Michael Ridpath - 66 Degrees North

But they were just that, suspicions. What if the police checked them out, discovered Sindri was totally innocent, and also decided to ask more questions about Gabríel Örn? Then she would have achieved nothing and still end up in jail.

But what if she was right? And perhaps jail was where she should be. She had committed a crime, she should pay for it.

Whatever she had told her father, she knew the right thing to do. Tell the police. But first she should speak to Björn. At least now that she knew he was innocent she could talk to him properly about it.

The bakery was quiet. She told Dísa she was going outside to make a phone call.

It was a lovely morning. Above the city the light grey concrete of the Hallgrímskirkja gleamed almost white through its sheath of scaffolding. The bay sparkled. She took a deep breath, dialled Björn and told him what she had decided. He wasn’t happy.

‘Do you still think I flew off to London?’ he asked.

‘No,’ said Harpa. ‘I’m sorry I suggested that. I believe you. But I am worried that Sindri is responsible in some way.’

‘You know if you speak to the police they’ll reopen the Gabríel Örn business?’

‘Yes, I know, I’ve thought of that.’

‘OK, so when they do, are you going to tell them what really happened that night?’

‘No. I’ll say that we all went back to Sindri’s apartment. And then I’ll say I called Gabríel Örn and he didn’t show up.’

‘They’ll be all over you,’ said Björn. ‘Once you admit you lied to them, they won’t give up until they break you.’

‘Well, then I just won’t answer their questions,’ said Harpa.

‘They’ll charge you.’ Björn said. ‘You’ll go to prison.’

‘I didn’t intend to kill Gabríel Örn,’ Harpa said. ‘Maybe the judge will understand that. Perhaps I should be in prison.’

‘But, Harpa, there are two crimes here. There’s Gabríel Örn’s death. We know that was accidental and maybe a judge would agree. And then there’s the cover-up. We did that on purpose, you, me, Sindri, the student guy, the cook. They’ll get us for that. All of us.’

Harpa sighed. ‘Maybe I’ll try to tip them off anonymously. But I must find a way of warning them.’

‘Look,’ said Björn. ‘I’ll come right down to Reykjavík now and we can discuss how you do this.’

‘You won’t be able to talk me out of it.’

‘I understand. But don’t do anything till I get there.’

THE SHOP WAS one of several with Til Leigu signs displayed on Laugavegur, meaning ‘For Rent’. Vigdís remembered the location: it had been the site of a high-end boutique, way beyond Vigdís’s pocket. And everyone else’s in Iceland nowadays, she suspected.

She had spotted the blue VW Transporter outside with Gulli Helgason’s name and number on it, parked on a side street a few metres away, the front wheel half a metre outside the marked parking bay. She walked in to the shop. Three men were stripping the walls of bright orange paint. A radio was playing Jay-Z loudly.

‘Gulli?’

One of the three men turned towards her. He was older than the other two, probably in his early thirties, with dark hair cut very short and strong tattooed arms. He would have been quite attractive, if it wasn’t for his belly thrusting out aggressively beneath his painters’ overalls.

The man raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘Yes?’

‘I’m Detective Vigdís from the Metropolitan Police. I called earlier. I’d like to ask you a couple of questions.’

The man laughed.

‘What’s so funny?’

‘You’re not a cop.’

‘And why not?’ said Vigdís.

‘It’s obvious. You’re black. You can’t be a black policewoman. So who the hell are you?’

Vigdís fought to control herself. She was used to people doubting her identity, but rarely so blatantly. She pulled out her ID, and thrust it in his face. ‘See that? A black face. My face.’

Gulli raised his hands in mock surrender and then held out his wrists as if he was about to be handcuffed. ‘OK, OK. I’ll come quietly.’

‘Very funny.’ Vigdís turned to the other two younger painters who were watching with grins on their faces. ‘You two, outside. And turn the radio off as you go.’

‘Hey! They’ve got work to do,’ Gulli protested.

‘I said, outside.’

The men looked at their boss and then at Vigdís. They shrugged, turned Jay-Z off, and sauntered out into the street.

Vigdís scanned the room. It had been cleared of everything except dustsheets, brushes and tins of paint, as yet unopened. There was nowhere to sit, so they remained standing. ‘Now, where have you been this past week?’

‘Away. On holiday.’

‘Oh, yes? Alone?’

‘No. With my girlfriend.’

‘And where did you go?’

‘Tenerife. In the Canary Islands.’

‘I see. When did you get back?’

‘Yesterday. We started in here this morning.’

Vigdís pulled out her notebook. ‘All right. I want your girl-friend’s name and address, and details of your flights and which hotel you stayed at.’

Gulli shrugged and gave them to her. ‘What’s all this about?’

‘We’re taking another look at the death of Gabríel Örn Bergsson last January.’

‘But why do you want to know where I was last week?’

Vigdís ignored the question. ‘So, on the twentieth of January your brother Björn stayed with you in Reykjavík?’

‘That’s right. He came down about lunchtime. He wanted to go to the demonstration outside Parliament, so I said he could crash at my place.’

‘Did you go to the demo?’

‘No.’ Gulli snorted. ‘I have no interest in that stuff. A waste of time. And look what happened. We got rid of one lot of politicians and now we have another lot who are just as bad.’

‘Did you see your brother that day?’

‘Yes. I had no work on, it’s hard getting work these days. I let him in the flat. We had lunch together. I gave him a key and he went off to the demo.’

‘And you?’

‘I stayed in my flat. Watched TV. Then I met my girlfriend. I was out all night, didn’t get back till the following morning.’

Vigdís jotted it all down. ‘And then you saw Björn?’

‘Yes. And Harpa. She had spent the night with him. I saw her as she was leaving.’

‘Had you ever seen Harpa before?’

‘No. Never. But I’ve seen her since, of course. Not often, but Björn and she are pretty much an item these days.’

‘And what about Björn? What did he do?’

‘Went back to Grundarfjördur that morning, I think. I went out, looking for work. I don’t remember whether I actually found anything. Probably didn’t. But I told all this to the police at the time.’

Vigdís nodded. He had. And what he had told her just now tallied pretty closely with Árni’s notes.

‘Did Björn say anything about the demonstration that morning?’

‘Yes, he did. He told me all about it.’

‘Did he seem preoccupied? Worried?’

Gulli frowned and shook his head. ‘Nah. I don’t know. I didn’t notice anything, and if I did I can’t remember. Now can I get my lads back to work?’

Vigdís could tell she wouldn’t get much of use out of Gulli without a thorough interview at the police station, and probably not even then. The main thing was to confirm his story about his holiday.

‘Thank you for your help, Gulli, and for giving me so much of your valuable time,’ she said, with exaggerated politeness.

She hurried back to the station to call Iceland Express and check Gulli’s flights. On the street outside she passed a traffic warden, and told her about the front wheel of Gulli’s van. Got to keep the thoroughfares clear.