‘Scheme?’
‘Some plan you lot had, some scheme you were mixed up in. The words she used were that you had “an incredible nerve”. She didn’t know what the scheme involved but it won’t take me long to find out. Thanks for your cooperation.’
They shook hands and he left Knútur standing in the doorway, his baby face twisted with anxiety.
39
The police had made little headway with Höddi and Thórarinn, and Sigurdur Óli and Finnur were confronted by the same show of rudeness and arrogance when they resumed their questioning later that day.
‘What bitch is that then?’ retorted Höddi, when asked whether he knew Lína.
‘Taking that tone won’t help you,’ Finnur informed him.
‘Taking that tone,’ Höddi mimicked him. ‘Are you telling me how to talk now? Try talking less like a twat yourself.’
‘How do you know Thórarinn?’ asked Sigurdur Óli.
‘I don’t know him. Thórarinn who? Who’s he when he’s at home?’
Höddi was escorted back to his cell and Thórarinn brought to the interview room instead. He made himself comfortable, his gaze swinging from Finnur to Sigurdur Óli in turn, as if he were enjoying the whole performance.
‘You claim you were calling in a drugs debt when you attacked Sigurlína Thorgrímsdóttir, but her husband knows nothing about any such debt. He says they never bought anything from you.’
‘Why should he know about it?’ countered Thórarinn.
‘Are you implying that Lína did business with you without her husband’s knowledge?’
‘Wow, were you born yesterday or what? She owed me money for drugs. And the whole thing was self-defence.’
‘You’re prepared to spend sixteen years inside for the sake of a minor debt?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Don’t you think it’s rather a feeble motive for a life sentence? A bit of dope?’
‘I don’t get it.’
‘A minor drugs deal.’
‘What? You mean, what if it was something else? Would that make a difference?’
The question sounded sincere. Thórarinn’s lawyer, who was also present, sat up in his chair.
‘There could be all sorts of mitigating circumstances,’ said Finnur.
‘Like, for example, let’s say you were acting on someone else’s behalf, just being used by them,’ suggested Sigurdur Óli. ‘While you yourself were unconnected to the case; had no direct link and therefore no personal interest in it.’
Sigurdur Óli did his best to put it tactfully, though he was far from confident that there was any truth in what he was suggesting.
‘And we would be able to inform the court that you’d been cooperative,’ he added, ‘which could be to your advantage.’
‘Cooperative?’
‘All we want is to solve this case. The question is, what do you want? How do you want us to solve it? And don’t waste our time making up crap about self-defence. You were at the scene. You were the cause of Lína’s death. We know that. Everyone knows that. All we need is the motive, the real reason you went to see her. Or we can solve it on your terms and you can do sixteen years — ten with time off for good behaviour — all for the sake of something that can hardly have been worth more than, what, a hundred thousand, two hundred thousand kronur?’
Sigurdur Óli had Thórarinn’s full attention now.
‘It might be possible to understand how you could have lost control and hit Lína too hard, when all you meant to do was hurt her, not kill her. Get it? It wouldn’t make sense to get rid of her, after all, since she wouldn’t be able pay you back if you killed her. Then not only would you never recover your money but you’d be in a worse predicament than before; forced to hide out under Birgir’s floor. But maybe there’s another side to the story. Maybe someone sent you to see Lína and asked you to knock her around a bit and you accidentally overdid it. Then whoever sent you would be liable too. On the other hand, perhaps he did send you to kill her. We have to consider that possibility too. In which case he’ll walk free for all the years that you’re going to spend inside. Does that sound fair to you?’
Thórarinn was still listening intently.
‘Then of course there’s the most straightforward explanation,’ continued Sigurdur Óli. ‘That you went there with the intention of killing her and that it had nothing to do with any debt or job for anyone else, but was prompted by some other motive that you don’t want us to know about. It’s perfectly conceivable, you know, that you went to see her with the sole purpose of killing her and were just taking a final swing at her head when you were interrupted. I’m inclined to that explanation because of the stupid way you fled the scene. And because you tried to cover your tracks when you went round to her house in the first place. That tells us that the whole thing was premeditated; that you always intended to kill Lína.’
It had been a long speech and Sigurdur Óli was not sure whether Thórarinn had taken in everything he had spelled out or insinuated, all the aspects he had played down or exaggerated; the way he had tried to close one avenue while opening another, all depending on how Thórarinn read the situation. Sigurdur Óli knew he had nothing to go on except vague suspicions but he had decided to lay them on the table and examine the reaction. Some of what he said must have sounded far-fetched to Thórarinn, but other parts — or so Sigurdur Óli hoped — might open up the way for a conversation.
‘Do you make a lot of ridiculous speeches?’ asked Thórarinn’s fat, sleepy-eyed lawyer.
‘I’m not aware that anyone was talking to you,’ snapped Sigurdur Óli.
Thórarinn giggled. Finnur, meanwhile, sat silently at Sigurdur Óli’s side, his expression unchanging.
‘What kind of manners do you call that?’ asked the lawyer.
‘That was the biggest load of shit I’ve ever heard,’ said Thórarinn.
‘Fine, Toggi,’ replied Sigurdur Óli. ‘Then the case is closed. We couldn’t be happier.’
‘Yeah, right, I can tell.’
‘Then it’s just a question of how you want the murder to go on the record and whether someone else is clever enough to get off scot-free and enjoy the high life while you’re serving a sixteen-year jail sentence. You’ll look like a prize idiot.’
‘Hey, wait a minute,’ protested the lawyer.
‘I just thought you ought to mull it over.’
‘Thank you,’ said Thórarinn. ‘You’re a real gent.’
When they met that evening at a quiet Thai restaurant near the Hlemmur bus station, Sigurdur Óli sensed immediately that Bergthóra was in a better mood. She had arrived before him and got up and kissed him on the cheek when he came in, fresh from interrogating Thórarinn.
‘Are you getting anywhere with the case?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know. There’s a chance it’s more complicated than we thought. What about you? How are things?’
‘Bearable.’
‘So, you’ve got a new boyfriend?’
His attempt to sound indifferent was only partially successful and she picked up the signals.
‘I don’t know — it’s all so recent.’
‘It’s what, three weeks since you got together?’
‘Yes, or a month, something like that. He works for a bank.’
‘Who doesn’t these days?’
‘Is everything OK?’
‘Yes, fine, I just thought that we, that we were going to try every avenue …’
‘I thought so too,’ Bergthóra answered, ‘but you never made any concessions …’
‘… and then this happens.’
‘… and you never showed any interest.’
The waiter came over and they asked him to choose their dishes for them. Sigurdur Óli decided to have a beer, Bergthóra a glass of white wine. They tried to conduct their conversation in low murmurs as the room was small and all the tables were occupied. The aroma of Thai cooking, the quiet oriental music and chatter of the other customers had a soothing effect and they sat in silence for some minutes after the waiter had gone.