Death in Dalvik

Twenty

Twenty-One

Dísa’s left hand hurt as her sister’s fingers gripped it.

They were gathered around the graveside overlooking the valley in which generations of Dísa’s and Anna Rós’s ancestors were buried. It had been raining for most of the morning, but as Mum’s coffin had emerged from the church on the pallbearers’ shoulders, the grey clouds had rumbled away towards the mountains to the east, allowing weak sunshine to wash over the large crowd of mourners that filled the graveyard and spilled over into the surrounding meadow. Two pillars of a rainbow shimmered softly beside the mountain. The valley’s birds provided a requiem of joyful chirps and warbles.

As the priest intoned a prayer, Dísa’s eyes settled on the elegant figure of Soffía, Gunni’s wife, tall, blonde, beautiful even in her fifties, standing towards the back, alone. It was good of her to come — brave of her to come. Her husband was locked up in jail while the police gathered evidence. Rumours were flying: the police had found a knife with Mum’s blood on it, Gunni had invested hundreds of millions in Thomocoin and, worst of all, he had had an affair with Mum. Inspector Ólafur had confirmed the first two to the family, but remained silent on the third, at least in front of Dísa.

She refused to believe it.

The coffin was lowered into the ground. Anna Rós emitted a strangled wail, and a sob thrust its way up from Dísa’s chest as her eyes filled with tears. Again. She gripped her sister’s hand and leaned into her father’s shoulder next to her.

It was horrible. It was all so horrible.

The farmhouse at Blábrekka was big, but not nearly big enough for everyone who came. All the rooms downstairs were full, and people spilled outside.

Dísa hoped none of the mourners had COVID, as the bodies pressed together. The virus had disappeared from Iceland almost entirely during the summer, but it was making a stealthy comeback, and case numbers were rising. The university insisted on social distancing and face masks, and there was talk of new restrictions coming in. But in Dalvík, no one seemed to care, at least not for a funeral.

Her mother would have been horrified. As an anaesthetist, she had been caught up in the first wave in Akureyri in March and April and had wrestled with the disease at first hand.

Dísa recognized most of the crowd. Half the town of Dalvík had come, as well as several of Mum’s colleagues from the hospital and a few of her friends from her time in Reykjavík. Dísa couldn’t see Soffía; she must have slipped away. Mum’s medical friends looked as if they were about to follow her.

Dad had come, thank God. Dísa and Anna Rós had been so relieved to see him. Mum’s death had hit him hard, as Dísa always knew it would. Grandpa and Grandma seemed to understand and were polite, even warm to their former son-in-law. Dísa had done her best to support them through their grief over the last ten days, but she needed her one remaining parent.

‘Hey, Dísa, how are you doing?’

It was Kata, who had arrived from Reykjavík in time for the closing of the coffin the day before. It was good to have an old friend around.

‘I’m OK,’ she said, although she clearly wasn’t.

‘That must have been tough. The burial.’

‘It was,’ said Dísa. ‘But it’s good at the same time.’

‘There are so many people here,’ said Kata. ‘She had a lot of friends, your mum. A lot of respect.’

‘I know.’

Kata smiled up at Dísa. She was a good six inches shorter, dark-haired, slightly plump, with a bright smile that lit up a crowd, especially of men. And at that moment it warmed Dísa.

Jói elbowed his way through the pack, his blue eyes clouded with sadness and sympathy. Dísa grabbed her brother and clung on hard. He wrapped his arms around her.

‘I’m so sorry, Dísa,’ he said.

She stood back as Jói hugged his father and Anna Rós.

‘You remember Kata, Jói?’

‘Of course! But I haven’t seen you for years.’

Kata turned her smile on him. ‘Yeah. Not a great way to meet up again.’

‘Kata says I can stay with her when I get back to Reykjavík, Jói,’ Dísa said.

‘That’s good,’ said Jói. ‘I don’t mean I want to get rid of you, but at least you’ll be with someone you know.’

‘I’ll look after her,’ said Kata, putting her arm around Dísa and squeezing. Dísa smiled back gratefully.

‘They’ve got the guy that did it, I hear?’ said Jói.

‘Yes. Gunni. Did you ever meet him?’

‘Yeah, I remember him. He kept a horse here, didn’t he?’

Mum had invited Jói to stay at Blábrekka a few times even after the divorce. She knew that he and Dísa were close, and she had always liked him herself.

Dísa lowered her voice so in the hubbub only Jói could hear what she was saying. ‘There’s a rumour going around town that Mum had an affair with him.’

‘With Gunni?’

‘That’s what they say. That can’t be right, can it?’

‘No, it can’t be,’ said Jói with a reassuring smile. ‘It’s small-town gossip. Don’t believe a word of it.’

‘All right,’ said Dísa. ‘I won’t believe a word of it.’

That was what she had wanted Jói to say. It was what Kata had said. And yet Jói hadn’t seemed as shocked by the idea as he should have been, as Kata had been.

Dísa banished the suspicion from her mind.

‘Are you going back to Reykjavík tomorrow?’ said Dísa. ‘I am. Kata’s giving me a lift in her car. I’m sure there’s room for you.’

‘That would have been nice, but I’m getting an evening flight with Dad right after this.’

‘Do we have to talk about Thomocoin?’ Dad’s voice broke through the din, loud and irritated.

Dísa turned. Her father was speaking to Uncle Eggert. Ómar used to look good in a suit in the old days, with his slick black hair brushed back, but no more. The hair was shaved off, a tattoo crawled up his neck above the white collar of his shirt and his tummy hung over his too-tight trousers.

‘It’s a fair question,’ said Eggert. ‘A lot of people here have a lot of money riding on this.’

‘Not at her funeral, Eggert. Not at her funeral.’

Some of the mourners closest to them had overheard Ómar and were turning towards him, curious.

‘I have no information,’ Ómar said. ‘Neither good nor bad. I just don’t know.’

‘Maybe he does,’ said Eggert, looking over Ómar’s shoulder.

Ómar turned, as did Dísa. A tall figure was weaving through the crowd, which parted respectfully. The level of noise in the room fell two notches.

Sharp. Now he did look good in a suit.

At least half the crowd recognized Sharp from his Thomocoin promotional videos and they shut up and stared.

Sharp nodded at the sea of people he didn’t know and headed straight for his friend Ómar.

‘Hey, man, I’m so sorry,’ he said, putting his arm around Ómar. ‘She was a special woman.’

Ómar nodded. ‘She was.’

Sharp hugged him tightly.

‘Hi, Dísa,’ he said, flashing her a quick smile. ‘My condolences.’

‘Thanks,’ Dísa said, pleased that he had recognized her.

Eggert was glaring at Sharp. Sharp smiled and held out his hand. ‘Eggert, isn’t it? Good to see you again.’

‘I’m surprised you showed up here,’ said Eggert icily.

‘Helga and I were good friends, back in the day,’ said Sharp. ‘I wanted to come.’

‘You know your Thomocoin is the reason why she was killed?’

‘We don’t know that,’ said Ómar.

‘I know Helga was worried,’ said Sharp to Eggert. ‘Ómar told me. But it’s going to be fine. That’s why I’m in Iceland. To speak to the government. Dot the i’s and cross the t’s on an agreement for an exchange here.’

‘Here?’

‘Yes. Iceland’s the natural place to start. No one uses cash any more, so the infrastructure is in place for non-cash payments. We won’t go straight to Thomocoin being used in shops, but the first stage is an exchange where you can convert Thomocoin into krónur. The Icelandic government gets that. I’ve got a meeting at the Central Bank in a couple of days.’

‘I told you, Eggert.’ It was Hafsteinn. ‘See, Dísa? What did I tell you? Thanks for coming all the way from London, Sharp.’

‘I wouldn’t have missed it.’

The man had charm, Dísa was forced to admit. He looked trustworthy. Dísa could see Eggert was beginning to doubt his scepticism.

But this exchange was years, years, late. For three years Thomocoin had been taking in real money with the promise that the fake money they gave trusting people in return would be worth something very soon.

Well, it wasn’t.

Grandpa was going to lose everything. Including Blábrekka. They had all grown up here: Dísa, Mum, Grandpa and their ancestors going back generations. Dísa had tried to save the farm, had come very close to saving it, but she had failed.

The sadness of that fact, on top of the greater sadness of her mother’s death, was overwhelming.

Dísa didn’t know why Gunni had killed Mum. She suspected that Uncle Eggert was right and it had something to do with Thomocoin. Half the people in the room had trusted Helga, who had trusted Dísa, who had trusted Ómar, who had trusted Sharp. And now they were all going to lose everything.

Dísa was acutely aware of her and her mother’s position in that chain.

She felt responsible.

And she also felt angry.

‘Dad?’

He ignored her, listening to Sharp.

‘Dad?’ She tugged his sleeve.

‘Yeah?’

‘Can we talk for a moment?’ She looked at the crowd. ‘Outside? You’re going back to Reykjavík right after this, aren’t you?’

Ómar’s frustration with his daughter flared. But then he nodded.

She led him out of the back door and a few metres up the slope towards the rock where the hidden people lived, watching over Mum’s private key. A key to nothing.

‘Dad. You’ve got to pay them back. You and Sharp. Pay them all back.’

‘Pay who back? Your grandfather? Eggert?’

‘Not just them. Everyone in Dalvík who invested in Thomocoin. And Mum’s colleagues at the hospital. All of them.’

‘And why would I do that? How am I going to do that? Where am I going to get the money?’

‘They paid good money for their Thomocoin. Where is that? OK, maybe you don’t have it, but Sharp does. And he needs to pay it back.’

‘You heard him. He says there’s going to be an exchange in Iceland soon.’

‘He’s always said that and it’s never happened. He sounds good, but I don’t believe him. Do you? Do you believe him?’

Ómar looked up in frustration and then back at his daughter. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Right,’ said Dísa. ‘Listen, it’s our responsibility that all these people are going to lose so much. You. Me. And Mum. Grandpa’s going to have to sell Blábrekka. You know that, don’t you? It will break him. And Grandma. And you know how Mum would have felt about that, how much the farm meant to her. We need to do this for Mum.’

Anger flared in Ómar’s eyes. ‘I warned you not to get your mother involved in this, didn’t I, Dísa? Don’t you remember? When I first told you about the bitcoin in the restaurant in Akureyri?’

Dísa nodded.

Ómar’s frustration spilled over. ‘I loved your mother, but she was greedy, you know that? When stuff was going on at the bank that shouldn’t have been, back before the crash, I had decided to blow the whistle. I spoke to Helga about it. And she talked me out of it. She said I should trust Sharp; Sharp knew what he was doing. She said we needed the salary, we needed the bonuses.’

