Black Skies

38

Knútur’s account of how his colleague had died the year before on the Snaefellsnes Peninsula in west Iceland coincided in almost every detail with the police report. Four men, all of whom worked for the bank, had embarked on a trip together to Hótel Búdir on Snaefellsnes. They had driven up on the Friday in two four-wheel drives, intending to stay at the hotel for two nights, do some work, explore the peninsula, and return to town on the Sunday. When they arrived on the Friday evening the weather was calm and several degrees below zero. On the Saturday morning they split up, two of them, Knútur and Arnar, deciding to join a group of tourists who were going to climb the Snaefellsjökull glacier, while the other two, Sverrir and Thorfinnur, drove out to Svörtuloft, the cliffs at the westernmost point of the peninsula, between Skálasnagi to the south and Öndvardarnes to the north. The plan was to meet at the hotel later that afternoon, but as the day went on the weather had deteriorated, with strengthening winds and an unexpected snow-storm. The two men who had gone out to climb the glacier returned at the appointed time but there was no sign of their colleagues who had left for Svörtuloft. They had not made any detailed contingency plans but it was known more or less where they were intending to hike.

The two men’s mobile phones had lost their signal when they left the main road.

Only one of the pair ever came back from Svörtuloft. The moment Sverrir had phone reception he called his colleagues to alert them to the fact that he and Thorfinnur had become separated. They had been walking south along the cliffs, heading for the lighthouse at Skálasnagi, when Sverrir decided to turn back. It was getting late. But Thorfinnur was keen to press on, so they had agreed that Sverrir would fetch the car and meet Thorfinnur on the road near Beruvík. When Sverrir arrived, however, Thorfinnur was nowhere to be seen. After waiting for some time, he had looked high and low for him for at least an hour until the weather took a turn for the worse. Sverrir wanted to know if his colleagues had heard from Thorfinnur but they had not and by now three hours had passed since they had split up. Knútur and Arnar drove out to the lava field and the three of them continued the search before finally deciding to contact the police and rescue services.

It was pitch dark and the storm had grown increasingly severe by the time the rescue team began to assemble at Gufuskálar prior to setting out for Svörtuloft. The three companions joined in the search and Sverrir was able to show them where Thorfinnur and he had parted company, though he could give them little help beyond that. This area of the lava field was difficult to traverse and after several hours’ battling with darkness and extreme weather conditions, the rescue team were forced to abandon their task. As soon as it was light the next day, however, the hunt was resumed, with rescue workers combing the rim of the lava field where it fell into the sea, but the precipitous cliffs were so battered by waves and gale-force gusts that it was almost impossible to stay on one’s feet.

The rescue team told the three Reykjavík men that the cliffs were known locally as the ‘Black Fort’, the pitch-black precipice being the last thing fishermen would see looming over them as their ship went down, as so many had in those parts. The cliff edge was scored with deep clefts, gullies and dangerous fissures which were continually being worn away by the action of the surf. One theory was that Thorfinnur might have stepped too close to the edge and that it had crumbled, plunging him into the sea.

‘They didn’t find him,’ Knútur told Sigurdur Óli. ‘You know the phrase — it was as if the earth had swallowed him up. Well, I never thought I’d experience it literally.’

‘Until the following spring,’ said Sigurdur Óli.

‘Exactly. I can’t begin to describe how horrible it was. Horrific. Of course, he wasn’t a family man — he was single — but that doesn’t really make it any the less tragic.’

‘You think that matters, do you?’

‘No, no, of course not.’

‘And this happened a year ago.’

‘Yes.’

‘I gather that none of you were particularly familiar with the area.’

‘Sverrir is. He took us there. His family comes from round there and he knows it … so … no, I don’t know the area. It was my first time on the glacier. I don’t know if I’ll ever go back.’

‘The post-mortem revealed nothing except death by misadventure. Some Swedish tourists found his body where it had washed up on a small sandy beach in Skardsvík cove. He was unrecognisable after being in the sea so long but an identification was made later. The verdict was accidental death; that he had simply failed to take sufficient care and fell over the cliff.’

