Michael Ridpath: Where the Shadows Lie

Ingileif bit her lip, her cheeks reddening again. She took a deep breath. ‘OK. All right. I did have an affair with Agnar when I was his student. He was divorced from his first wife then, it was before he remarried. And it was hardly an affair, we slept together a few times, that was all.’

‘Did he finish it, or did you?’

‘I suppose it was me. He did have a real magnetism for women then, in fact he still had it when I last saw him. He had this way of making you feel special, intellectually interesting as well as beautiful. But he was sleazy, basically. He wanted to sleep with as many girls as he could just to prove to himself what a good-looking guy he was. He was deeply vain. When I saw him the other day he tried to flirt with me again, but I saw through it this time. I don’t mess around with married men.’

‘One last question,’ said Vigdis. ‘Where were you on Friday evening?’

Ingileif’s shoulders lowered marginally as she relaxed, as if this was one difficult question she could answer. ‘I went to a party for a friend who was launching an exhibition of her paintings. I was there from about eight until, maybe, eleven-thirty. There were dozens people there who know me. Her name is Frida Josefsdottir. I can give you her address and phone number if you want.’

‘Please,’ said Vigdis, passing her her notebook. Ingileif scribbled something on a blank page and handed it back.

‘And afterwards?’ asked Vigdis.

‘Afterwards?’

‘After you left the gallery.’

Ingileif smiled shyly. ‘I went home. With someone.’

‘And who would that be?’

‘Larus Thorvaldsson.’

‘Is he a regular boyfriend?’

‘Not really,’ said Ingileif. ‘He’s a painter: we’ve known each other for years. We just spend the night together sometimes. You know how it is. And no, he’s not married.’

For once in the conversation, Ingileif seemed completely unembarrassed. So did Vigdis for that matter. She obviously knew how it was.

Vigdis passed the notebook across again and Ingileif scribbled down Larus’s details.

‘She’s not a very good liar,’ Magnus said when they were back out on the street.

‘I knew there was something going on between her and Agnar.’

‘But she was convincing that that was all in the past.’

‘Possibly,’ said Vigdis. ‘I’ll check her alibi, but I expect it will hold up.’

‘There must be some connection with Steve Jubb,’ Magnus said. ‘The name Isildur, or Isildur is significant, I know it. Did you notice she didn’t seem surprised we were asking about her long-dead brother? And if she saw the Lord of the Rings movie the name Isildur would have jumped out at her. She didn’t mention that connection at all.’

‘You mean she was trying to downplay the Isildur name?’

‘Exactly. There’s a connection there she’s not talking about.’

‘Shall we bring her in to the station for questioning?’ Vigdis suggested. ‘Perhaps Baldur should see her.’

‘Let’s leave it a while. Let her relax, drop her guard. We’ll come back and interview her again in a day or two. It’s easier to find the hole in a story second time around.’

They checked with the woman who owned the boutique next door. She confirmed she had dropped into Ingileif’s gallery one afternoon earlier that week to borrow some tea bags, although she wasn’t absolutely sure whether it was the Monday or the Tuesday.

Vigdis drove up the hill past the Hallgrimskirkja. Magnus peered up at a large bronze statue on a plinth in front of the church. The first vestur-islenskur, Leifur Eiriksson, the Viking who had discovered America a thousand years before. He was staring out over the jumble of brightly coloured buildings in the middle of town to the bay to the west, and on towards the Atlantic.

‘Where are you from originally?’ Magnus asked. Although his Icelandic was already improving rapidly, he was finding it tiring, and there was something familiar about sitting in a car with a black partner that tempted him to slip back into English.

‘I don’t speak English,’ Vigdis replied, in Icelandic.

‘What do you mean you don’t speak English? Every Icelander under the age of forty can speak English.’

‘I said I don’t speak English, not I can’t speak it.’

‘OK. Then, where are you from?’ Magnus asked again, this time in Icelandic.

‘I’m an Icelander,’ Vigdis said. ‘I was born here, I live here, I have never lived anywhere else.’

‘Right,’ Magnus said. A touchy subject, clearly. But he had to admit that Vigdis was an incontrovertibly Icelandic name.

Vigdis sighed. ‘My father was an American serviceman at the Keflavik airbase. I don’t know his name, I’ve never met him, according to my mother he doesn’t even know I exist. Does that satisfy you?’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Magnus. ‘I know how difficult it can be to figure out your identity. I still don’t know whether I am an Icelander or an American, and I just get more confused the older I get.’

‘Hey, I don’t have a problem with my identity,’ said Vigdis. ‘I know exactly who I am. It’s just other people never believe it.’

‘Ah,’ said Magnus. A couple of raindrops fell on the windscreen. ‘Do you think it will rain all day?’

Vigdis laughed. ‘There you are, you are an Icelander. When in doubt discuss the weather. No, Magnus, I do not think it will rain for more than five minutes.’ She drove down the other side of the hill towards the police headquarters on Hverfisgata. ‘Look, I’m sorry, I just find it easier to straighten out those kind of questions up front. Icelandic women are a bit like that, you know. We say what we think.’

‘It must be tough being the only black detective in the country.’

‘You’re damn right. I’m pretty sure that Baldur didn’t want me to join the department. And I don’t exactly blend in when I’m out on the streets, you know. But I did well in the exams and I pushed for it. It was Snorri who got me the job.’

‘The Commissioner?’

‘He told me my appointment was an important symbol for Reykjavik’s police force to be seen as modern and outward looking. I know that some of my colleagues think a black detective in this town is absurd, but I hope I have proved myself.’ She sighed. ‘The problem is I feel like I have to prove myself every day.’

‘Well, you seem like a good cop to me,’ Magnus said.

Vigdis smiled. ‘Thanks.’

They reached police headquarters, an ugly long concrete office block opposite the bus station. Vigdis drove her car into a compound around the back and parked. The rain began to fall hard, thundering down on the car roof. Vigdis peered out at the water leaping about the parking lot and hesitated.

Magnus decided to take advantage of Vigdis’s direct honesty to find out a bit more about what he had got himself into. ‘Is Arni Holm related to Thorkell Holm in some way?’

‘Nephew. And yes, that is probably why he is in the department. He’s not exactly our top detective, but he’s harmless. I think Baldur might be trying to get rid of him.’

‘Which is why he dumped him on me?’

Vigdis shrugged. ‘I couldn’t possibly comment.’

‘Baldur isn’t very happy with me being here, is he?’

‘No, he isn’t. We Icelanders don’t like being shown what to do by the Americans, or anyone else for that matter.’

‘I can understand that,’ Magnus said.

‘But it’s more than that. He’s threatened by you. We all are, I suppose. There was a murderer on the loose last year, he killed three women before he turned himself in.’

‘I know, the Commissioner told me.’

‘Well, Baldur was in charge of the investigation. We failed to find the killer and there was a lot of pressure on Snorri and Thorkell to do something. People wanted heads to roll. Moving Baldur on would have been the easiest thing to do, but Snorri didn’t do that. I’d say Baldur isn’t out of the woods yet. He needs to solve this case and he needs to do it himself.’