He shook his head. ‘We didn’t need the bonuses. We didn’t need a Discovery and a Mercedes. But your mum wanted them.’

‘Dad!’ Dísa could feel her face reddening. ‘How can you say that! You lost us everything.’

‘I did,’ said Ómar. ‘And I will always regret that.’

‘So do something about it! Give the money back. Or get Sharp to give the money back.’

‘I don’t have it,’ said Ómar. ‘And I can’t make Sharp give it back. You heard him. He really does believe there’s going to be an exchange.’

‘Figure out a way, Dad,’ said Dísa.

Ómar watched his daughter stride back into the farmhouse.

He couldn’t face going back in there.

He walked up the hill, hauled himself on to a rock and looked out over the broad green valley.

It really was a beautiful place, his wife’s childhood home. The fjord stretched northwards, its mountain walls eventually coming to an abrupt halt as its waters opened out to the broad horizon of the Arctic Ocean. The flat island of Hrísey floated just a few kilometres offshore, a smattering of white buildings at its southern tip.

He smiled as he remembered how he and Helga had spent a July day out there, the first time he came to Blábrekka to meet her family. They had wandered through the summer houses and found a field of bright purple lupins. Helga had insisted that no one could see them there; Ómar thought the whole fjord could and, besides, there was a stiff breeze coming from the sea. Then Helga had crouched down, wriggled out of her clothes and asked him what he was waiting for, there was no wind down here.

He had loved her then. Her thick red hair, her wicked smile, her sense of adventure.

She had been proud of him, her hot-shot rising-star banker husband. She enjoyed being a doctor, she felt good fixing sick people, but she liked it even more if there was a banker’s salary to help things along. And that salary was shooting up, together with bonuses, as the bank found ever more creative ways to make money.

For the hundredth time, Ómar wished he had stopped the merry-go-round when he could have. It was true that he had asked Helga for her opinion and she had told him to go along with Sharp and the others. But he was the banker. He was the one who knew that secretly lending money to shell companies to buy stock in the bank wasn’t financial genius, it was morally wrong and probably illegal.

He accepted his responsibility for what had happened. He had accepted that he had broken the law and deserved to go to jail, along with four others. They could have taken Sharp down with them, who was then working for the bank’s London branch, but they chose not to.

And, actually, that had worked out. Especially when Sharp had given him the bitcoin and the price had gone up. And he had given some to Dísa, who had traded it so well.

Then another poor decision. Trusting Sharp on Thomocoin. Ómar still hung on to the hope that he hadn’t misjudged his friend, but he knew in his heart he was kidding himself. Dísa saw it. Dísa was smart about these things.

He wasn’t going to lose much. Unlike Dísa and Helga, Ómar had sold most of his bitcoin through Sharp — he needed the money to spend. Sure, he had invested some in Thomocoin, but not everything. Nothing like Helga’s investments.

He knew she’d screw up. That’s why he had given the bitcoin to Dísa. Even at fifteen, she was a better bet than Helga.

Helga.

He had loved her passionately. Even when he had gone to jail and she had ditched him, he’d loved her. Even just before the crash when everything was going so well and he had started that stupid affair with Bryndís at the bank, he had loved her. Bryndís was another mistake.

Helga had stopped loving him, he knew that. And that had been his fault. He knew that too.

Dísa wanted him to atone for all those mistakes. And he’d like to if he could. But he had very little money himself. And he had no chance of persuading Sharp to cough up.

His best bet — Dísa’s best bet — was to hope that Sharp could conjure something out of nothing with the Icelandic government.

He felt alone. He wanted Helga. The old Helga he had fallen in love with, not the more recent one who demeaned and dismissed him, who knew him for what he really was.

A loser.

Sitting on the rock, looking out over the valley she had grown up in, he felt a tear run down his cheek. And then another.

For three minutes he sobbed.

It felt good.

Then he slid off the rock and headed back to the farmhouse to fetch Jói and take him back to Reykjavík.

Twenty-Two

Magnus’s expenses from his trip up north didn’t add up. No matter how hard he stared at the damn screen, 4,500 krónur were missing. He knew from bitter experience that he had to make the numbers add up eventually.

Fudging expenses was a major crime in CID.

His phone rang. He picked it up. ‘Magnús.’

‘It’s Jón from the front desk. I’ve got a young lady here who wants to see you. Dísa Ómarsdóttir.’

‘I’ll come down.’

Dísa looked tired and washed-out. And angry.

Magnus led her up to CID via the coffee machine and sat her down next to his desk. She responded to his attempt to chat with one-word answers. He gathered that she had returned to Reykjavík the day before, after her mother’s funeral.

Magnus was sympathetic. His father had been murdered when he was about her age. He had been tired, washed-out and angry too.

‘All right,’ he said with what he hoped was an encouraging smile. ‘What can I help you with?’

‘I want you to arrest Mum’s murderers,’ said Dísa.

‘We’ve done that,’ said Magnus. ‘Gunnar Snaer Sigmundsson is in custody. My colleagues in Akureyri are building a good case against him. They are confident of a conviction.’

The DNA analysis of the blood on the knife found in Gunni’s shed had come back with a match for Helga. There was a window of about an hour when Gunni was supposedly walking his dog when he just about had time to get up the mountainside and kill her. Motive wasn’t completely clear yet, but Ólafur’s strategy was to let the suspect stew in solitary confinement in prison at Hólmsheidi until they had gathered overwhelming evidence against him and then use that to get him to confess.

‘I don’t mean Gunni. I mean the people who really killed Mum. The people behind Thomocoin.’

Magnus nodded. He noticed Dísa’s northern accent was more obvious here in Reykjavík than it had been when he had seen her in Dalvík. ‘I see. But we’re not even sure that Thomocoin is the reason Gunni killed your mother.’

‘Of course it is. What other motive might there be?’

Dísa was staring hard at Magnus, daring him to answer.

Magnus paused. This was one of the things he hated most about murder investigations: revealing victims’ secrets to their families.

He didn’t have to tell Dísa. He could wait until she found out at the trial. But it was inevitable she would find out, eventually.

Magnus had been in her shoes. Nearly twenty-five years before, his father had been murdered in the house in which they were staying in a small town on the shore south of Boston. The police had got nowhere. Magnus, a college student at the time, had demanded answers. There were none. He had tried to solve the case but hadn’t got anywhere himself. Until, that is, he became a policeman and thirteen years later was transferred to Iceland.

Where the key to his father’s death had been lying all the time.

He remembered the kindly local detective — Jim Fearon was his name — who had patiently answered Magnus’s questions. And eventually, over a decade later, had helped him find the answers.

So he decided to answer Dísa’s.

‘You probably don’t know this,’ said Magnus, ‘but it looks like your mother had an affair with Gunni. In the past.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ said Dísa. She looked angry rather than surprised; she must have heard gossip. Despite her protests, she was really asking Magnus for confirmation.

‘Your mother confided in someone a few years ago. And when we confronted Gunni with it, he admitted it.’

‘I still don’t believe you.’

‘That’s your choice,’ said Magnus. ‘But it is another possible motive.’

Dísa breathed in. ‘Was this so-called affair still going on when she died?’

‘We don’t know,’ said Magnus. ‘Gunni says it finished in 2016, and at the moment we have no reason to doubt him. We’re still working on it.’

‘So why would that make him kill her?’

‘The truth is we don’t know the motive. Yet.’

‘Yes, you do,’ said Dísa. ‘It’s staring you in the face! Thomocoin. Gunni bought millions of dollars of Thomocoin from Mum and it’s all worthless. So he was pissed off and he killed her. It’s obvious, isn’t it?’

‘That may turn out to be the motive,’ said Magnus patiently. ‘But for the moment, we don’t know.’

‘Have you shut down Thomocoin yet? Have you arrested the people behind it? Sharp? Jérôme? The Swiss guy with the pointy beard?’

‘No, we haven’t.’

‘Why not? It’s a massive fraud. My family and Gunni aren’t the only people to lose money from Thomocoin. Half of Dalvík has. And there will be loads of people in Reykjavík who have lost money too. What are you doing about it?’

‘Thomocoin hasn’t gone bankrupt yet.’

‘Yet? Why wait until it does?’

Magnus decided to give Dísa an honest answer. ‘It’s political, Dísa. There are people in Iceland who want Thomocoin to succeed. There are others who think it will fail but don’t want to take responsibility for it. I know that in some other countries Thomocoin is being investigated seriously. But not in Iceland. I’m sorry.’

‘Which countries?’

‘I can’t say. It’s an ongoing investigation. But one of them is big.’

‘But not here?’

‘Not here. I’m sorry.’

Dísa leaned back in her chair, her face torn with anger and frustration. Tears were forming in her eyes, but she controlled them.

‘These people lied to me. They lied to my dad, to my mum, to Gunni, to lots of other people. And they are still lying. My mother died as a direct result. My grandparents are going to lose the farm that has been in their family for five hundred years. And you’re not going to do anything?’

Magnus could see her point. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t.’

‘Sharp is in Iceland. Did you even know that?’

Magnus shook his head.

‘He had the nerve to show up at Mum’s funeral. He says he’s seeing the Central Bank in Reykjavík today. You could go and arrest him.’

‘I can’t arrest him. I have nothing to arrest him for.’

‘You do! He’s stolen millions of krónur from tons of people. And he killed my mum!’

‘I’m sorry, Dísa...’

The contempt on Dísa’s face struck Magnus. She just shook her head, stood up and left.

‘She has a point,’ said Vigdís from the desk opposite where she had been listening to the whole thing.

‘She does,’ said Magnus. ‘She does.’

Thelma hung up the phone and smiled broadly as Magnus entered her office.

‘You look happy,’ he said.

‘Just got our headcount raised,’ she said. ‘It’s only by one, but that’s a result these days.’

‘Congratulations,’ said Magnus.

Thelma was a few years older than Magnus, with short blonde hair, a pugnacious jaw, hard blue eyes that knew how to twinkle and a false leg — the result of a car chase gone wrong. She was not universally liked in the department: she was a bit of a hard-arse, and Vigdís in particular thought Thelma had a problem with women. But she and Magnus respected each other. Magnus got the results and Thelma took the credit. Win-win.

‘What have you got for me?’

‘Thomocoin,’ said Magnus.

Thelma sat back in her chair and examined Magnus over her reading glasses. It was an intimidating stare, but Magnus was used to it.

‘Oh yes?’

‘I just got a visit from Dísa Ómarsdóttir — it was her mother who was murdered in Dalvík. She holds Thomocoin responsible. Half the community up there has invested, including her mother and her grandparents. It’s probably what motivated Gunnar Snaer to kill Helga. And no one here in Reykjavík is doing anything about it.’