‘Yes, something like that.’

‘You all worked together here at the bank?’

‘Yes.’

‘And Sverrir was the last person to see Thorfinnur alive?’

‘Yes. Naturally he regrets not having taken better care of him. He rather blames himself for what happened, but of course it wasn’t his fault. Thorfinnur could be really stubborn.’

‘He insisted on carrying on alone?’

‘Yes, according to Sverrir. Thorfinnur was really into the scenery.’

Knútur’s BlackBerry began to buzz and, after glancing at the screen, he asked Sigurdur Óli to excuse him. He sat down at his desk, turning his chair away for a semblance of privacy, but Sigurdur Óli overheard the whole conversation.

‘Where did you get hold of that orchestra you had the other day, the chamber group?’ Knútur asked. ‘No, I’m having a little dinner party,’ he continued, in reply to a question. ‘Yes, I know it’s short notice but it was a classy outfit and I’ve got one of the senior execs coming to dinner. I just thought it was kind of smart when you had the chamber orchestra.’

After jotting something down, he said a brisk goodbye and turned back to Sigurdur Óli.

‘Was that all?’ he asked, checking the time on his computer screen as if to underline that he was too busy to pursue their conversation.

‘Did you all work in the same area?’

‘No, though our projects overlapped of course. We worked on a lot of the same deals.’

‘Any you’d care to mention?’

‘Not without breaking confidentiality. There’s a reason for banking confidentiality, you know.’ Knútur smiled.

Sigurdur Óli had the feeling he was being patronised. Knútur was several years younger than him but probably fifty times richer; a baby-face like that, booking chamber groups for dinner parties. As a rule Sigurdur Óli admired people who succeeded in life on their own merits and initiative, rather than envying them for their achievements, but Knútur’s manner irritated him and for some reason the business with the musicians had annoyed him.

‘I understand,’ he said. ‘So you four didn’t know each other particularly well?’

‘Sure, we were pretty close through work. Why are you asking about this now? Have you reopened the case?’

‘To tell the truth, I don’t really know. Are you acquainted with a woman called Sigurlína Thorgrímsdóttir?’

‘Sigurlína?’ said Knútur pensively, rising to his feet as if the meeting was, as far as he was concerned, over. He walked across to the door and opened it but Sigurdur Óli remained glued to his seat.

‘Not off the top of my head. Should I be?’

He nodded to someone in the corridor. His next meeting was due; there were deals to be done.

‘She was a secretary at an accountancy firm,’ replied Sigurdur Óli, ‘who was the victim of a brutal attack in her own home. You’ll have seen it on the news. She died in hospital.’

‘I’ve seen the news but I can’t place her.’

‘You and your colleagues all went on an excursion in the highlands organised by her firm, shortly before the tragic accident on Snaefellsnes. Her husband was your guide. She was known as Lína.’

‘Oh, her. Was it really her who was attacked?’ asked Knútur, finally appearing to understand. ‘Do the police know what happened?’

‘The case is under investigation. So you do remember her then?’

‘Yes, now that you mention the trip. It was awesome — the trip, I mean.’

‘Did you have any further contact with her? Afterwards?’

‘No, none at all.’

‘What about one of your colleagues, one of the group from your bank?’

‘No, I don’t think so. Not as far as I know.’

‘Are you sure?’

Sigurdur Óli stood up and walked over to the door that Knútur was still holding open, late now for his next meeting. Money would wait for no man.

‘Yes,’ Knútur replied. ‘I’m quite sure. But you’ll have to ask the others. I for one didn’t know the woman at all. Did she mention us or something?’

Sigurdur Óli could not resist tormenting him a little.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘To her husband. She thought you people were incredible, quite incredible.’

‘Really?’

‘She talked about some “scheme”. Any idea what she meant?’

‘Scheme?’

‘Some plan you lot had, some scheme you were mixed up in. The words she used were that you had “an incredible nerve”. She didn’t know what the scheme involved but it won’t take me long to find out. Thanks for your cooperation.’

They shook hands and he left Knútur standing in the doorway, his baby face twisted with anxiety.