Michael Ridpath - 66 Degrees North

‘It’s named for Björn the Easterner,’ Magnus said. ‘The son of Ketill Flat Nose, and the first settler in the area.’

‘I remember,’ said Ingileif. ‘But it’s a long time since I’ve read the Saga of the People of Eyri .’

Ingileif had studied Icelandic Literature at university, and knew the sagas almost as well as Magnus. ‘And this is where the Swedish berserkers cut their path?’

‘Yes. You can still see the cairn where they were buried.’

‘Cool. Let’s stop there on the way back.’

‘Maybe,’ said Magnus.

Ingileif detected the note of caution in his voice. ‘Does your grandfather still live at the farm?’

‘He does. My uncle Kolbeinn farms the place now, but my cousin said that Grandpa still lives there with Grandma.’

‘And you don’t want to bump into him?’

‘No. I don’t.’

They drove on to Grundarfjördur. Magnus pulled over on the shore of the sheltered fjord a kilometre outside town and called Constable Páll. The sun glimmered off the quiet grey waters of the sheltered fjord.

Páll answered on the first ring. Apparently Björn had driven his pickup truck down to the harbour, and was working on a boat down there. Magnus drove through town and pulled up outside the police station, which was only a few metres away from the harbour. Páll was waiting for him, in uniform.

Magnus introduced Ingileif. ‘I’ll just go for a walk around town,’ she said. ‘Give me a call when you’ve finished.’

Magnus was glad to have the constable with him. He was still in a legal limbo-land, since he hadn’t yet graduated from the police college, and he wanted Páll to take notes. If Björn gave them any useful evidence, he didn’t want it questioned by a defence lawyer.

Páll was very happy to oblige.

There were a few boats of various sizes in the harbour. For a small town it had some serious fishing industry – several large buildings for processing the fish, a market, storage sheds and numerous empty pallets guarded by fork-lift trucks.

And the whole thing was watched over by the tower of rock that was Kirkjufell. In Iceland it was difficult to believe that such features were just random movements of geology. Icelandic mountains had personality and purpose. This church of rock completely overshadowed the white building with the little cross on a hill above the town. It was as if it provided the town’s inhabitants with not just physical shelter but spiritual strength as well.

Páll led Magnus towards a fishing boat tied up against the quay, Bolli . ‘Hello, Siggi!’ he shouted. ‘May I come on board?’

Two men in thick sweaters poked their heads out of the cabin. One was an overweight balding forty-five, the other was lean and in his early thirties.

Björn, no doubt.

Páll greeted the older man and asked if they could have a word with Björn. Björn stepped off the boat and joined them on the quay. ‘A new navigation system,’ Björn said. ‘I was just helping Siggi install it, but it keeps crashing. I swear these days you need to know as much about computers as about engines to keep a boat running.’

They sat on a wall, a short distance from the boat, the captain peering at them curiously from the cabin window. A couple of seagulls landed on the quay a few feet away, hoping for scraps.

‘So what’s this about?’

‘We want to ask you some questions about Gabríel Örn Bergsson and Harpa Einarsdóttir.’

‘Harpa told me you had been talking to her,’ Björn said.

‘Oh, have you seen her recently?’

‘Yes. I went down to Reykjavík a couple of days ago. You left her quite upset.’

‘It’s unavoidable in these circumstances,’ Magnus said. ‘Are you and she together?’

‘You could say that. I go down to see her whenever I can. She comes up here sometimes. I like her. I like her a lot.’

‘Harpa didn’t mention that you and she still had a relationship.’

Björn shrugged. ‘It’s not a secret. As I said, she was upset. You probably didn’t ask her.’

‘No, we didn’t,’ Magnus admitted. But he still had the impression Harpa had been trying to hide it. ‘Had you two met before the night Gabríel Örn died?’

‘No. We first met at the demo that afternoon. I had come down from Grundarfjördur for it specially. I had been to one of the Saturday protests before Christmas and, well, I thought it was important to be there. I wanted to be heard. I wanted the government to resign.’

‘Tell me about that evening.’

Björn’s story tallied pretty closely with Harpa’s. He was vague on the details, arguing quite reasonably that the whole thing had happened nine months before. Magnus took him backwards and forwards over the same ground and tried to trip him up.

Nothing.

So Magnus changed the subject. ‘Has Harpa told you about Óskar Gunnarsson?’

‘Yes,’ Björn said. ‘She said you thought she was linked in some way to his murder.’

‘We were just asking questions.’

‘You should be careful how you ask them,’ Björn said. ‘Harpa has never got over Gabríel Örn’s suicide. From what she tells me about him the man was a jerk, but I think in some ways that makes it worse for her. She feels guilty about going out with him, about breaking it off. She’s a mess. Your questions don’t help.’

‘Do you think she had anything else to feel guilty about?’

‘No,’ said Björn calmly.

‘Had you ever met Óskar?’

‘No,’ said Björn.

‘Has Harpa told you anything about her relations with him?’

‘No. I didn’t think there were any.’

Magnus took out a photograph of Óskar. ‘Do you know who this is?’

‘That’s him, isn’t it? I’ve seen his picture in the paper.’

‘That’s right. Now, does he remind you of anyone?’

Björn studied the picture. ‘Looks a bit like Hugh Grant perhaps. Darker hair.’

‘No. Someone you know.’

Björn shook his head.

‘Markús.’

Björn looked at Magnus in surprise. ‘What? Harpa’s Markús?’ He studied the picture more closely. ‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘No, it’s not. Didn’t you know?’

‘What do you mean, didn’t I know? Know what? What are you suggesting?’

‘I’m suggesting that Óskar was Markús’s father.’

‘That is ridiculous.’

‘Harpa confirmed it.’

‘When?’

‘Yesterday.’

Björn studied the photograph more carefully.

‘She didn’t tell you then?’ Magnus said.

‘I still don’t believe you.’

‘Did she say who the father was?’

‘No. I asked her once, she didn’t want to answer, and so I never asked her again. It was none of my business.’ He handed the photograph back to Magnus. ‘It’s still none of my business.’

Magnus had to admire Björn’s composure. A couple of fishermen strolled past, nodded at Björn and Páll, and stared at Magnus, the stranger from out of town, with undisguised curiosity.

‘Did you know that Harpa travelled to London recently?’ Magnus asked.

‘Yes. A couple of months back. Just for a few days.’

‘Do you know why?’

‘She said she needed a break.’

‘How could she afford it?’

Björn shrugged. ‘I don’t know. She used to be a banker. She’s probably got savings. It’s true she’s usually careful with money, but she deserved a treat.’

‘Did she tell you she saw Óskar?’

‘No,’ said Björn.

‘Are you jealous?’ Magnus asked.

‘Of course I’m not jealous!’ Björn said. ‘Look. If there’s one person in this world I trust, it’s Harpa. Who she saw before she met me is none of my business. I had no idea that Óskar was Markús’s father, and frankly I still don’t believe you. But if he was, maybe Harpa went to see him, I don’t know. And if she did, I’m not surprised she kept it a secret from me.’