‘So?’

‘So I thought I would ask around. Quietly. Dísa believes Thomocoin is on the verge of bankruptcy.’

‘Was anyone from Thomocoin directly involved in the killing?’

‘I don’t think so. But I’d like to find out.’

‘Let me put this another way. Is there any evidence that anyone from Thomocoin was involved?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Yet?’

‘No,’ Magnus admitted.

‘And has Ólafur asked you for more evidence about Thomocoin?’

‘No,’ said Magnus. ‘He doesn’t think it’s necessary. But if Thomocoin goes bust then a lot of people are on the line for a lot of money.’

‘And who told you it’s going bust? A nineteen-year-old student?’

‘The FBI,’ Magnus replied.

Thelma paused. Thinking through the angles.

‘Let’s say it does go bust. Then the shit really will hit the fan. And two things will happen. They will look around for who to blame. And they will look around for bodies to help them with the investigation. But they won’t look to us on either count, because this has got nothing whatsoever to do with CID. It’s not our job. It’s not your job. It should stay that way.’

‘Not even a couple of interviews?’ said Magnus. ‘I can write them up for Ólafur.’

‘No.’

‘All right,’ said Magnus.

‘Do you understand me, Magnús?’

‘Of course.’

‘Good.’

Magnus got up to leave.

‘Oh, Magnús?’

‘Yes?’

‘How’s that old guy you live with? Tryggvi Thór?’

‘He’s fine.’

‘He avoided the virus in the spring?’

‘Yes. He was pretty careful.’

‘The numbers are ticking up again. We may get another wave. He should still be careful.’

‘I’ll tell him.’

‘No, don’t tell him,’ said Thelma. ‘He’s a grumpy old git. Just keep an eye out for him, will you?’

‘I will,’ said Magnus. He left unsaid the question in his mind: Why do you care?

When he got back to his desk, he looked up the address for Fjóla Rúnarsdóttir. As Vigdís had said, Dísa had had a point. Magnus had been in her shoes once and he wasn’t about to let her down. His mistake had been to try to get approval from his boss. Well, she need never know.

Twenty-Three

Tubbyman was good. Krakatoa was always tempted to show the price of Thomocoin rising inexorably upwards. Tubbyman understood that Thomocoin was a gamble, and that gambling was no fun unless there was a chance of losing. That’s what made the price rises, when they came, sweeter.

Krakatoa looked up from his computer. Outside, the sea shimmered silver as it reflected the low September light which slipped under the clouds. It was a cold day here in Iceland — whereas several thousand miles away on the west coast of Canada the temperature was an unusually warm twenty-two degrees Celsius, according to Krakatoa’s weather app.

He really must keep an eye on the COVID stats in Canada. Here in Iceland, it was all fine so far.

Twenty-Four

Dísa turned off the National Ring Road at Mosfellsbaer and headed inland between mountains of bleak rock and scree. The road was good — it was the classic tourist route from Reykjavík to the site of the ancient outdoor parliament at Thingvellir — but with the virus, the usual coaches were absent, and Dísa could put Kata’s Hyundai through its paces.

She was anxious to get to the lake.

She had been disappointed that the big red-haired detective had been so feeble, but part of her had expected it. On the long drive with Kata back to Reykjavík, a Plan B had slowly slotted into place in her head in case the police failed to act.

Ómar had built a tiny summer house of wood and glass next to Apavatn about fifteen years before, in the good times. It was at the end of a dirt track, which passed about a dozen larger summer houses. The track petered out at a stream that babbled and chuckled past the cottage. Dísa and Anna Rós had loved visiting the place in the summer as kids, both playing outside in the stream or the lake when it was sunny, or shut up cosily with both parents when the rain was driving horizontally against the wooden walls.

They’d still visited there with Dad and sometimes Jói after the divorce, but it wasn’t the same.

She parked the car in front of the house but didn’t go in. She didn’t have a key.

Instead, she made her way through the grass to a thicket just a few metres away from the building, between it and the stream. The sunlight glittered on the blue lake, and hills slumbered on the other side. To the east, the powerful snowy shoulders of the volcano Hekla hunched under a solitary cloud. At this time of year, midweek, the other cottages were empty.

There, surrounded by willow and dwarf birch, stood a grey stone about a metre high and three metres long.

Dad had told them stories about that stone. The farmer who had sold him the land on which he had built the summer house had made him promise not to move it. A family of hidden people lived there. The farmer said that he wasn’t bothered about them personally, but his mother definitely was and had almost blocked the sale of the land.

Ómar had promised. And had enjoyed telling his little girls all about them.

Dísa and Anna Rós had never seen the huldufólk but had played all kinds of imaginary games with them. The rock had become an important part of the attraction of the place to the little girls and hence their parents.

So Dísa hadn’t been surprised when her father had told her that was where he had hidden his private key.

She had bought a trowel from a hardware store and clutched that as she ducked into the bushes. Unlike the stone at Blábrekka, this one wasn’t surrounded by smaller rocks. Neither was there an obvious patch of bare earth.

Dísa considered the spot. Had Dad dug a kind of tunnel under the rock? Unlikely. There were about a dozen tussocks of grass. She yanked at these, but they didn’t rise. But as she was bending down to tug at the last one, she saw a slit in the rock underneath it.

She went down on her knees. Gingerly, she slipped her hand into the hole. She felt dead leaves and moss and something else. Two something elses.

She pulled them out.

They were light metal tubes with writing in Spanish on them. It took her a moment to figure out what they were: cigar tubes.

She opened the first one and drew out a rolled-up scrap of torn paper. She laid it out on the stone. A large letter ‘O’ was written in blue biro, and underneath two long strings of letters and numbers that looked as if they had been produced by an inkjet printer. Above the first string were written in English the words ‘private key’; above the second ‘wallet address’.

Dad’s cold wallet.

Dísa had considered taking a picture on her phone, but she didn’t want the image floating around in the cloud where a hacker might find it. So she carefully copied out the characters from both keys on a card she had brought with her, and read them out loud backwards and forwards to double and triple check she had not made any errors. If just one character was wrong, then the whole key would be useless.

She opened the second cigar tube and extracted a similar scrap of paper, this one headed with the letter ‘K’. Once again, she copied out the string of characters and read them back aloud to make sure she had got them down correctly.

She stuffed the papers back in their tubes and slipped the tubes under the tussock of grass.

Two wallet addresses. Two private keys. Two bitcoin wallets. One of them was clearly her father’s. Whose was the other?

And how much bitcoin was in them? As she walked back to the car, she wondered whether there would be enough to repay all those investors in Dalvík. Even if Dísa couldn’t repay them in full, even if she could just pay back a portion, it would be much better than doing nothing.

Twenty-Five

Fjóla Rúnarsdóttir lived on the sixth floor of one of the apartment blocks in the Shadow District that overlooked Faxaflói Bay. Those places were expensive. Fjóla herself was a tall woman with curly black hair, wearing a tight black top and black leggings. Her eyes, however, were blue and warm, and she gave a friendly smile as she welcomed Magnus into her apartment.

Friendly, though also nervous. But then a lot of people were nervous about talking to the police.

She sat him on a light grey sofa — the whole apartment was light grey and white, as if colour had been banished. Even the art on the walls was in black and white. Only the books were colourful; Magnus noticed a number with English titles on management and various self-improvement themes. Her windows looked down upon a narrow street of scruffy green and yellow metal houses that had not yet been devoured by Reykjavík’s young professionals.

‘How can I help you?’ Fjóla asked, with a warm, helpful smile.

‘I’m investigating the murder of Helga Hafsteinsdóttir.’

‘Ah.’ The smile left her face. ‘I was so sorry to hear about that. But I understand you’ve caught the murderer?’

‘We think so. But we’re still gathering evidence.’

‘Of course.’

‘I take it you knew Helga?’

‘Certainly. She was an investor in Thomocoin. More importantly from our point of view, she brought in plenty of other investors. She was one of my top customers. Actually, my top customer.’

‘Because of all the commission those other investors brought in?’

‘That’s right. We use MLM to sell Thomocoin — multi-level marketing. It’s perfect for the kind of thing that requires enthusiastic selling. Helga was very effective.’

‘How many customers did she bring in?’

‘I think about twenty directly, give or take. But they all brought in others, especially in Dalvík. I think there were probably another fifty or sixty in total.’

‘And you earned commission on all of them?’

‘I did,’ said Fjóla. ‘And so did she. That’s how MLM works.’

‘What form did this commission take?’

‘You can take it either in Thomocoin or bitcoin.’

‘How did Helga take hers?’

‘Thomocoin. She was a true believer.’

‘And you?’

‘Bitcoin.’

Magnus raised his eyebrows. ‘You aren’t a true believer?’

Fjóla smiled. ‘Oh, of course I believe in it! I wouldn’t sell it otherwise. But I’m a professional. I don’t think putting all my eggs in one basket is a good idea. I’d have preferred euros or dollars, but bitcoin is better than nothing. The price has been all over the place in the last couple of years, but it seems to be going up again now.’

‘Are you aware that bitcoin is illegal in Iceland?’

Fjóla paused. ‘I believe it’s against the law to buy bitcoin. It’s OK to own it. But I’d rather not discuss my own affairs unless it’s relevant to your investigation. I hope you understand.’

Smart woman.

‘I do understand,’ said Magnus. He didn’t want Fjóla to turn defensive. She seemed naturally helpful, and Magnus wanted to take advantage of that.

‘The sale of Thomocoin in Iceland doesn’t breach any current financial regulations,’ Fjóla added. ‘I got a lawyer to check.’

‘I’m sure you did,’ said Magnus, remembering Sigurjón in Financial Crimes and his instructions to look the other way. ‘One of the investors Helga brought in was Gunnar Snaer Sigmundsson.’

‘That’s correct. He’s the man you’ve arrested for Helga’s murder, isn’t he?’

‘Yes, he is. Do you know how much Thomocoin he bought?’

‘I can look up the exact number, but it was probably about three million dollars’ worth.’ She smiled. ‘Actually, I do remember the number pretty accurately. Two million nine hundred and sixty-eight thousand dollars of Thomocoin. He was the biggest investor in Iceland.’

‘Did you ever meet him?’

‘Not directly. Helga handled him. But I did communicate with him by email recently.’

‘What about?’

Fjóla paused. The smile disappeared.

Magnus waited.

‘It was terrible Helga was killed like that.’

Magnus waited some more.

