Black Skies

46

It was evening by the time Sigurdur Óli pulled up to a smart detached house in one of the new suburbs up by Lake Ellidavatn. It was a white, modernist building with a flat roof and large, aluminium-framed picture windows designed to make the most of the superb views. There were two black SUVs parked in the drive outside the double garage, and the garden, which had obviously been landscaped, boasted a sun deck, jacuzzi and large stone slabs on a bed of smooth, sea-washed pebbles. Three mature trees, including a laburnum, had been planted to pleasing effect.

Sigurdur Óli rang the bell. A child’s bicycle had been abandoned by the front door, colourful ribbons decorating the handlebars and a stabiliser on one side. Someone was clearly making progress with their cycling.

He was perfectly aware that he was attacking the weakest link in the chain and had no qualms about doing what was required. It struck him as worth applying a little pressure to see what would come of it.

The door opened and he was greeted by a smiling woman in her late twenties or early thirties. She was wearing a white, short-sleeved shirt and brand-new jeans, and looked cheerful and busy.

‘Come in,’ she said with a charming smile. ‘He’s packing and I’m in the middle of baking, so I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me.’

‘Thank you,’ said Sigurdur Óli. ‘Is he going far?’

‘No, London first, then Luxembourg.’

‘Always working,’ commented Sigurdur Óli.

‘I know, and all this travelling,’ she said, as if it were utterly exhausting. ‘It’s a nightmare.’

She did not ask who he was or what he wanted with her husband: so open and easy-going, so entirely free of suspicion. Perhaps she had fallen for his baby face, Sigurdur Óli thought, or the name, Knútur — ‘cute’, it sounded like.

‘Anyway, we’re going to meet up in Greece afterwards for a little break,’ she said as she disappeared back into the kitchen. ‘We decided yesterday. He says he’s earned it.’

A boy of no more than five appeared in the kitchen doorway, completely covered in flour. He gazed at Sigurdur Óli, shy and sceptical, then ran back to his mother’s side.

The woman had gone through the kitchen to find her husband. When Knútur emerged from the depths of the house and saw Sigurdur Óli standing in the hall, he was instantly wary.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked in a low voice, almost a whisper.

‘We need to ask your opinion on a couple of matters,’ said Sigurdur Óli. ‘It’s rather urgent. The investigation is moving ahead quickly and we need to clear up a few points.’

He used the plural deliberately as if he were not acting alone. In his view he was not. And he left the nature of the urgent investigation deliberately vague.

‘What about?’ asked Knútur, glancing in the direction of the kitchen. He could not disguise his trepidation.

‘It might be better if we sat down,’ suggested Sigurdur Óli.

‘Is it important?’

‘Could be.’

‘Right, come with me, we’ll go to my office.’

Sigurdur Óli followed him through the house. Everywhere Sigurdur Óli looked projected wealth: the graphic designs on the walls, the pristine white sofa suite, the gleaming walnut floors.

‘How did you get on with the chamber orchestra?’ asked Sigurdur Óli.

‘What? I’m sorry?’

‘You were trying to book one when I met you the other day.’

‘Oh, fine, thanks. It went well.’

‘Did they perform here?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you off somewhere?’

‘No. Well, yes, actually. Did Maja tell you? I’ve got to go abroad, on business.’

‘Followed by a holiday, I understand?’

Knútur showed him into his study.

‘We’re going to spend a few days in Greece,’ he said, closing the door behind them.

‘I hope I’m not the reason for that,’ Sigurdur Óli said, looking round the room. It was just to his taste: no books, white shelves graced only by ornaments, parquet flooring of some light-coloured wood, a flat screen and a sound system that would have cost him more than a month’s salary. There were two computer screens on the white-varnished desk. He had not seen a radiator anywhere in the house, so they presumably had underfloor heating. He would have liked that himself, if he had money to burn.

‘No,’ replied Knútur with a weak smile.

‘Have you just moved in?’ asked Sigurdur Óli.

‘Six months ago.’

‘It must have cost you an arm and a leg. Two cars as well. Unless it’s all on credit? Everything’s on credit these days.’

Knútur forced himself to smile again. He was not about to divulge his financial arrangements.

‘What are you worth?’ asked Sigurdur Óli. ‘Isn’t that the party game with you boys? When the chamber orchestra’s gone home and you’re trying not to pass out over the brandy? What are you worth?’

‘No, I don’t know.’

‘How much do you reckon you’re worth? Do you know? Exactly?’

