Knútur listened.
‘This is what I think, and you’ll have to correct me if I’m wide of the mark. You slept with her, maybe after you got back to town. You may have slept together several times or only the once. Either way, it’s quite possible that she threatened you, that she had pictures of you together and threatened to send them to your wife. She was deceitful like that, unscrupulous. And you’d told her once when you were in bed together that — ’
‘That’s not true,’ protested Knútur.
‘- that you and your mates were involved in a clever scam that was going to make you stupidly rich. You didn’t tell her everything, but enough for her to go away and tell her partner about some scheme and that you lot had an incredible nerve.’
‘That’s just not true.’
‘You wanted to show off to her.’
‘No.’
‘Did she take pictures of you together?’
‘No.’
‘But you did sleep together?’
‘She didn’t take any pictures,’ said Knútur angrily. It was the first time Sigurdur Óli had seen him lose his temper. ‘And she didn’t threaten to tell my wife anything. I met her twice, both times in Reykjavík and — ’ Knútur broke off. ‘Does this have to come out?’
‘Just tell me what happened.’
‘I don’t want my wife to find out.’
‘Nor would I.’
‘It was the only time,’ Knútur said. ‘I’ve never done it before — cheated, I mean — but I … she was very determined.’
‘And you blurted it out to her?’
‘She wanted to know all about my job. I think she was more intrigued that I worked for a bank than that I was married. We never discussed that.’
‘But you talked a lot about the bank? And you tried to make yourself sound important.’
‘I told her …’ Knútur hesitated. ‘I don’t know if I was trying to show off. She was very interested and kept asking about all the ways people found to dodge paying tax and so on. She wanted to know about tax havens and I may have told her about some guys I knew who were working on a fail-safe plan to make a killing. But I didn’t say who. And I mentioned all sorts of different scenarios. But … I may have hinted that I was involved.’
‘So you weren’t trying to big yourself up?’
Knútur did not answer.
‘And your colleagues, Arnar, Sverrir and Thorfinnur; did you tell them about this liaison?’
‘No.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I didn’t tell anyone anything.’
‘Did she want money?’
‘No.’
‘Did you send the boys round to shut her up?’
‘No. To shut her up? I didn’t have any reason to. I don’t know any “boys”.’
‘It was vital that your wife didn’t find out.’
‘Yes, but I’d never have harmed Lína.’
‘So you don’t know Thórarinn or Hördur?’
‘No.’
‘And you didn’t send them round to persuade Lína to keep her mouth shut?’
‘No.’
‘Did she try to blackmail you when she found out what you and your friends were up to?’
‘No. She didn’t know because I didn’t tell her.’
‘I think you’re lying,’ said Sigurdur Óli, rising to his feet. ‘But we’ll go over it all in more detail tomorrow.’
‘I’m not lying,’ protested Knútur.
‘We’ll see about that.’
Knútur stood up as well. ‘I said I’m not lying.’
‘Did you know where Alain Sörensen’s money came from?’
‘No, not at first.’
‘But later?’
Knútur said nothing.
‘Was that why Thorfinnur died?’ Sigurdur Óli asked.
‘Get me a lawyer,’ said Knútur.
‘Is it not the case that you went up to Snaefellsnes with the intention of getting Thorfinnur back on side?’
‘I want a lawyer present.’
‘I suppose that might be best,’ said Sigurdur Óli and escorted him back to his cell.
He returned to his office to fetch his car keys and sat down briefly to go over his conversations with the three men. It looked as if they were going to play ball. But Sverrir was a tricky customer — unsurprisingly, as he probably bore the most responsibility. And he would have time to get his defence straight overnight.
Sigurdur Óli leafed through the printout of Höddi’s phone calls. He had not had a chance to read them properly and was not sure there was any point now. He noticed that Höddi was talking to someone who had been in contact before, someone who had come to his garage. The date of the call was recent.
SE: Will you do this for me?
HV: No problem, love.
SE: I can give you the fifty I mentioned.
HV: Consider it done.
SE: Thanks. Bye.
HV: Yeah, bye.
Sigurdur Óli stared at the printout. SE: Will you do this for me? The police knew the identities of Höddi’s callers; a list of their full names was appended to the printout. He looked up the initials and when he saw that his suspicion was correct a strange numbness spread through his body. One veil after another was stripped from before his eyes. He would have to apologise to Knútur for all manner of accusations he had just made. And he would have to apologise to Finnur, who had been right all along, whereas he had made a catastrophic blunder.
‘What were you thinking of?’ Sigurdur Óli whispered, carefully replacing the printout on his desk.
That same night he drove east, over the mountains, to the prison at Litla-Hraun to put a single question to Höddi. He knew he would not be able to sleep and dreaded what tomorrow would bring, but as much as he dreaded the inevitable, he would rather deal with it himself than leave it to someone else. After that he would resign from the case. Sigurdur Óli knew that he had been blind and was painfully aware why: he had believed himself to be sufficiently tough, sufficiently impartial and a sufficiently good policeman to resist being influenced, regardless of who was involved. But it had turned out that he was none of these.
Finding a guard he knew on duty, he talked him into waking up Höddi and bringing him to the interview room. The guard was very reluctant at first but let himself be persuaded by Sigurdur Óli’s repeated pleas that it was essential for the investigation.
As this was no formal interrogation they were alone in the interview room.
‘Have you lost the plot?’ asked Höddi, in a vile temper after being roused from a deep sleep.
‘Just one question,’ said Sigurdur Óli.
‘What the fuck? Why the hell do you have to wake me up in the middle of the night?’
‘How do you know Súsanna Einarsdóttir?’
51
They had a date at the cinema and he had asked to take his mother’s car to give her a lift.
‘Where are you going?’ Gagga had demanded, as she always did when he borrowed the car. He had only had his licence for a year and, although he had never had an accident, she did not entirely trust him.
‘The cinema,’ he answered.
‘Alone?’
‘With Patrekur,’ he lied, unwilling to admit the truth. That would come later, maybe, all being well.
‘Have you done your homework?’
‘Yes!’
He had scanned the listings and found that the American film she had mentioned was on at the Laugarás cinema. It was advertised as a romantic comedy, which should do. Something light, to make the experience less stressful, though hopefully not total dross.
He had met her at a school disco, the sort of gathering he usually made an effort to attend, especially if Patrekur was going too. In this case Patrekur had known about a party that was being held beforehand and had rustled up a litre of vodka, smuggled into the country by his cousin on the cargo ships.