Fjóla blew air through her cheeks. ‘Look. I’ve always believed Thomocoin is legitimate. I still do. I checked it out thoroughly before I signed up. I have no doubt that cryptocurrencies are the future, especially once they are approved for legal tender, and that’s precisely what Thomocoin is aiming to do. To get approval.’

‘I see.’

‘If you are in the MLM business, you need a good product to sell. Amway, Avon, Herbalife — they all work because people want to buy the cleaning products or the cosmetics or the vitamins. And people really want to buy cryptocurrencies, once they’re explained to them.’

‘Provided they are worth something in the end,’ said Magnus.

‘Yes,’ said Fjóla. ‘And I believed Thomocoin would be. I’m trying to build up a network of loyal followers, people like Helga. The last thing I want to do is blow my credibility by selling them something worthless.’

‘That makes sense.’

‘Right. So Gunnar was concerned about the exchange that Thomocoin had promised to set up and hadn’t.’

‘I’ve heard that.’

‘He was putting a lot of pressure on Helga. He was putting a lot of pressure on me. He was getting impatient.’

‘Do you think that was why he killed Helga?’

‘I don’t know. But maybe. It’s awful. If only he had waited.’

‘Waited? Why?’

‘Well, there’s still a good chance that the Icelandic government will approve an exchange for Thomocoin.’

‘Do you really believe that?’

‘Yes,’ said Fjóla. ‘Thomocoin is in talks with the government now.’

‘That would be Skarphédinn Gíslason? Otherwise known as Sharp?’

‘That’s right. He’s in Iceland now.’

‘Have you seen him?’

‘I met with him yesterday. He had just flown back from Helga’s funeral in Dalvík. They were old friends.’

‘Tell me about Sharp.’

‘He lives in London now. He used to work for one of the banks before the crash, in their London branch. He wasn’t involved in any of the bad stuff. He’s an entrepreneur in London who gets cryptocurrencies. He’s an impressive guy. Inspirational.’

‘Do you have his address in London?’

Fjóla hesitated and then decided being helpful to the police was in her best interests. ‘Sure,’ she said. She read out a London address from her phone.

‘And he’s the chief executive?’

‘That’s right. There’s a French guy called Jérôme Carmin who is important too. Head of global marketing. He lives in Paris. I’ve got his address too.’ She read it out.

‘What about Krakatoa? Who is he?’

Fjóla smiled. ‘Ah. Krakatoa. He’s the brains behind the operation, supposedly. He lives in Canada, supposedly. British Columbia.’

‘Have you met him?’

‘No. Nobody has met him. He’s a genius holed up in some secret lair in the mountains or something.’

‘You sound sceptical?’

‘I am. You can imagine that something like Thomocoin takes place online. It’s the ultimate virtual company. And this guy Krakatoa runs it. Everyone is in awe of Krakatoa.’

‘Except you?’

‘I don’t think Krakatoa is in Canada at all.’

‘You don’t?’

‘I think Krakatoa is an Icelander.’

‘Really? Why do you think that?’

‘I don’t know. It started off as just a feeling. His English is excellent, but I thought occasionally he sounded like an Icelander writing in English. And there’s the name Krakatoa.’

‘That’s in Indonesia.’

‘Yes. But it’s a volcano. Volcanoes are really Icelandic. I bet he really wanted to call himself “Hekla” but couldn’t, so he chose a foreign one instead. And Krakatoa sounds better than Vesuvius.’

‘It’s a bit thin,’ said Magnus.

‘Plus, he puts an accent on the “i” in Reykjavík. No foreigner would do that unless maybe they had lived in Iceland.’

‘Hm,’ said Magnus. ‘It’s not exactly conclusive proof, but I see what you mean. So in that case, who do you think Krakatoa is?’

‘Sharp. It’s got to be Sharp.’

‘Have you asked him?’

‘No. I was nervous to. And if you see him, please don’t tell him I told you he’s Krakatoa. It’s just a guess.’

‘Why are you scared of Sharp, Fjóla?’

‘I’m not scared of Sharp, or at least the Sharp I know. But I am scared of Krakatoa. So if Sharp turns out to be Krakatoa...’

‘I see. And why is Krakatoa so scary?’

‘I don’t know. He’s decisive. Ruthless almost. You don’t mess with him. He’s at home on the dark web. All those drugs sites.’

‘And Sharp isn’t?’

‘I think they are like Jekyll and Hyde. Sharp is the inspirational entrepreneur when he’s in the real world. And Krakatoa is the enforcer on the dark web.’ Fjóla raised her hands. ‘Don’t get me wrong. I don’t think either Sharp or Krakatoa has broken the law. They’re too smart for that. I just wouldn’t mess with Krakatoa, that’s all. And if he is Sharp, I am sure he had nothing to do with Helga’s murder. There is no reason he would ever have even met Gunnar.’

‘I’d like to speak to Sharp. Where is he staying in Reykjavík?’

‘Just around the corner,’ said Fjóla. ‘At 101 hotel.’

Twenty-Six

Magnus was due to meet Ási and Ingileif at five-thirty, but he had an hour before then, which should be long enough to interview Sharp. He called Agent Malley in New York first. Malley was insistent that Magnus avoid tipping off Sharp that the FBI were on to him. He expected a red notice to be issued in the next couple of days. But it would be useful if Magnus could discover Sharp’s travel plans so they knew where to arrest him.

Reception at 101 hotel said Sharp was out, so Magnus decided to try again later on, after he’d seen Ási.

Magnus agreed with Dísa that Thomocoin bore some moral responsibility for her mother’s death, but it was looking increasingly unlikely that it bore any legal responsibility, especially given the Icelandic government’s approach to regulating it.

But he remembered his insistence on asking difficult questions of the authorities after his own father was murdered. He would give Dísa what answers he could. He would talk to Sharp.

And maybe he could help the FBI nab him. If Sharp ended up spending ten years in an American jail, that should give Dísa some comfort.

Ingileif had suggested that they meet at a playground in Vesturbaer, a neighbourhood just above the old harbour where sea captains used to live in grand houses — grand by Icelandic standards.

Ási had changed, obviously: he was now nearly twice as old as he had been the last time Magnus had seen him, although he was recognizably the same boy. Thinner, taller, hair just as red, freckles spattering his nose. He gave Magnus a shy smile and then ran off to clamber over a high and complicated climbing frame.

Ingileif smiled. ‘Perhaps this wasn’t such a good place to meet. You don’t get to talk to him, you just get to watch him.’

‘He looks pretty fearless.’

‘He’s just trying to show off in front of you.’

‘That’s nice.’

‘What, that your son is a show-off?’

‘That he wants to show off in front of me.’

Ingileif looked as if she was about to say something — point out Magnus’s neediness perhaps — but she thought better of it.

‘Maybe we can take him for pizza later?’ she said.

‘That would be good. Thanks for this,’ said Magnus. ‘It’s good just to see him.’

Ingileif didn’t say anything, but watched her son. Their son.

They went for pizza at a place around the corner, Ási chatting happily, and then Ingileif invited Magnus back to her apartment for a cup of coffee.

It was the top floor of one of those old, white, metal-clad sea captain’s houses, with glimpses of the harbour and the bay between the roofs. The apartment was decorated in what Magnus recognized as Ingileif’s minimalist taste. Warm wooden floorboards, plenty of glass, dramatic vases, lots of curves. He recognized also a couple of paintings by one of the women who co-owned the gallery in Skólavördustígur with Ingileif: landscapes of waterfalls and lava fields in blocks of blue, white, green and gold. Magnus had always rather liked them. And candles — lots of candles.

But no cello. Magnus wondered what had happened to the cello.

‘Why don’t you show Magnús your room, Ási?’ said Ingileif.

Ási proudly complied. It was a small room. Almost all the wall space was covered with books.

‘Have you read all these?’ said Magnus. ‘It’s a lot of books for a seven-year-old.’

‘I like reading,’ he said.

‘What’s your favourite?’

‘I used to like Tintin and the Elstur books. But I’ve just started Harry Potter.’

‘That’ll keep you busy. And what are these?’ Magnus pointed to a group of gruesome half-painted toy figures on his desk.

‘Warhammer. My friend Binni plays with his brother. It’s fun.’

‘I can see that eating up his pocket money for the next few years,’ said Ingileif.

The living room was a wide space — walls had been knocked down — and Ingileif and Magnus went to the kitchen area while Ási played some computer game on the sofa. It seemed to be something related to Warhammer.

‘I said coffee, but I’m having a glass of wine,’ said Ingileif. ‘Would you like one?’

‘I’m interviewing someone later,’ said Magnus.

‘OK,’ said Ingileif.

‘Well, maybe just one.’

Ingileif poured two glasses and they sat at the table. Magnus hadn’t seen her for three years, and she looked older, but yet she looked exactly the same. He caught her eye. She was looking at him and thinking the same thing. He could tell.

‘Thanks for letting me see him. It’s been great.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Ingileif. ‘I should have done this sooner. It’s just Hannes didn’t want me to, and, well, I caved.’

‘That seems unlike you,’ said Magnus.

‘I know.’

‘When’s he coming home? Hannes. Will I meet him?’

‘No, you won’t meet him,’ said Ingileif. She lowered her eyes to her glass. ‘He walked out three months ago.’

‘Oh.’ Magnus hesitated. ‘I’m sorry.’

Ingileif shrugged and then looked straight at Magnus. ‘I’m just not very good at staying with men. Am I?’

Magnus held her gaze and grinned. ‘No.’

Ingileif laughed. ‘You know I’m forty now?’

‘I didn’t. But I could have worked it out.’

‘And I’ve got a string of bad relationships behind me. You would have thought I would have learned by now.’

‘Ours wasn’t a bad relationship.’

‘I left you. Twice!’

‘I know. But I’m glad it happened,’ said Magnus. He realized it was something he had wanted to tell Ingileif for a long time. ‘I’m glad we were together.’

‘So am I,’ said Ingileif.

They held each other’s eyes. Something was going on in Magnus’s mind, in his chest. His heart was pumping faster.

He was falling. Where, he didn’t know.

She broke away from his glance and swilled the wine in her glass. She seemed to be thinking.

‘What is it?’ said Magnus.

Ingileif didn’t answer; she seemed absorbed in her wine. Then she looked up.

‘Can I show you something?’

‘What?’

‘Come,’ she said. She led him along a hallway and opened a door. Magnus followed her into the room. Her bedroom.

She reached behind him and locked the door. Then she kissed him.

Magnus put his arms around her and held her. His senses exploded, her tongue playing with his, her smell, the feel of her wonderful arse beneath his hands, her chest against his. So familiar. So exciting. So right.

He was falling.

But then he clung to a branch on the cliff edge.

He pushed himself away from her.

‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Ingileif. No.’