Knútur pulled himself together. ‘I don’t see what that has to do with you.’

‘It may be relevant. To the police.’

‘I can’t imagine why it should — ’

‘We know about Alain Sörensen,’ interrupted Sigurdur Óli.

Knútur did not flinch.

‘We know about Luxembourg.’

Still no reaction. Knútur merely watched Sigurdur Óli take the list of participants on the glacier tour from his pocket and hold it out.

‘It wasn’t all that difficult to trace the connection.’

Knútur took the list.

‘Why didn’t you admit you knew Sörensen?’

‘I don’t know him,’ said Knútur, not looking at the piece of paper.

‘We’ve received confirmation that you went on the glacier tour with him.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘I have a witness,’ said Sigurdur Óli. He had rung Patrekur who had told him that the Swede — as he called Sörensen — and the bankers had been travelling together; he had a clear memory of them as a group. Sigurdur Óli had felt this was sufficient evidence for the moment. He cleared his throat. ‘The witness confirms that Alain Sörensen was travelling with you and your colleagues from the bank.’

Knútur had turned pale.

‘Yet you didn’t recognise his name on the list. Nor did your colleagues. And now you’re claiming not to know him at all.’

Knútur still did not say a word.

‘Why would you all be lying? Can you tell me that? Why lie about such a trivial fact as knowing Sörensen when it’s so easy to catch you out?’

Knútur sat motionless.

‘It leads me to conclude that you must be hiding something.’

Sigurdur Óli stepped up the pressure.

‘We know all about him,’ he said, though really he knew next to nothing, certainly nothing connected to any conceivable misconduct. ‘Father of two. Of Swedish-French parents, brought up in Sweden but educated in France. Hobbies include cycling and travelling, which is presumably why he took the risk of joining you on the glacier trip.’

Knútur now lifted the list and stared at the names.

‘We’ve arranged to go and pay him a visit in Luxembourg,’ Sigurdur Óli added.

Knútur appeared to be on the verge of breaking. He had no answers to Sigurdur Óli’s questions.

‘Getting involved in fraud on this scale can be highly stressful,’ Sigurdur Óli continued. ‘And of course we don’t know the half of it yet, such as …’

Apparently Knútur did not trust himself to look up from the list.

‘… such as what Lína was up to.’

Knútur’s wife opened the door, interrupting the conversation.

‘Would you two like some coffee?’

She noticed immediately that the atmosphere in the room was tense.

‘What is it?’ she asked anxiously.

Knútur’s eyes filled.

‘What’s happened?’ she asked. ‘What’s the matter?’

She went over to her husband who, struggling to hold back his tears, clasped her to him as if she were the last refuge in a storm.

‘What?’ she asked again. ‘What is it, darling? Has somebody died?’

Knútur buried his face in his wife’s chest and she stared at Sigurdur Óli, her eyes suddenly wide with surprise and concern.

‘What’s happening, Knútur? Who is this man?’ She tore herself from his embrace. ‘What’s going on, Knútur?’

‘Oh God!’ he gasped. ‘I can’t do this any more.’

The woman turned to Sigurdur Óli.

‘Who are you?’

Sigurdur Óli looked at Knútur. He had come intending to apply the thumbscrews but had not anticipated a reaction like this. Knútur was at the end of his tether.

‘I’m from the police,’ he replied. ‘I’m afraid he’ll have to come with me, though you can accompany him to the station if you like. I imagine he’ll be staying in overnight.’

She seemed unable to grasp what he was saying. She could understand the words but could not connect them. Observing her incomprehension, Sigurdur Óli hoped that Knútur would come to his aid, but he did not react.

‘What does he mean, Knútur?’ asked the woman. ‘Answer me. Answer me, Knútur! Say something!’

Their little boy had come to the door of the office and was regarding Sigurdur Óli, his eyes still full of mistrust. His parents had not noticed him.

‘Say something!’ shouted the woman. ‘Don’t just sit there like a lemon! Is it true? Is it true what he’s saying?’

‘Mummy,’ said the little boy.

The woman did not hear him.

‘What for? What have you done?’

Knútur eyed his wife dumbly.

‘What have you done?’

‘He’s trying to talk to you,’ interrupted Sigurdur Óli. ‘Your little boy.’

‘Mummy,’ repeated the boy. ‘Mummy!’

At last she noticed him.

‘What? What is it, darling?’ she asked, trying to sound calm.

The little boy glared accusingly at Sigurdur Óli who had destroyed his evening.

‘The cake’s ready, Mummy.’