Арнальдур Индридасон - The Shadow Killer

‘Actually, it’s not that long since he came home,’ said Ebeneser. ‘Felix was trapped there when the Nazis... when the Germans invaded last year, and he stayed on in Copenhagen until he was able to get a ship back to Iceland.’

‘Really, so he was in Denmark fairly recently? Do you know what he was doing there?’

‘He was there almost two years. And no, I’m not sure what he was up to.’

‘All right, thank you very much. We won’t keep you any longer. You’ve been most helpful. Oh, just one last thing. Have you seen Rudolf at all recently?’

‘No,’ said Ebeneser emphatically. ‘I haven’t seen Rudolf for a while.’

‘You haven’t visited him? Haven’t seen him at all?’

‘No. No, I haven’t seen him.’

They shook hands in parting, and Flóvent smiled amiably to hide the fact that he knew better.

Thorson asked Flóvent if he could give him a ride down to Hótel Borg. He sat in the passenger seat, nursing the charred pages they had found at the German consulate and trying to decipher more names by the light of the torch. It was almost impossible given the state of the pages and the jolting of the car. They discussed what Rudolf’s maid had whispered to Flóvent about the headmaster’s visit. They couldn’t imagine what possible reason Ebeneser could have for covering it up.

‘I doubt we could have got any more out of him this evening,’ said Flóvent. ‘But I need to sound him out further about the Lunden brothers’ friendship with the German consul. I’ll talk to him again tomorrow. Perhaps it would be better if I went to see him alone. Having a representative of the defence force in his house seemed to put him more on his guard.’

‘What was the maid talking about?’ asked Thorson. ‘Who are these boys?’

‘Goodness knows,’ said Flóvent. ‘They were quarrelling about “some boys”. That’s all she said. I need to talk to her again as well.’

‘Well, he is the headmaster of a school,’ said Thorson.

‘Yes, but I find it unlikely that they were arguing about school-children,’ said Flóvent. ‘What I can’t work out is why Ebeneser would lie about something as natural as going to see his brother-in-law. Why doesn’t he want us to know that they met recently, that they had a bust-up? What’s he got to hide?’

‘We might be able to make out this part too,’ Thorson interrupted. He was pointing at an almost illegible name on the same page as the German doctor’s. While they talked he had been squinting at the writing, shining the torch on the burnt pages and holding them at every imaginable angle, even over his head, in an attempt to decipher them.

‘What does it say?’ asked Flóvent. ‘Who is it?’

Thorson tried to read the letters, guessing at the gaps. The first name was less damaged and he thought he could work out what it was.

‘It looks to me as if it could be a long name like... Bryn... hildur. And... what’s this? Some family name rather than a patronymic... H... e ... or o ... is that an l? Hel...? Not Helena. Or... could it be Hólm? Could that be it? Brynhildur Hólm? Is that an Icelandic name?’

They had reached Hótel Borg. Flóvent parked in the street in front of the revolving doors and switched off the engine. Town was busy, as it was Friday night and the dance halls were open. Young people walked along Pósthússtræti hand in hand; sometimes a girl would wander by with a soldier on her arm. Flóvent watched a pair of lovers disappearing into the hotel and wondered if Thorson had a date there, but he wouldn’t have dreamt of asking. Although he liked what he’d seen of the young Canadian, they didn’t know each other at all.

‘Yes, could be,’ he said. ‘But I haven’t heard the name before. Does it look as though she was there on the same occasion as Hans Lunden?’

‘It’s hard to tell,’ said Thorson. ‘But we should see if we can track her down. She might be able to tell us something about Dr Hans Lunden if she was a guest of the consulate at the same time.’

‘Yes, good idea,’ said Flóvent. ‘Are you off for a night out?’ he asked on a lighter note, nodding towards the hotel.

‘Yes, no, I’m billeted here at the moment — I’ve got a small room on the top floor,’ said Thorson. ‘But I might look in on the dance later. In the Golden Room. Isn’t that what they call it? The ballroom?’

‘Yes, that’s right. The Golden Room,’ said Flóvent, glancing at his watch and realising how late it was. ‘Have fun. We’ll talk in the morning.’

Thorson said goodnight and was about to get out of the car when he paused and closed the door again. There was something he’d put off discussing with Flóvent, despite the fact that it might be significant. He’d been trying to figure out whether it was connected to the case, but he hadn’t come up with anything. The thought wouldn’t leave him alone, though, and he felt he had to share his concerns with the Icelandic detective.

‘Something is bothering me, but I don’t know if I should even be talking about it.’

‘What’s that?’

‘It’s probably nothing, but I’ve been thinking about this case we’re working on and its links to the German consulate and German nationals living here, to Nazis, and...’

‘What are you worried about?’ prompted Flóvent, studying the young soldier who spoke the Icelandic of his emigrant parents with a hint of a northern accent. He looked troubled.

‘I happened to overhear something as I was leaving the meeting with my commanding officer at Höfdi,’ Thorson continued after a long pause. ‘When I was assigned to work with you — with the Icelandic police, that is. Some men from the government were talking on the steps outside. Of course they assumed I didn’t understand. From what I could hear, they were discussing... Winston Churchill.’

‘Churchill? What about him?’

‘It sounded to me like he might be planning a visit to Iceland. He’s got a conference scheduled with Roosevelt in the Atlantic somewhere off Newfoundland, and they said there’s a chance he might stop off in Iceland on his way home. Were the Icelandic police briefed about it?’

‘Well, this is the first I’ve heard about a visit, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything,’ said Flóvent. ‘I’m usually the last to hear what’s going on. Did you recognise the men you saw at Höfdi? Have you any idea who they were?’

‘At least one of them was a government minister,’ said Thorson, who took an interest in Icelandic domestic affairs. ‘I believe he was there specifically to discuss the visit, but that’s only a guess. I’ve been thinking it over and felt I had to tell... to tell you. In case there’s a connection to our case.’

‘You mean to Felix Lunden?’

Thorson nodded. ‘I think we should make it a priority to track him down,’ he said. ‘Just to be on the safe side. In case there’s anything to this rumour of a visit.’

‘Are you implying he might be some sort of threat?’ asked Flóvent. ‘Isn’t that a bit far-fetched?’

‘I’m not sure. We know there are German agents operating here. The occupation must have made things harder for them, but we’re assuming that spies are still active in the country, just as they are elsewhere in Europe. Iceland’s no exception.’

‘Yes, but we have no rock-solid evidence to link Felix to that type of activity,’ said Flóvent. ‘And nothing to link the incident in his flat to this visit.’

‘Well, I thought I ought to mention it,’ said Thorson. ‘In case we uncover any leads that point that way. After all, where is Felix? What’s he up to? Is he armed? We don’t know. Since there’s a pretty good chance he’s the killer, we have to work on the basis that he could be armed with a Colt .45. The question is, do we need help with this investigation? I can talk to Ballantine and Graham. Though, come to think of it, they’re...’