‘Come on, Magnús,’ said Ingileif with a smile. ‘You want to.’

‘I don’t know whether I want to or not. But I know I can’t. I’m with Eygló.’

‘Do you want to be with her?’ Ingileif gazed at him with hope; hope tinged with doubt.

‘I don’t know. But I am with her. So I can’t do this.’

Ingileif’s confidence crumbled before his eyes. ‘What am I doing?’ she said. ‘I told myself not to do this. To leave you alone. To let you get to know Ási again. But just now in the kitchen... I thought... I thought...’

‘I didn’t mean to lead you on,’ said Magnus.

‘I know you didn’t. And you didn’t. It was me. Screwing up again. I know you. I know you wouldn’t do anything with Eygló around. I knew that. And yet I jump on you. I’m so stupid.’

‘You’re not stupid,’ said Magnus.

Tears appeared in Ingileif’s eyes. She wiped them and looked away, biting her lip. Magnus wanted to grab her, hold her, comfort her.

She turned back to him and sniffed. ‘I think you’d better say goodbye to Ási and go.’

‘Can I see him again?’

‘Yes.’ Ingileif nodded her head. ‘Send me a text in a couple of weeks. No, a month. Leave it a month, please. But we’ll fix something up. Now go!’

Twenty-Seven

Dísa drove straight from the summer house to Jói’s apartment in Gardabaer to pick up her stuff. That was why she had borrowed Kata’s car, although she had asked her friend if she could drive out to the summer house first, without explaining to Kata exactly why. She would pay her for the petrol.

She was desperate to log into her father’s bitcoin wallet to see how much he had. Although she could have tried to do it on her phone, she thought it was safer to wait until she had some privacy with her laptop. It might be fiddly.

It didn’t take Dísa long to pack up — she didn’t have many things. When she had finished, Jói suggested a cup of coffee before she left. Petra was working in her coffee shop, so it was just the two of them.

‘Thank you so much, Jói,’ said Dísa. ‘It’s been great staying here.’

‘It’s been nice having you around. How are you doing now?’

‘About Mum?’

Jói nodded.

‘I was kind of looking forward to the funeral; I thought it would be an important step. And it was good to see all those people there, how they all liked and respected her despite the Thomocoin. But it doesn’t really make much difference. I still miss her every second of the day.’

‘Of course you do,’ said Jói.

‘Yeah.’ Dísa sipped her coffee. ‘They talk about the stages of grief, don’t they? I’m not sure what they are or what order they come in. I think denial is one of them. But I’m in the anger phase.’

‘With Gunni?’

‘Yes, with Gunni. But more with Thomocoin and the people behind it. Dad. Sharp. Mum even. It’s stupid, but I’m angry with Mum. I’m angry with myself for telling her about it.’

‘Don’t get worked up about that, Dísa. It’ll just make things worse.’

‘Maybe. Did you buy any?’

‘Dad tried to get me to, but that stuff isn’t my thing. You can make money, but you can lose it too.’

Dísa was tempted to tell Jói about her trip to the summer house — he knew it as well as she did — and about the private key she had copied down, but she held back. Although Jói had slotted into her family well — Mum had made sure of that — Dísa always got the impression that his loyalty was with his father. Which was fair enough. And with his own mother, Dad’s first wife, a teacher in Breidholt whom Dísa had never met, which was even fairer.

‘I asked the police about Thomocoin today,’ she said. ‘You know they’re not even investigating it?’

‘Why not?’

‘Politics, apparently. Sharp has got to important people in the government. It makes me furious.’

‘But do you even know that’s why Gunni killed Helga?’

‘That’s just what the detective asked me.’ Dísa hesitated. ‘He said there might be another reason.’

‘Oh?’

‘You know, don’t you, Jói? About Gunni and Mum. When I told you about the rumour I could see you weren’t surprised.’

Jói winced. ‘I wasn’t.’ Now it was his turn to hesitate. ‘I caught them at it, you know.’

‘What!’

‘It was a couple of years before the divorce. I was about fourteen. I came home from school in the middle of the day, I forget why. I heard noises from her bedroom. I was old enough to know what that meant. I ran out of the house and spent two hours hiding behind a wall watching the front door to see who came out.’

‘And it was Gunni?’

Jói nodded.

‘And you didn’t tell me?’

‘Certainly not!’ Jói protested. ‘I didn’t tell anyone. Except you just now.’

‘Wow.’ Dísa was about to tell Jói she didn’t believe him, to stick up for Mum. But she did believe him.

‘So that means that Dad wasn’t the only one to cheat?’ she said.

‘She cheated on him first.’

‘Do you think he knew?’

‘No idea. But that’s what happened with him and my mum. She cheated on him first too.’

Dísa frowned. ‘You’re just sticking up for him.’

‘Maybe, a little bit. He did wrong too. He did have an affair with that woman, Bryndís. And he broke the law and went to jail. But he’s paid for his sins.’

‘Whereas Mum hadn’t?’

Jói winced. ‘She has now.’

Dísa shuddered. ‘She was tough on Dad.’

‘Look,’ said Jói. ‘Truth is, they both screwed up. But let’s not take sides. You’re my sister, Dísa. Aren’t you?’

Dísa smiled. ‘Yes, Jói. I am.’

Dísa’s room in Kata’s apartment was tiny; there was barely enough space for a single bed and a small table to act as a desk. But after all that had happened, it was good to be with an old, old friend.

As soon as Dísa decently could, she shut herself in there and opened up her laptop.

She knew her way around bitcoin, so with her father’s wallet address and private key it didn’t take her long to get into his wallet to see how many actual bitcoin he owned.

Three.

Or 3.116 to be precise. Dísa checked the price: $10,526. So that was over thirty thousand dollars. A reasonable amount of money, but not as much as she had hoped. Not nearly enough to save the farm. Or repay all those investors in Thomocoin Mum had suckered in.

But it was something.

Dísa hesitated. Was she really sure she wanted to do what she was about to do?

Steal from her father?

It wasn’t theft. She wasn’t going to take any of the bitcoin for herself. It was reversing a theft.

Restitution.

Carefully, precisely, she gave instructions to transfer the entire 3.116 bitcoin from her father’s wallet to hers.

Ómar probably owned some Thomocoin as well, but Dísa had no way of getting access to that. Not that there was any point. By this stage, Dísa was convinced Thomocoin was worthless.

Now, what about this other wallet? The one headed ‘K’?

She carefully copied out the wallet address and then the private key she had retrieved from the summer house.

It worked!

She blinked. That couldn’t be right.

She scribbled down a quick calculation of a piece of paper and counted up the zeroes.

It was right.

‘K’, whoever he was, owned 1,962 bitcoin in the blockchain.

Which, at a bit over ten thousand dollars each, worked out at about twenty million dollars.

Twenty-Eight

Magnus’s head was spinning as he left Ingileif’s apartment in Vesturbaer and his heart was churning. It was late to interview Sharp. On the other hand, Magnus really didn’t want to return directly to Eygló’s flat, so he drove over to 101 hotel, where Sharp was staying.

It was one of the hippest hotels in Reykjavík, but on a weekday evening in the middle of a pandemic, it was quiet. Fortunately, Sharp was in, although he said he had to leave for an appointment at nine.

They met in a corner of the empty bar, Sharp drinking one of the new Icelandic micro-brews and Magnus a Coke. Everything in the hotel was black, white and cool.

Except Magnus.

Sharp stood up and gave Magnus a friendly smile, but in those COVID times, no handshake. Magnus knew the type: well dressed in a studied, casual way, tall, good-looking, a smattering of stubble. The bankers had won a terrible reputation for themselves in Iceland after the crash. In many ways this was justified — the country had almost gone bust, after all — but compared to some of the seriously sleazy financial types Magnus had come across in Boston, the Icelandic banksters struck him as misguided optimists who had overreached themselves and paid the price.

Sharp seemed genuinely upset by Helga’s death. He explained that they had become good friends in Reykjavík before the crash, and Ómar and Helga had stayed with Sharp and his wife Ella a couple of times after they had moved to London.

‘Was your relationship with Helga more than just friendship?’ Magnus asked.

‘Oh, come on!’ said Sharp, wrinkling his nose in disgust. ‘What kind of question is that?’

‘It’s a question a detective should ask in a murder inquiry,’ Magnus replied, deadpan.

‘All right. No. She was my best friend’s wife. That’s all.’

‘It’s a long way to come for a funeral.’

‘From Reykjavík?’

‘From London.’

‘I was in Iceland anyway. I’ve got some business with the government; I saw the Central Bank this afternoon. And I’ve been to see my parents in Hafnarfjördur. My mother isn’t very well. So I took a day to go up to Dalvík for Helga’s funeral.’

‘I bet they weren’t pleased to see you.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, half of Dalvík has invested in Thomocoin, and it’s worthless.’

‘It’s not worthless. It was worth three hundred and sixty-eight dollars yesterday.’

‘But if you can’t sell it on an exchange, is it worth anything?’

‘People can buy it. We’re still selling Thomocoin every day. At three hundred and sixty-eight dollars.’

‘“Still”? You sound surprised. Admit it, Sharp. Thomocoin is in trouble.’

But Sharp wasn’t about to show any loss of confidence in Thomocoin. ‘The roll-out of the exchange is taking longer than we anticipated, that’s all. The idea is still a good one. Cryptocurrencies are moving up in price again. All those guys in Dalvík will be fine. Better than fine — they’ll make a good profit.’

‘How did it go with the Central Bank today?’

For a moment, the former banker’s guard was penetrated. He blinked the fatigue from his eyes.

‘Not as well as we’d hoped. But Iceland is still the perfect place to launch Thomocoin.’

‘Because of the gullible investors?’

Sharp betrayed a flash of irritation. ‘Because it’s almost a cashless society already.’

‘Gunnar Snaer Sigmundsson is a big investor in Thomocoin, isn’t he?’ Magnus asked.

‘Big by Icelandic standards. There are plenty bigger around the world. He’s the guy you arrested for Helga’s murder?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Well done. I hope they lock him up for a good long time. I hate the way Iceland lets murderers out after ten years.’

‘Do you know him?’

‘Not really. I think I met him a couple of times when he was an MP in Reykjavík. I haven’t seen him since he made his investment in Thomocoin.’

‘Did you know he was having an affair with Helga?’

‘Really? No, I had no idea.’

‘Does it surprise you?’

‘How can I answer that? Helga was divorced. She never spoke to me about her love life after Ómar and she split up. So I suppose not. Is he married?’

‘Yes.’ Magnus nodded. ‘How much is Ómar involved in Thomocoin?’

