute!’ He jabbed a finger at Magnus. ‘That’s where I’ve seen you. The Grand Rokk.’
‘Possibly,’ said Magnus.
‘Not possibly. Certainly. You’re the guy who lived in America, aren’t you?’ He laughed. ‘Last time I saw you, you were pissed out of your head.’
Vigdís’s eyes darted to Magnus and then back at Sindri.
‘Did anyone see you there yesterday?’ she asked.
Sindri ignored her. ‘I thought you had a bit of an American accent.’ He smiled. ‘“Who loves ya baby?” Isn’t that what Kojak says?’ He raised his thumb and index finger in the sign of a revolver being cocked. ‘“Make my day.”’
Magnus leaped to his feet, kicking back his chair. With two strides he was on Sindri, grabbing him around the collar. Sindri was heavy but Magnus was strong. He wrenched the big man out of his chair and shoved him against the wall.
‘Listen, asshole,’ he said in English. ‘You know what happened to Óskar Gunnarsson and Gabríel Örn Bergsson. And probably Julian Lister as well. Now it seems to me you’ve got a choice to make. Whether you spend the rest of your life in a French jail or a British one. It’s just a shame I can’t find a space for you in Cedar Junction back home. You’d enjoy that.’
Magnus saw the fear in Sindri’s eyes.
He let him go. ‘We’ll be back,’ he said.
It was a short distance from Sindri’s flat to police headquarters, which was at the eastern end of Hverfisgata opposite the bus station. Magnus was driving.
‘That’s not normally the way we conduct interviews here in Iceland,’ Vigdís said.
‘Maybe you should,’ said Magnus.
‘The Grand Rokk is a bit of a dive, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t go there often.’
They drove on in silence.
‘If you have a problem, I know people you can talk to,’ Vigdís said.
‘Why is it that if a guy has a drink on a Tuesday night, he’s an alcoholic, but if he gets totally shit-faced on a Friday, he’s just being sociable?’
‘I’m just saying,’ said Vigdís.
And that was all either of them said until they were back in the station.
Harpa served Klara, who was a regular customer, and partial to Dísa’s vínarbraud. She was well into her seventies, and came in at about the same time every day for a slice. She liked to take her time over the purchase and usually Harpa was happy to chat, but this time she was distracted, only half listening.
She was pleased with how firm she had been with Frikki. But the more she thought about it, the more she worried that the kid might have a point. She was sure that Björn wasn’t involved in any way with Óskar’s death, or with Lister’s. She had no idea about Ísak. But Sindri?
For years the man had publicly espoused violence to defeat capitalism. But then for years he had done nothing about it, as far as Harpa had heard. Icelanders loved to talk politics, to complain, to demand change, but they didn’t resort to violence, even the anarchists. Harpa guessed that the big man was all talk.