Whale Fjord

Fourteen

‘Do you have a firm ID of the victims, Magnús?’

Detective Superintendent Thelma Reynisdóttir latched her blue no-bullshit eyes on Magnus. She was a tough cop, but she trusted her detective inspector. Mostly. They had been working together long enough that they knew each other’s strengths. And weaknesses.

‘Pretty firm. They are probably Kristín Hálfdánsdóttir and her brother Marteinn. They went missing on 28 October 1940 from the farm at Laxahóll which is only a kilometre away from where the bodies were discovered. I dug the old case file out. There was a major search, but no theory as to why they disappeared or whether they had been killed — some locals blamed the British, but with no real evidence. A shotgun was missing from the farm. A neighbour said he saw a large blue car driving up the road towards the farm, but the vehicle was never identified. The police got assistance from the British Army in the search and liaised with the British in the investigation, but they didn’t come up with anything.’

Magnus checked his notes. ‘One of the skulls had a bullet hole in it, and we found a bullet with the other skeleton, so it’s likely they were both shot. The bullet is a thirty-eight millimetre, of the kind that was used in an Enfield Number Two revolver. Those were standard issue for officers in the British Army at the time.’

‘Interesting. Anything on the age of the bones?’

‘The forensic pathologist won’t say — the timing of skeletonization is tricky. I’m getting them radiocarbon-dated at the university; that should give us some idea. One is a tall young woman and one a shortish young man, which fits the brother and sister theory.’

‘Any of the family still alive?’

‘Just Kristín’s son, Gudni. He was six when she went missing. He says that no one knew what had happened, although there were rumours the British Army may have had something to do with it. I took a sample of Gudni’s DNA, which should confirm the bones belong to his close relatives.’ Unfortunately, the DNA had to be sent to a lab in Sweden for analysis, which could take time.

Thelma nodded. ‘So, assuming your ID is correct, we’re looking at a murder in 1940, with no obvious suspects and no way of finding any?’

‘I suppose that’s right. It could have been a British officer, but then again an Icelander could have got hold of an Enfield revolver somehow during the war.’

‘Whoever did kill them is dead by now, right? The six-year-old can’t have done it.’

‘Right.’

Thelma leaned back in her chair, and then gave Magnus one of her piercing stares.

‘This case piques your curiosity, Magnús.’

Magnus nodded. ‘It does.’

‘Thought so. But this job isn’t for your amusement. I don’t want you spending any more resources on it than are necessary. If the DNA analysis shows that the bodies are Gudni’s relatives, then the case is closed. I suppose, if it doesn’t, or if the carbon dating suggests the bones are newer, you should investigate further. But something bothers me.’

‘Oh, yes?’

‘If the press finds out it was probably a British bullet that killed these people, especially the woman, it might stir up all kinds of trouble. People will ask us who we think killed her. Then they’ll ask the British, who will get defensive. The newspapers might dredge up “the Situation”.’ Thelma nodded to herself. ‘This could waste an enormous amount of time.’

‘I see what you mean,’ said Magnus. ‘But there will be a death certificate. And probably a funeral. Local people will know who the victims were and that they were murdered.’

‘Yes, but the fewer details they have, the better. The less we know, the less we can tell them. And I don’t think anyone needs to know about the bullet possibly being British, do you?’

‘Not even the son?’

‘Better if he doesn’t, don’t you think? And certainly don’t tell the press. This can be either an interesting small story or a pain-in-the-arse big story. Let’s make sure it’s a small story, eh?’

To some extent, Magnus saw Thelma’s point, although he wasn’t convinced that anyone really would draw a link to ‘the Situation’. And, whilst this was hardly a live murder investigation, it was a matter of legitimate historical interest. He wasn’t sure the police should be hiding information from historians.

Arguing with Thelma was always a bad idea. And you could say that solving this crime was a job for historians rather than policemen.

‘I’ll let you know when we hear back from Sweden on the DNA, and then I’ll wrap the case up,’ Magnus said.