‘Not much,’ said Sharp. ‘He made a small investment when it was launched, so he will have made a profit on that. I suppose the biggest thing he did was introduce his daughter Dísa and through her Helga. Helga brought in a lot of investors.’

‘Quite a catch,’ said Magnus. ‘Can you tell me something about Krakatoa?’

‘Krakatoa? What’s he got to do with this?’

‘Isn’t he the online boss of Thomocoin?’

‘Who told you that? I’m the boss of Thomocoin. Krakatoa works for me.’

‘Have you ever met him?’

‘No.’

‘Do you know his real name?’

‘No. He operates online. Thomocoin is a virtual company. We employ people with computer skills throughout the world. Krakatoa is one of those.’

‘How do you pay him?’

‘Bitcoin.’

‘Not Thomocoin?’

Sharp smiled. ‘No. He prefers bitcoin.’

‘Is he an Icelander?’

‘No,’ said Sharp. ‘I think he’s Canadian.’

‘It’s strange you know so little about such an important employee.’

‘Oh, I know a lot about Krakatoa,’ said Sharp. ‘In the online world. He’s good; he has a great reputation. He always delivers. Who he is or what he does in the real world is irrelevant.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah, really.’

‘Are you Krakatoa?’ Magnus didn’t expect a straight answer from Sharp, but he was watching his reaction closely.

‘Hah! Where did you get that idea?’

Not an immediate denial, Magnus noticed, but a deflection.

‘I have a witness who is convinced Krakatoa is an Icelander, that Krakatoa is you.’

‘Who is this witness?’

‘Who is Krakatoa?’

‘I’ve told you: I don’t know who Krakatoa is.’

‘And I don’t believe you.’

The two men stared at each other, Sharp’s bright blue eyes unwavering. Had Sharp been unnecessarily evasive when refusing to respond to Magnus’s question with a simple ‘no’? Magnus wasn’t sure.

Sharp leaned back. ‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did Gunnar kill Helga because of Thomocoin? Or was it the affair?’

‘We don’t know yet. Dísa thinks it’s Thomocoin.’

‘She’s a smart girl, Dísa.’

‘Why do you ask?’

Sharp took a sip of his beer. ‘I genuinely believe Thomocoin is going to work. But if it turned out it was the reason why Helga died... Well, I’d feel bad.’

‘Dísa thinks you should feel bad.’

‘Does she? Poor girl. I didn’t really get a chance to speak to her at the funeral. I spoke to Helga’s brother, who was upset with me, but I think I squared him.’

‘You know, Sharp,’ said Magnus, looking him directly in the eyes. ‘I don’t think you really believe Thomocoin is worth anything either.’

Sharp sighed. ‘It was a bad day today. The meeting with the Central Bank really didn’t go well. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my career, it’s not to give up. And I’m not giving up.’ He glanced quickly at his phone. ‘Look, I’ve got to go.’

‘All right. Here’s my card if you have any further information for me,’ said Magnus, handing it to him. ‘When are you flying back to London?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘Can I get in touch with you there if I need to?’ said Magnus.

‘I suppose so,’ said Sharp grudgingly. ‘I’ll be in England for a while. Travel is getting more difficult again, with the virus numbers ticking up everywhere. I’ve just heard the Brits have added Iceland to their quarantine list as from next Saturday.’

With that, he left the hotel bar and went out into the Reykjavík evening.

On the way back to Eygló’s apartment, Magnus called Agent Malley in New York and told him of Sharp’s travel plans. He also said that it looked as if Sharp’s discussions with the Icelandic authorities hadn’t gone well. Malley promised to get in touch with Magnus as soon as the red notice was issued.

‘Where were you?’ said Eygló when he arrived at her flat.

‘At 101 hotel,’ said Magnus. ‘Interviewing a witness.’ He hadn’t told Eygló he was meeting Ási and Ingileif. Why, he wasn’t sure.

Well, maybe he was sure, he just didn’t want to admit it to himself.

‘At 101 hotel?’ Eygló repeated. ‘Very fancy. What was she like, this witness?’

‘It was a he,’ said Magnus, irritably. ‘An ex-banker called Sharp. It’s to do with the Dalvík case.’

‘You look so guilty,’ said Eygló, her tone teasing.

Magnus felt the guilt erupt within him. He ignored her and picked up his iPad, ostensibly to check the Red Sox results.

‘You do look guilty,’ Eygló repeated, all playfulness gone.

Twenty-Nine

Krakatoa stared across the water towards the mountains. It was a clear, breezy day out there, whitecaps skipping across the sea, which was, for the moment at least, blue.

He was going to have to pull the plug soon. There was no escaping it. Although, remarkably, Thomocoin was still pulling in money from China, Eastern Europe and Africa, the groundswell of disgruntlement was growing. The decision to abandon America had been a good one. But the European regulators were beginning to ask questions, and one of Thomocoin’s investors in the Netherlands had received a visit from the police.

If they could have announced an exchange in Iceland, that might have turned things around, but the Central Bank had put paid to that. It wasn’t going to happen.

They could maybe hang on for a few more days, maybe even a couple of weeks, all the while gathering in more money, but on balance, Krakatoa believed it was better to quit a few days early than a few days late.

Thomocoin had done what it was supposed to: lure investors in. When he had been working on the concept, Krakatoa had given it the name FOMOcoin, for ‘Fear Of Missing Out’. The idea was always to play on the fear of missing out on an easy fortune. That they had done, successfully. But FOMOcoin was not the ideal name for a hot new investment. Thomocoin was much better, especially if some made-up kid with leukaemia was thrown into the mix.

Whether Thomocoin would ever mature into a serious cryptocurrency had never been the main issue for Krakatoa. He hoped it would. He always spoke as if it would. He had successfully convinced his team that it would. But if it fizzled out in a digital puff of crypto-smoke, that was fine too. He had a plan.

Goodmanhunting had just warned him that the FBI hadn’t dropped their investigation after all. Krakatoa had hoped that the agency would lose interest, once Thomocoin stopped selling in the USA.

Clearly not.

Krakatoa decided it was time to secure his bitcoin. He had balances in hot wallets with four exchanges. Time to transfer them to his cold wallet. This was held on a specialized USB stick, with a paper back-up tucked away in a remote part of Iceland where no one would ever think of looking.

There should be no reason why he would ever need to go there either. But it was a necessary insurance policy. There were too many stories of idiots who had lost access to millions in bitcoin because they had mislaid or forgotten their private key and hadn’t made a paper back-up. It was estimated that 20 per cent of all the bitcoin outstanding had been lost forever in that way.

He plugged his cold wallet into his computer to check his bitcoin balance, before transferring in some bitcoin from one of the exchanges.

He blinked. That couldn’t be right.

Zero. A big fat zero.

The wallet should have had nearly two thousand bitcoin in it.

His fingers flew over the keyboard as he checked recent transactions.

One thousand nine hundred and sixty-two bitcoin had been transferred out of his wallet the previous day.

He sat and stared. The blood seemed to be seeping out of his body. He couldn’t breathe.

He had lost twenty million dollars. Twenty million!

‘Fuck!’ he shouted. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck!’

Who could have broken into his bitcoin wallet?

There was only one person.

Krakatoa waited. What if Lawrence wasn’t online? Even though there was no point, Krakatoa repeated his question.

Still no reply. Krakatoa paced around his desk, swearing under his breath. What was he going to do now?

Krakatoa was about to repeat his question with a threat attached to it when he forced himself to calm down.

Krakatoa waited. It was only three minutes, but it seemed to be an hour.

No reply. There was only one explanation. Lawrence had told someone. Unless he had stolen Krakatoa’s bitcoin himself, and that was something Krakatoa found hard to believe.

Maybe he should believe it.

A message flashed up.

Thirty

Ómar was not what Magnus had expected. Rather than a smooth banker, a mini-Sharp, he was faced with a pale, dumpy, balding man with a scrappy goatee, a Viking-rune dangling from his ear and half a neck full of ink.

‘Inspector Magnús.’ He held out his warrant card. Ómar examined it distractedly. ‘May I come in?’

Ómar blinked. ‘Yes,’ he muttered. ‘Yes, all right.’

Ómar’s flat was small but tidy. Magnus sat on a beaten-up sofa, while Ómar took an armchair. The furniture had a second-hand IKEA vibe, with a touch of dumpster-rescue chic. Magnus guessed Sharp’s apartment in London looked very different.

There were a few framed photographs scattered about the room. One of Dísa on a volleyball court, her brows knitted in concentration. And another of a group of five people standing in front of a lake. Two adults, one of which was Helga and the other a much slimmer, more confident version of the man sitting opposite. Magnus recognized Dísa again, gawky and shy, and the pretty little blonde girl who must be Anna Rós. The boy, with his own blonde curls, was no doubt Ómar’s son from his first marriage.

Ómar followed Magnus’s eyes and scowled. ‘What do you want?’

‘I’m investigating your ex-wife’s murder,’ said Magnus.

‘Oh. All right.’

‘First, please accept my condolences.’

‘Thank you.’ Ómar looked exhausted. Worried.

‘I’d like to ask you about Thomocoin,’ Magnus went on.

‘And I’m not going to tell you.’

That surprised Magnus. ‘This is a murder investigation, Ómar. You have to help me.’

‘I thought you’d caught the murderer,’ said Ómar. ‘Look. I’ve been in jail; I know how you guys operate. I don’t say anything about my financial circumstances without a lawyer present. And my financial circumstances include Thomocoin. And if you want to throw me in Building Number One at Litla-Hraun again, I’m fine with that. I could use the peace and quiet.’

Building No. 1 at Litla-Hraun was where suspects used to be held in solitary confinement pending trial. It had sometimes been used by the Icelandic police as a tool to extract confessions. They threw them in the new prison at Hólmsheidi now.

‘Your daughter believes that Thomocoin is responsible for Helga’s death.’

‘Well, she’s wrong.’

‘She might be. But I have no way of knowing that unless I find out more about Thomocoin myself.’

‘Do you think Sharp killed her?’ said Ómar. ‘Because that’s crazy. It was this guy Gunni.’

‘Do you know him?’ Magnus asked. ‘Gunni?’

‘No. Never met him. But Dísa told me a little bit about him.’

‘Did she tell you he was a big investor in Thomocoin? And that he believed that his Thomocoin was worthless?’

‘Yes, she did. And I think he was the one who got Helga worried. I told your colleague, the black woman, that Helga came down to Reykjavík to ask me about the exchange. Until then I had no idea she was involved in Thomocoin at all.’

‘What did you tell her?’

‘That it was all going to be fine as far as I knew. Sharp had it all under control.’

‘And does he?’

‘Ask him.’

