‘I don’t doubt it for a minute. A woman like her. Christ, they must have been queuing up.’ Wiggins bared his teeth in a grin.
‘Is she planning to go to England with you when the war’s over?’
‘What kind of question is that? Why don’t you just get to the point? What we do or don’t plan to do — it’s none of your business. Why don’t you just get off our backs?’
‘Can you tell me about the time you —?’
Wiggins leant forward across the table. ‘The fact is, you’ve got nothing on her,’ he said. ‘You’ve got nothing on us. That’s why you’re asking all these stupid questions. Because you don’t have a bloody clue. You’re up to your neck in it, and you’re trying to claw your way out. Well, you’re not getting any help from us, I can tell you that. Why don’t you just leave us alone and concentrate on doing your job?’
‘Can you tell me about the fight outside Hótel Ísland?’ Thorson went on, unperturbed. ‘I gather you didn’t care for a remark some soldiers made about Vera. Can you tell me what they said?’
‘I’m leaving,’ said Wiggins angrily. ‘I haven’t got time for this bollocks.’
He stood up and waited for Thorson to say something or try to stop him. Thorson sat tight, watching him. Wiggins shook his head in disgust and made for the door.
‘Wasn’t it something about her hanging around with a GI?’ said Thorson. ‘I understand you weren’t too pleased to hear that.’
Wiggins halted by the door and swung round.
‘That’s a lie,’ he said. ‘A bloody lie.’
‘If it’s a lie, I expect you heard the truth from her,’ said Thorson. ‘That must have been a relief for you. Unless she... no, surely she wouldn’t lie to you? Why wouldn’t you trust Vera? Are you sure you don’t want to know how she ended it with her fiancé?’
Wiggins hesitated by the door, as if unsure what to do. Thorson, aware that he was the jealous type, had set out to needle him, and reckoned it was working. Finally Wiggins came back, put his hands on the table and bent over him.
‘There was no Yank,’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘I know exactly what you’re doing. There was no Yank. Do you hear me?’
‘Her boyfriend was killed with an American pistol, a Colt .45. It’s standard issue in the US Army,’ said Thorson, trying not to show how unnerved he was by the British sergeant’s threatening proximity. ‘Do you think she asked someone else for help? Someone she’d met recently? A GI, maybe?’
Wiggins glared down at Thorson, his face dark red. ‘There is no Yank,’ he snarled.
‘I suppose it would be pretty easy for you to lay your hands on a weapon like that? Maybe you even have one yourself.’ Thorson said. ‘Why don’t you take a seat?’
‘I haven’t got a Colt .45,’ said Wiggins.
‘You mean you couldn’t get hold of one if you wanted to? I know the defence force has a pretty robust black market.’
‘What would I have shot the bloke for?’ reasoned Wiggins. ‘She’d left him. He didn’t matter. Why the hell would I have risked my life for something so pointless? You tell me that.’
‘Maybe she told you Eyvindur would never leave her alone. That she’d never be truly free. You tracked him down, followed him. You thought he lived in the basement flat because he opened the door with a key, so you took your chance. You shoved him inside, made him kneel on the floor and shot him. Only he didn’t live there: he was visiting an old friend. Of course, there’s no way you could have known that, but it came in handy when the murder was pinned on his friend and it looked like you’d got away with it.’
Wiggins dropped back into his chair. ‘For Christ’s sake,’ he said. ‘I didn’t touch the bloke. I didn’t do it. She only got together with him because she needed somewhere to live when she first came to town. That was the only reason. She wasn’t in love with him. She said as much herself. Then one thing led to another, and she moved out. They weren’t in love. It wasn’t like that.’
‘Of course you didn’t necessarily do the dirty work yourself, so even if you have an alibi — and we’re checking where you were at the time — that doesn’t really tell us much.’
‘What are you on about?’
‘Maybe you’re friendly with a few GIs. Knew someone who might be willing to do you a favour. For money, maybe. Or maybe one of your British pals owes you a favour. The possibilities are endless.’
‘I can’t understand why you won’t leave us alone. We haven’t done a thing.’
‘We’ll see about that,’ said Thorson.
‘We haven’t got any secrets from each other. It’s the real thing. Our relationship’s got nothing to do with “the Situation” or anything like that. It’s real and I don’t like the way you talk about her. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.’
‘What do you mean, you don’t have any secrets?’ asked Thorson.
‘I know all about her fiancé,’ said Wiggins. ‘She told me herself. I don’t need you to tell me. I know why she left him. She had every right.’
‘Oh?’
‘He treated her badly,’ said Wiggins. ‘Used to knock her about. Was always putting her down, followed her everywhere. She did her best to please him, but he only got worse, so in the end she left him and moved to Reykjavík. She told me the whole story. We haven’t got any secrets. So don’t try and run her down. Because it won’t work, you hear?’
‘Why do you think we suspect she was involved in Eyvindur’s death? Why do you think we brought you all the way back from Hvalfjördur?’
‘Because you’re making a mistake.’
‘She was engaged and cheated on her fiancé, then suggested that her lover go out fishing with him and come back alone. See why we’re interested in you two? See why we’re interested in her?’
‘But that was understandable,’ said Wiggins. ‘Can’t you see that?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She was asking for help. It was a cry for help. And I’m not surprised, considering how the bloke treated her. Not a bit surprised. I understand her. I’d have done exactly the same in her shoes.’
46
The Pólar was a slum on the outskirts of the town, just to the south of Snorrabraut. The buildings had been hastily erected during the Great War to house families in need, but now more than two hundred people lived there in squalor and poverty. Although the wooden buildings had recently been supplied with electricity, there was no mains water and the houses were flimsy, badly insulated and freezing cold in winter. The slum consisted of four rows of tenements enclosing a small courtyard, which had originally contained latrines. Flóvent had often visited the Pólar in his time on the beat, since things could get pretty rough there at night and at the weekends, with all the drinking and brawling that went on. This was where Jósep and Rikki had grown up and, as far as Jósep knew, Rikki’s mother still lived.
In the courtyard a man directed Flóvent to a woman sitting outside her front door, in a cloud of feathers, plucking a chicken. She paid no attention to Flóvent as he stood watching the deft efficiency with which she worked. Only when he decided to interrupt and ask her name, did she glance up from her task. She was a plump woman of about fifty, dressed in a threadbare housecoat, wearing rubber-soled shoes and woollen socks, with a headscarf knotted under her chin. The evening sun was behind Flóvent so she couldn’t see him properly. Squinting up at him, she asked who wanted to know. Her face was wizened and she had wide gaps between her teeth. She returned to plucking her chicken.
‘I see you’re busy, ma’am,’ he said. ‘I won’t take up too much of your time. I was just—’
‘Eh? Oh, no, that’s all right,’ the woman said. ‘I’m going to boil this ruddy thing,’ she added, as if to explain what she was doing. ‘Dússi gave it to me. His chickens won’t stop breeding. Do you know Dússi? He keeps a big flock of hens over Nauthólsvík way, and sells the eggs to the British. Makes a packet out of them.’