‘Who they think are responsible for the
Magnus and Vigdis looked at each other. ‘If we raise this, the shit really will hit the fan,’ Vigdis said.
‘I know,’ said Magnus.
‘And I mean not just with Baldur. With Thorkell. And the Big Salmon himself.’
‘I know.’
‘We haven’t got any evidence, have we? I mean, none at all.’
‘I know.’
‘So what do we do?’
Magnus had been thinking. ‘Let’s just keep an open mind for now. Baldur told me to go back to the police college today, and I have a lecture to give there at eleven o’clock. But I have an idea.’
‘Yes?’
‘Did the police take surveillance videos during the demonstrations in January?’
‘Sure.’
‘Dig them out for the day Gabriel Orn was killed. See if you can see Harpa. And Bjorn. See what they did. See who they talked to. Maybe you’ll be able to figure out whether they really did meet then for the first time.’
‘I’ll do that,’ said Vigdis.
‘Let me know what you find. In the meantime, how do I get hold of the file on a murder from 1985?’
‘Which case?’
‘Benedikt Johannesson.’
‘The writer?’
‘Yes. Do you know anything about it?’
‘I was only a kid at the time. But we studied it at police college. Stabbed in his home, I think. The crime was never solved.’
‘That’s the one.’
‘Has this got a connection to Oskar?’
‘Not really.’
Vigdis frowned. Magnus remained impassive. Vigdis decided not to push it. ‘It won’t be scanned on to the system, but Records will have the original file buried away somewhere. It will probably take them a while to locate it.’
‘Thanks, Vigdis.’
While Vigdis made some calls to rustle up the surveillance video, Magnus composed an e-mail to one of his buddies in the Homicide Unit in Boston, asking to check with the US Citizenship and Immigration Services for immigration information for July 1996. Then he called Records.
Arni breezed in. ‘Morning, Magnus. Good weekend? All quiet here?’
‘Talk to Vigdis,’ Magnus said. ‘You’ve got some work to do.’
Isak popped the toast out of the toaster, and spread on butter and marmalade. It was an English habit that was growing on him. The house off the Mile End Road which he shared with four other students ran on toast. And instant coffee. The kettle boiled and Isak made himself a cup.
‘Hey.’
He turned to see his girlfriend Sophie slope into the small kitchen in pyjama bottoms and an old
‘I thought you didn’t have any lectures until twelve?’
‘I decided I really have to go to the library,’ she said. ‘I can’t put it off any longer.’ She perched herself on his lap and kissed him quickly on the lips. ‘Good morning,’ she said, and kissed him again, deeper.
Isak smiled and let his hand brush over her breast. She wasn’t wearing a bra.
She left it there for a moment, but then she extricated herself and stood up. ‘No. Discipline. I need discipline.’ She opened the cupboard and started rummaging around, looking for bread. Isak had finished off the loaf. ‘Do you want another slice of toast, Zak?’
‘Yeah, OK. Thanks.’
The doorbell rang.
‘I’ll get it,’ said Sophie. The bell rang again. ‘All right, all right. You’ll wake everyone up,’ she complained, but in a voice too quiet for whoever was outside to hear.
Isak heard the door open.
‘Police,’ an authoritative female voice said. ‘Detective Sergeant Piper from Kensington CID. Is Isak Samuelsson here?’
Isak tensed.
‘Er. I don’t know,’ said Sophie, taken aback.
‘It’s OK, Sophie,’ Isak said, moving into the hallway. ‘Come in.’ He led the detective into the kitchen. ‘Sit down. Can I make you some coffee?’
‘No thanks,’ Sergeant Piper said, taking the chair Sophie had been occupying.
Sophie sat down next to her and scowled.
‘What is this about?’ Isak asked, as coolly as he could.
‘Do you mind if I talk to Isak alone?’ Piper said to Sophie.
‘I bloody well do,’ said Sophie, suddenly waking up. ‘Like, where do you get off? This is our kitchen.’
Piper sighed.
‘It’s OK, Soph,’ said Isak. ‘I don’t know what this is about, but I’m sure it won’t take long.’
‘All right,’ said Sophie, grumpily. ‘But I want my toast.’
After she had left the room, Isak smiled. ‘Sorry about that. We’re doing a course on European Human Rights at the moment. And Sophie is a member of Amnesty. She gets excited about that kind of thing.’
‘Breakfast is important,’ said Piper with a smile. ‘I’d like to ask you about last week.’
‘I was in Reykjavik,’ said Isak.
‘We know.’
‘This is about Oskar Gunnarsson, isn’t it?’ said Isak. ‘My mother told me the police in Iceland had been asking about me.’
Piper asked Isak a series of questions about what he had done the previous week. Isak answered clearly and calmly. He had been out with some old friends from high school on Wednesday night, otherwise not much. Piper took down flight times, names and addresses.
‘Did you know Oskar Gunnarsson?’ she asked.
‘No,’ said Isak. ‘I mean I know who he was. But I’ve never met him.’
‘Are you sure?’ said Piper, leaning forward.
‘I guess I saw him at the annual Thorrablot of the Icelandic Society here in London,’ Isak said. ‘But I didn’t talk to him.’
‘Thorrablot?’
‘It’s a winter festival. A big feast – lots of traditional food. You know, sheep’s heads, whale blubber, rams’ testicles, rotted shark. It’s a big deal for Icelanders.’
‘Sounds revolting.’
‘It’s an acquired taste. Actually, the food is usually pretty good at the London one.’
Piper seemed to be examining Isak closely. ‘You didn’t try to deliver something to him a couple of weeks ago? The Friday before last?’
‘Deliver something?’
‘Yes. A witness saw someone matching your description going from house to house in Onslow Gardens looking for Gunnarsson’s address?’
‘That wasn’t me.’
‘Are you sure?’
Isak nodded. ‘I’m absolutely sure.’
Piper waited. Neither she nor Isak said anything for a long moment. Then she stood up. ‘OK, that’s all for now. Thank you for answering my questions.’
Isak stood up. ‘No problem.’
‘Are you going in to college today?’