Ómar was drawing the lines. He seemed happy to talk as long as the discussion didn’t involve his own investments. Magnus had gathered from Dísa that Ómar had invested in bitcoin several years ago, probably offshore, which was probably illegal, hence his reluctance to discuss it.

‘Did you know Gunni had an affair with Helga?’

‘No. Am I supposed to care? We were divorced nearly ten years.’

‘Before the divorce. When you lived in Reykjavík. And he was an MP.’

That caught Ómar’s attention. ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Gunni has admitted it. And Helga confided in someone.’

‘Who?’

‘I can’t say.’

This was clearly new information to Ómar. ‘Are you talking before 2008?’

‘Yes.’

Ómar winced. Shook his head. ‘Oh, Helga.’

Magnus waited.

‘Actually, although it makes me angry, I’m also glad to hear that,’ said Ómar.

‘Why?’

‘Because she cheated before I did. I had an affair with a woman from work, starting in 2008. It was stupid. It was one of the reasons Helga left me and went back to Dalvík. That and the fact I was in jail and not earning a salary any more. But if she was cheating on me, well...’

‘You feel better?’

Ómar’s shoulders slumped. ‘There’s nothing about any of this that makes me feel good.’

‘Why are you protecting Sharp?’ Magnus asked.

‘He’s a mate.’

‘But your daughter thinks that Thomocoin is behind Helga’s death. And Sharp is behind Thomocoin.’

‘My daughter is wrong. And I’ve told you I’m not going to talk about Thomocoin.’

‘I’ve read your record. You and four others went to jail, but none of you testified against Sharp. Why not?’

‘Because he hadn’t done anything wrong.’

‘How did you feel when he was running around free in London and you were locked up? And now, when he has a nice flat in London and you live in this dump?’

‘I’m happy for him. He’s a mate.’

‘A mate who gave you some bitcoin a few years ago? Who cut you in on Thomocoin?’

‘I had a few thousand bucks of Thomocoin, that’s all,’ said Ómar. ‘I introduced Dísa to it three years ago, but I specifically told her not to tell her mother about it.’

‘Why did you do that?’

Ómar took a deep breath. ‘Helga liked money, but she never understood it. She was always greedy. Whereas Dísa gets it.’ He grinned. ‘I don’t know if she told you, but she did a phenomenal job turning a few thousand dollars’ worth of bitcoin into hundreds of thousands.’

‘She is a clever girl,’ said Magnus. ‘And her mother has been murdered. Your ex-wife. Which is why I want to help her find out what happened.’

Ómar shrugged.

‘Was there anyone else from Dalvík who was worried about Thomocoin that you know about?’ Magnus asked. ‘Her father, perhaps?’

‘Hafsteinn was always a true believer,’ said Ómar. ‘But I think her brother had doubts. Eggert. He gave me a hard time at the funeral.’

‘Tell me about Eggert.’

‘He was lined up to take over the farm, but he refused, which really pissed off his parents. He’s an engineer. A smart guy. He got involved with some dot-com stuff many years ago, a website for individuals to offset their carbon emissions. It wasn’t a bad idea. We talked about it, back when I was a banker; Sharp tried to put him in touch with venture capitalists in London, but it never got off the ground.’

‘What went wrong?’

‘Back then carbon offset was something corporations were more interested in than individuals. Something might have come out of it, but then the crash happened, and he retreated to Akureyri.’

‘How did he and Helga get on?’ Magnus asked.

‘Pretty well. They’re very different. I get the impression he was happy to leave the farm and the parents for her to deal with.’

‘Did he understand Thomocoin?’

‘I’d say yes. And, actually, his questions about the exchange were good ones. He’d obviously read up a lot on crypto. Helga said he had made an investment in a bitcoin miner. Do you know what those are?’

Magnus remembered the shed near the airport with the open window and the ladder against the wall. ‘Indeed I do. That’s not very environmentally friendly for someone who set up a carbon-offset website is it? Those things use a load of electricity.’

Ómar shrugged.

‘Do you believe Thomocoin is going to work, Ómar?’ Magnus asked.

Ómar sat back in his armchair and didn’t answer.

‘Who’s Krakatoa?’ Magnus asked.

‘It’s a volcano in Indonesia,’ said Ómar.

‘It’s also the name of the guy who runs Thomocoin.’

‘I didn’t know that.’

‘Is he an Icelander? Is he Sharp?’

‘I have no idea. And that really is all I’m going to tell you about Thomocoin.’

Thirty-One

Krakatoa sat back from his computer and exhaled.

It was happening.

There was no ‘maybe’ about it. The FBI were on to them. Goodmanhunting had just sent him a message that a red notice had been issued by Interpol and arrests would be made tomorrow. Probably at dawn.

Krakatoa had prepared for this. Although there had been the hope that Thomocoin might succeed on its own terms, Krakatoa knew it was always likely that he might have to bail. Hence the kill switch installed on everyone’s computers, including his. It was activated by the simultaneous hitting of three keys, which would cause their computers to lock out all access to their hard drives forever.

Or actually until the year 2100. In a fit of whimsy, Krakatoa had decided to leave something for his grandchildren.

What about the twenty million? What about the twenty million fucking dollars Dísa had stolen from him?

That would have to wait. Not long, but it would have to wait.

Goodmanhunting’s message had taken the decision for him. Time to pull the plug.

Krakatoa hadn’t expected Dubbelosix to flake. They had been over the scramble scenario countless times. If either Dubbelosix or Lindenbrook was arrested it would be bad. They might talk, eventually; tell the FBI who he was.

There were a lot of people who worked for Thomocoin all over the world. The cops would have a very hard time tracking any of them down. And even if they did, none of them knew who Krakatoa was, beyond the fact that he was Canadian. Which he wasn’t.

But there were one or two of his most loyal employees that Krakatoa wanted to give a heads-up to.

Krakatoa had his own situation all worked out. But that had assumed he had twenty million dollars in bitcoin squirrelled away.

Someone had dug up his acorns.

Dísa.

He needed them back.

Krakatoa fought to control his anger. If he kept a clear head, this should all work out OK.

Dísa was sensible. Krakatoa had to create a situation where the only sensible thing for Dísa to do was to give Krakatoa his bitcoin back.

He could do that.

Thirty-Two

Magnus returned to the station after seeing Ómar. What had he learned?

There was something very dodgy about Thomocoin. Regulators all over the world should have nipped it in the bud and not allowed it to take in millions from gullible investors. That certainly applied to Iceland. But Magnus wasn’t sure that he had uncovered enough evidence to give investigators something to prosecute. Especially if those investigators were determined to look the other way.

He hadn’t really learned anything that would help Dísa either. It was likely that Gunni’s doubts about Thomocoin had played a big part in his decision to murder Helga. To put it another way, if Thomocoin hadn’t existed, Helga would almost certainly still be alive today. But there was no sign that Sharp or Fjóla or anyone else at Thomocoin had assisted in any way in the murder, or that they bore any legal responsibility.

Gunni had decided to kill Helga of his own free will. That wasn’t Thomocoin’s fault.

Ómar was undoubtedly an investor in Thomocoin and had a relationship with Sharp going back years. But Magnus doubted he was involved directly in his ex-wife’s murder. Ómar had mentioned that Eggert had had dealings with Sharp in the past. But Eggert was hardly a major investor in Thomocoin. Enough to be upset, not enough to kill.

Sharp had put on a brave face, but from what Magnus could tell, Thomocoin’s days were numbered. And with it the savings of dozens, probably hundreds of Icelanders.

There might be some vengeance for Dísa in that. But as far as Magnus was concerned, the loss of all those people’s savings was bad news.

It meant a scandal was brewing. If Thomocoin did blow up, the regulators would have to turn around and look at the mess on their own doorstep.

Thelma had anticipated all this. Magnus realized that his interviews with Fjóla, Ómar and Sharp would come to light.

Magnus decided to prepare himself for that. He wrote up his interview notes carefully. He called Sigurjón in Financial Crimes to warn him that the shit was likely to hit the fan. He knew Thelma would not be at all happy with any of this when she found out, and she would find out.

Tough.

Then Magnus called Árni to fill him in on what he had learned and to find out how the investigation was going in Dalvík.

Gunni was still stewing in solitary at Hólmsheidi. The police were having trouble gathering further evidence against him. Ólafur was still confident of a conviction: it was certainly Helga’s blood on the knife found in Gunni’s shed, there was a motive in all the money Gunni thought Helga had lost him, and Gunni just about had the opportunity.

And that was it.

Magnus was about to finish the call when Árni dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘Magnús?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m not sure Gunni is our man.’

Magnus prepared himself for one of Árni’s half-baked ideas. ‘Why not?’

‘It doesn’t feel right.’

‘And why is that?’

‘Gunni strikes me as a smart man. A competent guy who doesn’t screw up.’

‘I’d agree with that.’

‘So why didn’t he get rid of the knife?’

‘He did. He hid it.’

‘Yes. But somewhere we were bound to find it.’

‘Only if we were looking for it.’

‘Yes,’ said Árni. ‘But if he did kill Helga, he must have assumed that at some point we would search his property.’

Árni had a point. ‘Maybe he was hiding it before he got rid of it?’

‘OK. Then why didn’t he wipe it clean? Or wash it? It would have been dead easy to wash off that blood. He didn’t even try.’

‘Maybe he panicked. I’ve seen plenty of murderers panic and do dumb things in my time in Boston.’

‘Yes. But Gunni doesn’t seem like a panicker.’

Magnus was silent.

‘Does he?’ said Árni. ‘He spent all those years captaining trawlers in the North Atlantic. Guys like that are good under pressure.’

‘OK. He doesn’t seem like a panicker. But if Gunni didn’t kill Helga, someone must have planted the knife. Who?’

‘The murderer. Maybe it was the guy seen hiking on the mountain with a backpack.’

‘Seen by Gunni.’

‘Yes. Seen by Gunni. Magnús, I don’t know what to do.’

Magnus thought. Did Árni have a point? Maybe. Maybe there was some doubt.

‘Have you spoken to Ólafur?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

‘And?’

‘He called me an idiot. He said I was supposed to be helping the prosecution and not the defence. He told me not to mention my misgivings to anyone. He’d certainly be unhappy if he knew I was talking to you.’

It was Ólafur who was the idiot. Policemen who thought it was more important to secure a conviction than to convict the right man were all idiots who didn’t understand their job. Árni might be wrong, but he had a legitimate question, and it needed to be answered, not squashed.

‘OK, Árni,’ Magnus said. ‘You may be right. Or, more likely, the obvious may be true: Gunni killed Helga because she had lost him millions of dollars. Keep an open mind. Gather the evidence. Don’t draw any preliminary conclusions, but if the evidence that Gunni is innocent builds, take it to Ólafur.’