Back at his desk, there was indeed a message from a reporter at Morgunbladid. Magnus called him back and confirmed that two bodies had been found which had been shot. At this stage, he wouldn’t speculate on whose the bodies were, but it was likely they were at least two years old, probably much older.

Once Morgunbladid published the story online and in the newspaper tomorrow morning, there would be interest from the other news outlets: newspapers, news websites and TV. That would probably die down and then there would be another flurry of interest when the skeletons were carbon-dated and they received DNA ID confirmation from Sweden.

He had his instructions.

But Thelma was right, he was curious. How could he not be? Someone had murdered that brother and sister in cold blood, and likely as not it had been a British officer.

Magnus didn’t know much about the British occupation of Iceland in the 1940s. He knew some ‘spies’ had been arrested, and there had been a couple of inadvertent shootings of Icelanders who strayed into camps at night by the Americans who took over from the British, but this sounded like murder.

Why would the British shoot two civilians?

Vigdís arrived. She looked upset, unsurprisingly.

‘How’s your mother?’ Magnus asked.

‘Better than I feared,’ Vigdís said. ‘She’s sober and she’s at work. I was afraid I would find her still drinking at home.’

‘So she was drunk with Erla?’

Vigdís nodded.

‘I’m sorry, Vigdís. I know you’ve tried so hard. But, at the end of the day, it’s up to her, isn’t it?’

Magnus’s own mother had been an alcoholic. She had died in a car crash while drunk when he was twelve — that’s why he and his brother had moved to America to be with their Icelandic father. That experience hadn’t given him any insight into how to deal with alcoholics, but it had certainly taught him the pain it could bring to families.

Vigdís frowned. She looked around the room at the other police officers tapping at keyboards or staring at computer screens. ‘Can we get a coffee? I need your advice.’

She led him to a small coffee shop a couple of hundred metres from the station. Cop free.

‘I don’t know what to do.’

‘About what?’

‘Mum hit a jogger. When she was driving home from my place.’

‘What! Is he all right?’

‘Yes. They kept him in hospital for observation, but he’s fine.’

‘And did she drive off?’

Vigdís nodded.

‘Then how do you know? Did she tell you?’ It clicked. ‘She didn’t tell you. But you saw it?’

Vigdís nodded.

‘And you didn’t report it?’

‘Not yet. I didn’t tell the cop who attended the scene.’

‘Well, you should. If you do it now, you’ll be OK. They’ll be understanding. But you have to do it right away.’

‘You remember Mum has a record? She’ll probably go to jail again. And then I’ll have lost her, for sure.’

‘Whereas if she’s still running around driving cars into people when she’s drunk everything will be fine?’

‘She won’t be. She says she’ll go to rehab. She says she’s been clean for over a year. She says it’s Erla who will keep her straight.’

‘She says.’ Magnus didn’t hide his scepticism.

‘Yes, she says. And I believe her. I not only believe her, I think it’s her best chance.’

‘She’s pulling you down with her, Vigdís. That’s what they do, alcoholics. If you don’t report her you’re breaking the rules. Hell, now you’ve told me, I’m breaking the rules. I now know a crime has been committed.’

Vigdís’s eyes flashed. ‘You’re not going to report her, are you? Because that would be reporting me!’

‘No, of course I’m not,’ said Magnus. ‘But you see what she’s doing?’

Vigdís sipped her coffee. Her lips were pursed and she avoided Magnus’s glance, staring at the salt cellar between them.

Magnus lowered his voice. ‘You asked for my advice,’ he said gently. ‘It’s this. Report what you saw and do it now. That’s the right thing to do.’

Vigdís looked up, her brown eyes filled with doubt and pain.

‘Yeah. I did ask. And I suppose I know you’re right. But I’m not sure I can bring myself to do that to her.’

Magnus decided to leave it. He had made his point. He hoped he had persuaded her. ‘Let’s get back to work.’