‘OK. We should also go through the phone book, just in case. There are bound to be some people whose real name is Ingólfur Arnarson.’
‘Worth checking. And you could ask Frikki when you speak to him again this morning. Let’s hope he’s more talkative after his night in the cells.’
‘We’re going to have to tell Baldur,’ said Vigdís. ‘These people are in danger. Or at least one of them is. And we don’t know which one.’
‘Leave it with me,’ said Magnus.
‘Before you go, I saw Björn’s brother yesterday. He was in Tenerife for a week with his girlfriend, came back Monday. Iceland Express confirms it. They both flew out, they both flew back.’
‘Well, that pretty much rules him out,’ said Magnus. ‘Speak to you later.’
He took a deep breath and called Baldur. He told him about Ingileif, Sindri and Ingólfur Arnarson. He got the ridicule he expected, but not for the reason he expected it.
‘Do you really think I’m going to take any notice of this information?’ Baldur asked.
‘Well, yes,’ said Magnus. ‘We need to warn all the Outvaders we can find. Their lives might be in danger.’
‘These are still some of the most important people in the country. And you want me to put them on high alert on the basis of the ravings of a drunken fantasist trying to get a woman into bed?’
‘He’s not necessarily a fantasist,’ said Magnus.
‘Oh yes he is,’ said Baldur. ‘We’ve been watching Sindri on and off for at least a decade. He talks big, but he doesn’t do anything. People like Sindri never do anything. And when they get drunk they just talk bigger.’
‘So you think that Sindri was just boasting?’
‘Show me evidence that he wasn’t.’
‘We saw him with Björn and Harpa at the demonstrations in January.’
‘Which proves nothing.’
‘All right,’ said Magnus. He had been reluctant to make the phone call in the first place. If Baldur didn’t want to respond to it, there was nothing much more Magnus could do.
Perhaps Vigdís would get something out of the kid.
Sophie sat at the back of the small lecture theatre. European Human Rights. She had no idea what the lecturer was saying, her concentration had wandered within the first minute.
The seat next to her was empty. It was usually where Zak sat, but Zak was… Zak was where, exactly? She had no idea.
She had scarcely slept all night. She had called his mobile and texted him at regular intervals without reply, and then, first thing in the morning, she had called his home number.
His mother had answered. To the polite question ‘how are you?’ the woman had answered, ‘fine’. She wasn’t supposed to be fine, she was supposed to be dying, but maybe she was just being polite in return. But when Sophie had asked to speak to Ísak, she was told he had disappeared on a camping trip.
Then his mother had asked whether there was anything wrong with Ísak, and Sophie had answered, truthfully, ‘I don’t know.’
Sophie was worried about what Josh had said the night before about Zak asking about Julian Lister’s holiday arrangements. That was very strange: she could think of no plausible explanation. She knew that Zak hadn’t actually shot the ex-Chancellor himself, he was at home in London on Sunday. Although he had gone to church that day. And Sophie knew for a fact that Zak didn’t believe in God.
Something was up. All her instincts were screaming at her that something was up.
But what? Sophie couldn’t really believe that Zak was a terrorist, or part of a conspiracy of terrorists. In which case why not call the police with her suspicions? Let them clear him. She had the card that the policewoman had left Zak in her jeans pocket.
Because it would be disloyal, that was why. She would never be able to look Zak in the eye again.
Josh was sitting at the front of the lecture theatre, typing away on his laptop. Really taking notes, probably, he didn’t look like a Facebook surfing type.
He was a bright guy, if a little overenthusiastic. Sophie scarcely knew him – she remembered some perceptive questions he had asked in that class, and some that were a little out there.
She had an idea.
When, finally, the lecture finished, Sophie was one of the first through the exit, which was at the back of the theatre by her seat. She loitered, waiting to pounce. Josh was the third to last out.
‘Josh!’
‘Oh, hi. Sophie, isn’t it?’ He shrank back a little.
‘Can I have a quick chat about something?’
‘If it’s about what I said about your boyfriend last night, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. I’m sure I was wrong.’
‘It is about that,’ said Sophie. ‘And quite frankly I don’t know whether you are wrong or right. But, well, if Zak really did ask you the questions you say he did about Lister, then I think you should tell the police.’
‘I’m sure he didn’t mean anything,’ said Josh.
‘Listen to me, Josh,’ Sophie said, looking straight into his eyes. ‘I’m not at all sure of that. Do you understand me? You might be right, I just don’t know. Here’s the number of a policewoman who interviewed Zak a couple of days ago. If you’re still suspicious, call her. OK?’
‘OK,’ said Josh, staring at the card Sophie had handed him.
He let her go first, and then ambled into Clare Market in the heart of the tight cluster of buildings that made up the London School of Economics, pulled out his phone and dialled the number. Detective Sergeant Piper didn’t answer, but he left a message.
Josh was always having outlandish theories but none of them ever turned out to be true. Could that really be about to change?
Magnus walked the short distance to Ingileif’s gallery. It was on Skólavördustígur, a short road that led up the hill from Laugavegur directly to the scaffolding-clad sweeping spire of the Hallgrímskirkja. The street was lined with galleries and art shops, although since the arrival of the kreppa quite a few had closed. Ingileif’s gallery had survived, just. She owned it with five partners, all female artists of one kind or another. They sold paintings, jewellery, some furniture, fish-skin bags designed by Ingileif herself, lava candle-holders and some small items of furniture. All high-end expensive stuff.
As Magnus walked past the window, he saw her staring outside, an empty expression on her face. Even though she was looking straight at him, she didn’t seem to see him. It was only when he walked through the door that she noticed him.
She smiled quickly and briefly. He held her. After a few seconds they broke apart. She turned away from him, moving towards the back of the gallery, putting a little distance between them.
‘I’m sorry I stormed out on you last night,’ Ingileif said. ‘I was pretty drunk.’
‘I could tell.’
‘But why don’t you trust me, Magnús?’
‘I do.’
‘No, you don’t,’ Ingileif said. Pink spots appeared on her pale cheeks, a sure sign that she was either angry or embarrassed. Magnus guessed angry. ‘Admit it, you don’t trust me.’
‘I do,’ Magnus said. ‘I didn’t last night, but I do now.’
‘Why now? What’s changed? Magnús, I did it all for you, don’t you see that? Do you think I enjoyed listening to that fat old man droning on for hours on end? Do you think I actually wanted to sleep with him? I was trying to help you out. I thought you’d be pleased with me, instead of which you are upset because I didn’t stick to the rules and you think I enjoy seducing old men. I’m sorry, but if you think that, there isn’t much of a future for us.’
Magnus sighed. ‘I don’t think that, Ingileif. You’re right, I got the wrong end of the stick. I didn’t understand what you were doing. And it’s true I don’t completely understand you. That’s one of the reasons why I love you.’
Ingileif’s grey eyes searched Magnus’s. He didn’t know whether they found what they were looking for.