‘Is it possible that Felix could already have been picked up by a German submarine?’ asked Thorson. ‘Or that he might attempt to escape that way?’
‘Yes, it’s quite conceivable,’ said Ballantine.
‘So far we haven’t caught any German agents in Iceland,’ added Graham, scratching his chin. ‘This Felix would be the first. Have you identified the dead man in Felix’s apartment?’
‘No, sir, not yet,’ said Thorson. ‘We don’t have any leads. No one’s asked about him. No one seems to have noticed that he’s gone. At least, the Icelandic police haven’t gotten any reports of a missing person his age.’
‘I probably don’t need to point out, er — Thorson, isn’t it? — how important it is that you keep us informed of the progress of this investigation,’ said Graham. ‘I want you to deliver a verbal report on a daily basis, keeping us up to date with what the Icelanders have discovered. You’d better talk directly to me. The British are in the process of withdrawing and Ballantine here is no exception.’
‘I’m afraid you’ll have to discuss that with my commanding officer, sir,’ said Thorson, careful to keep his tone courteous. ‘Colonel Franklin Webster. I’m under orders to keep him informed about the inquiry. If he wants to make any changes to that arrangement, I’m sure he’ll let me know.’
‘Wouldn’t it make more sense for us to take over the inquiry?’ Graham asked, his eyes on Ballantine. ‘Can we do that? Surely there’s a risk the Icelanders will screw it up? Are they capable of dealing with an espionage case?’
‘With respect, sir, we don’t know for sure that the man’s death is connected to spying,’ Thorson pointed out. ‘The detective in charge of the case seems reliable and he’s very meticulous.’
‘You’re an Icelander yourself, aren’t you? Do you speak the lingo?’
‘Icelandic-Canadian, sir.’ Thorson corrected him. ‘I don’t really know if I’m Canadian or Icelandic. Both, I guess. I don’t believe the Icelanders need any—’
‘Yes, well, regardless of that, if they don’t come up with some results soon, we’ll have to step in,’ said Graham brusquely. ‘That’s the only way we’ll get anything done. The bullet comes from an American weapon. That’s enough for me. It’s our business.’
‘It would be problematic for us to interfere in the affairs of the Icelandic police, at least at this stage,’ said Ballantine calmly. ‘I’d advise holding back for the time being and keeping a close eye on them. I imagine that’s your role,’ he added, looking at Thorson. ‘Do we have incontrovertible proof that the suitcase containing the cyanide pill belonged to Felix Lunden?’
‘Who else could it belong to?’ asked Graham.
‘The dead man, for example,’ said Ballantine.
They both looked at Thorson as if they expected him to have the answer, but he didn’t, and neither did Flóvent. They had agreed that there was a strong chance the suitcase belonged to Felix, but Flóvent felt they shouldn’t entirely rule out the alternative: that the unidentified victim had brought it with him to the flat. If Ólafía was to be believed, her tenant had sold various items of the type that had been found in the case, but that still didn’t amount to proof that it was his.
‘The police are analysing the fingerprints on the suitcase,’ said Thorson. ‘They may provide some more clues, but the odds are pretty good that it belongs to Felix.’
‘This is our territory,’ Graham repeated, scowling. ‘We’ll take over sooner or later. It’s only a question of when.’
Shortly after this the meeting broke up, and Thorson headed back to his jeep. As he passed along the hospital corridors he caught glimpses of the old wards that had now been converted into offices for military personnel, and unconsciously he slowed his pace, his thoughts returning to the sick and the shunned, whose history still lingered in this building. He pictured the patients who had once occupied these rooms, afflicted by sores that couldn’t be concealed, but also by other, invisible wounds, eating away at their minds: the wounds of the outcast. He felt a deep sense of kinship with the building’s former residents. He was aware of his own inclinations, though he didn’t fully understand them, and knew that they were no less reviled by society than the leprosy which people had held in such dread that they had built this handsome hospital to contain it. These were feelings that he tried to avoid thinking about and refused to admit even to himself, yet they persisted and he was finding it increasingly hard to control them, though he didn’t dare breathe a word of them to anyone else for fear of exposure. He did his best to be on his guard, but sometimes he forgot himself, like yesterday when he’d narrowly avoided rousing the suspicions of the drunken singer.
Why are you staring at me like that?
11
Rudolf Lunden objected in the strongest possible terms to being brought in for questioning at the prison on Skólavördustígur. Two police officers had been dispatched to his home the morning after Flóvent’s visit. Before bringing him in, they had carried out a thorough search of the premises in case Felix was hiding there, ignoring Rudolf’s curses and threats that they wouldn’t keep their jobs for long. He was still furious two hours later when Flóvent arrived at the prison to take his statement. Flóvent had been at a meeting with Thorson, who had brought him up to date with the results of his trip to the Leper Hospital. The wait had not improved the doctor’s temper.
‘Have you any idea how humiliating it is to be picked up by the police from one’s home in this manner?’ he hissed at Flóvent.
They were sitting in the small interview room to which Rudolf had been escorted when he arrived at the prison. There he had been left to stew — without explanation, without anyone deigning to speak to him or offer him water or coffee to drink — seething with rage all the while.
‘You left me no choice, sir.’
‘A police car outside my house!’
‘You’ve shown absolutely no willingness to cooperate, sir,’ said Flóvent. He had known that his heavy-handed methods would do nothing to mollify the German. ‘You refused to answer my questions when I visited you at home, so I had no alternative but to bring you in. I assure you, sir, that I would much rather it hadn’t come to this.’
‘You are a fool!’ shouted Rudolf. ‘A damned, bloody fool!’
‘I wish I could say the same to you, sir, but I’m afraid I don’t know you well enough,’ said Flóvent. ‘All I know is that you’re not making life any easier for yourself by shouting at me and refusing to answer my questions and throwing me out of your house. You can hardly have been so naive as to believe that this would deter the police. There is every indication that your son has committed a murder. I would have thought you’d want to find out the truth of the matter — find out what actually happened. We don’t know where he is. If you’re protecting him that would make you an accessory to the crime, and I have to say that your conduct, both to me last night and to the police officers who had to bring you here by force, suggests that you have something to hide. For your own sake, I hope that’s not true, but I have to find out.’