‘And if he won’t listen?’

‘Call me.’

Agent Malley phoned Magnus just as Magnus was about to leave the station.

‘It’s all go. The red notices have been issued.’

‘For Sharp and Jérôme Carmin?’

‘That’s right. The French and British police know where they live. The arrests will happen tomorrow morning. I’d be in London myself to talk to Sharp, but I’d have to go into quarantine, so I’ll have to do it on a video link.’

‘Are you publicizing the arrests?’ Magnus asked.

‘We will. Once we’ve got the cuffs on them.’

‘That will mean the end of Thomocoin.’

‘As it damn well should.’

‘Have you alerted our people?’

‘No way. Given your guys’ lack of response to our requests, we decided not to. They’ll see the red notice eventually. But I owed you the call. Don’t talk to anyone else until tomorrow. We don’t want Sharp tipped off.’

Would someone in Financial Crimes or any of the agencies regulating finance in Iceland really tip Sharp off?

Sharp no doubt had plenty of buddies from his heady days as one of Iceland’s top bankers. So the answer to that question was a definite maybe.

‘I’ll keep it quiet. Keep me posted.’

‘Maja saw you yesterday.’

They had finished supper — pad thai, one of Eygló’s specialities — and Bjarki had sloped off to his room to do some homework.

‘I didn’t see her,’ said Magnus. Maja was a friend of Eygló’s from the University of Iceland.

‘No, you didn’t. She said she did wave. But you were too busy talking to a blonde woman. You were in a playground in Vesturbaer.’

‘Ah.’

‘Maja said she wondered what you were doing with this woman, who is quite attractive, apparently, and then she saw the kid you were with, who looks a lot like you, apparently, and she realized you must have been with your ex. Apparently.’

Eygló was trying to sound flippant, but there was an unmistakeable bite in her tone.

‘Oh.’

‘You didn’t tell me.’

‘No. Look, I’m sorry, Eygló. I should have done.’

‘And was it Ingileif who you met at 101 hotel?’

‘Of course not!’ said Magnus, his indignation ringing hollow even in his ears. ‘It was a banker. I told you. Skarphédinn Gíslason. He’s the CEO of Thomocoin. Why would I take Ingileif to a hotel and then tell you about it?’

The moment Magnus uttered the words he regretted them, implying as they did that he would take Ingileif to a hotel and not tell Eygló about it.

‘Can I believe you?’

‘Of course you can believe me!’

‘How many times have you seen Ingileif without telling me? Maybe you’ve been seeing her for years?’

‘No. No, Eygló. This is the first time, I promise.’

‘You promise? Einar used to promise.’

Einar was Eygló’s old boyfriend. Magnus had seen at first hand how good a liar he was; he had had lots of practice.

‘I’m nothing like Einar,’ Magnus said. ‘You know that.’

‘I thought that. I know I’m too trusting.’

‘Look, I’ve seen Ingileif, what... four times in the last eight years. There’s nothing to worry about.’

‘Isn’t there?’

Eygló’s eyes were angry.

‘Hey. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was seeing Ási yesterday. I really don’t know why I didn’t. I will next time.’

‘Next time?’

‘Yes. Ingileif said I could see him in a couple of weeks.’ Magnus corrected himself. ‘Maybe a month.’

‘All right,’ said Eygló. ‘I know how important he is to you. And I’m glad she’s letting you see him again. But don’t hide it from me. OK?’

‘OK,’ said Magnus. He resolved to tell Eygló every time he met Ási. He resolved not to kiss Ingileif again. He didn’t like feeling this guilty.

‘I had my interview with Southampton.’

‘Oh, great,’ said Magnus. ‘How did it go?’

‘It went well, I think. It sounds like they’ll make me a formal offer of a job.’

‘Are you going to take it?’

‘I don’t know. Am I?’ Eygló stared at him.

‘It’s really up to you,’ Magnus said at last.

Tears appeared in Eygló’s eyes.

‘Eygló?’

She sniffed and rubbed her nose. Then her face hardened. ‘I suggest you spend the night at Álftanes.’

Thirty-Three

Dísa had shown up to one class at the university and spent the rest of the day in her tiny room in Kata’s apartment, stewing about what to do next.

She had transferred the thirty thousand dollars’ worth of her father’s bitcoin and the twenty million belonging to ‘K’ to her own wallet. It had actually taken all night for the bitcoin to clear — it had to be verified by a ‘miner’ somewhere and added to the blockchain, a process that could take anything from a couple of minutes to a day or more, depending on how busy the system was. And the system was getting busier by the day; the pandemic had sparked a surge in crypto-trading from speculators trapped indoors.

Now the bitcoin was sitting in her wallet staring at her and she was staring at it.

She was scared. She had hoped that her father’s wallet had contained a couple of hundred thousand dollars’ worth of bitcoin, which she could take and distribute to the Dalvík investors. But twenty million!

That was more money than she could comprehend. It frightened her.

It would be enough to repay all the Icelandic investors in full. All the debts on Blábrekka; the farm would be saved. And there would be plenty left over for other investors in Thomocoin all over the world.

Who or what was ‘K’?

At first, she had thought it might be a second wallet owned by her dad, but the more she considered that the more unlikely it seemed. With all that bitcoin, K was clearly high up in the Thomocoin hierarchy, probably at the very top, and that didn’t sound like her father.

It did sound like Sharp. Sharp was a good friend of her father’s. Although he lived in London, his friend’s summer house in Iceland might well have seemed a good remote back-up.

How long would it take for Sharp to realize what had happened to his bitcoin? And what would he do once he had?

There would be no way for him to figure out who had taken it.

Unless he talked to Dad. And Dad remembered telling Dísa about the hidden people and the summer house. That was three years ago — maybe Dad would have forgotten.

Maybe not.

Dísa needed to figure out how to pay the bitcoin over to all the investors in Dalvík and Akureyri.

She had downloaded the list of names from Mum’s computer on to her own machine, but she didn’t have bank account details. All these investors would have had Thomocoin private keys, but not bitcoin, and there wasn’t an exchange for converting one into the other — that was the whole problem.

She needed help. The truth was, she needed more than that: she needed an ally. Someone with whom to share the massive weight of responsibility of those twenty million dollars. Someone good with computers. Someone who knew about bitcoin or who was smart enough to figure out bitcoin. Someone she trusted.

Jói?

Trouble was, she wasn’t sure she could trust Jói with what she had done. She had after all stolen bitcoin from their father. And it was clear Jói trusted Dad more than she did.

What about Uncle Eggert?

Dísa didn’t know Uncle Eggert quite as well as she knew Jói. But he was good with computers: he was always giving Jói computer stuff for Christmas back in Reykjavík, she remembered. Although he knew Ómar a little, he had no loyalty to him, whereas he was Mum’s brother. Dísa had heard he had invested in a bitcoin-mining company. Those companies must have figured out a way to sell their bitcoin legally. Maybe Uncle Eggert would know how, or could find out.

Her computer screen beeped. An email. She idly clicked to take a look. It was in English.

Jesus Christ! Who the hell was Krakatoa?

K. Krakatoa must be K.

So, who was K? Sharp, probably. It was Sharp who was threatening her.

Who was the ‘someone else’ who was going to die?

No idea. But it would be someone close to her, important to her.

Dísa’s heart beat faster. What should she do?

Give the bitcoin back?

She really didn’t want to do that after the risks she had taken to get it. She had this one chance to make amends for what she and her mother had done, to rescue Blábrekka and the savings of so many of her neighbours in Dalvík. Giving up on that one chance would be cowardly — once it was gone, it was gone.

She had to redeem herself. Redeem her mother.

Should she take Sharp’s threat seriously? Maybe he was bluffing?

Killing someone was a very serious step. Threatening to kill someone less so. She could imagine Sharp threatening her. Could she imagine Sharp killing someone innocent? The ‘someone else’?

She didn’t think so. But the truth was she didn’t know him at all.

What about going to the police? Bad idea. Although Inspector Magnús had seemed sympathetic, helpful even, he hadn’t helped. She believed him that Icelandic politics had impeded his investigations, but that kind of bureaucratic obstruction wouldn’t step out of the way over some unspecified threat. Besides, all she would be doing was removing a threat to someone else with what seemed to be a more certain threat to her.

At least she had been given a couple of days.

And Sharp might be bluffing.

She took a decision. She wouldn’t respond to the email and she certainly wouldn’t download Telegram. She would figure out how to return as much of the bitcoin as she could and then tell Sharp or Krakatoa or whoever that the bitcoin was all gone.

And then hide. Or something.

She needed to act quickly.

Krakatoa was pleased with his email. If Dísa was sensible, then the bitcoin would be back in his wallet within the hour. Realistically, she would stew over it for a day or two, which was why Krakatoa had given her three days.

Dísa was sensible. So no one would have to die.

But. If she held out, then Krakatoa would follow through on his threat.

Twelve months before, an American employee named Cryptocheeseman had ripped him off to the tune of two hundred thousand dollars. It had been a very public rip-off, a humiliation in front of everyone involved in Thomocoin. An organization like Thomocoin, which ran outside the normal auspices of contract law, had to have an enforcement mechanism.

Krakatoa had hired Tecumseh on the dark web to locate Cryptocheeseman and deal with him. Tecumseh had visited Cryptocheeseman in a suburb of Charlotte, North Carolina, persuaded him to give up his private key and then silenced him. Krakatoa didn’t know how exactly, and he didn’t want to know how, but the local newspaper’s website that he checked to ensure Tecumseh had completed his task mentioned something about a stabbing during a street robbery.

No one in Thomocoin knew for sure what had happened to Cryptocheeseman. All Krakatoa had announced was that there was good news: the bitcoin Cryptocheeseman had stolen had been returned. The guys who worked for Thomocoin were smart. They now knew it was a bad idea to steal from Krakatoa.

Krakatoa had ordered the death of a real person. Yet giving that order hadn’t seemed at all real to him. It wasn’t just that the command had been transmitted in cyberspace, nor that the action itself had been committed on the other side of the world. It was also that the killer was Krakatoa. And that’s the kind of thing that Krakatoa did.

Helga’s death had been more difficult. Much more. But Krakatoa had really had no choice if he was going to stay out of jail. And, mostly, he had succeeded in convincing himself that it was Krakatoa who had ordered the killing. Not his real-life personality.

His phone rang.

He smiled when he saw the caller.

‘Hi, Dísa.’

His sister’s voice was trembling. ‘Jói? Do you have Uncle Eggert’s phone number?’