Whale Fjord

Nineteen

Magnus was returning to his desk from the men’s room when he noticed Vigdís in a conference room speaking to a cop he recognized from Hafnarfjördur — Lúdvík. It looked like the cop was taking a statement.

The kid had stayed quiet, refusing to admit that he knew of any reason why he had been beaten up by a stranger. Magnus and Vigdís had spoken to him and his mother together. Magnus outlined their suspicions, which were met by vehement denials from mother and son. Magnus simply pointed out that if indeed the boy had started taking drugs, now was a good time to stop.

They had heard him. That was all he could do.

The police wanted an ID of the thug — the boy’s description was useless. Two officers were knocking on doors looking for witnesses. Magnus intended to send Vigdís out to join them.

‘Was that the hit and run?’ Magnus asked Vigdís as she returned to her desk. She looked shaken.

She nodded.

‘Did you tell him what really happened?’

Vigdís avoided Magnus’s eyes and shook her head.

Magnus sighed. ‘Don’t you think you should have?’

Vigdís looked up at him, anguish ravaging her face. She glanced around. The nearby desks were empty: there was no one in earshot at that moment.

‘He died.’

‘The jogger?’

Vigdís nodded miserably.

‘But you said he was OK?’

‘Bleeding in the brain. The hospital didn’t spot it even though they kept him in for observation.’

‘And you still didn’t tell Lúdvík you saw it.’

Vigdís shook her head. ‘I couldn’t. It’s my mother.’

Magnus felt a surge of anger. ‘You idiot! You have to tell them. Have you just signed a witness statement that’s false?’

Vigdís nodded.

‘What do you expect me to do? Keep quiet?’

Vigdís sighed. ‘You do whatever you have to do, Magnús. I just can’t shop my own mother. I’m sorry.’

‘Oh, great.’ Part of Magnus felt sympathy towards Vigdís. He knew what she had been through over the years with her mother. If she admitted what she had seen, that would definitely mean more prison time for Audur.

And so it damn well should.

A familiar rage bubbled up inside him as he thought of his own mother. The woman who had abandoned him first to drink and then in that car crash. Who had left him and Ollie to years of hell at the hands of her parents, their grandparents, at that farm in Snaefellsnes.

Magnus had never forgiven her for that. And he wasn’t about to forgive Audur either, for ruining her daughter’s career, his friend’s career.

He fought to control his anger. ‘I’m not going to do this for you, Vigdís,’ he said. ‘You have to go back to Lúdvík and tell him what really happened.’

‘I won’t.’

‘You will. I’ll give you twenty-four hours to think about it. Then I’ll talk to him myself.’

Vigdís opened her mouth to protest. Then, her eyes moist, she turned away from him, grabbing her coat. ‘I’ll see how the guys in Kópavogur are getting on with the witnesses.’

Magnus watched her go. Would he carry out his threat if she didn’t correct the record? Damn right he would.

But he was confident that once she had had time to think it over, she would do the right thing. Magnus didn’t give a toss for Audur — she had just killed a man.

But he did care about Vigdís.

His phone buzzed. It was the front desk. Two people to see him: Gudni Thorsteinsson and his son Bjarni.

Both men seemed nervous as Magnus brought them cups of coffee and sat them down in an interview room.

Bjarni appeared to be about sixty, tall, slim except for a little paunch above his belt, short bristles of thin blond hair edging a shiny scalp. He was wearing the uniform of a certain kind of Icelandic businessman: a black T-shirt, expensive jacket, jeans and pointed leather shoes.

He looked anxious. His father looked unhappy.

‘How can I help you?’ Magnus said with a smile, in an attempt to ease the tension.

Gudni grabbed his thumb and started picking at a nail. He had had a certain vigour the first time Magnus had met him, but now he just looked very old and exhausted. Wisps of long grey hair strayed haphazardly across the wrinkles of his face. His eyes, angled downwards, avoided Magnus’s.

‘I haven’t been strictly honest with you.’

‘I see,’ said Magnus, careful to sound encouraging rather than angry. ‘People are not always honest with us. But if they straighten things out as soon as they can, things usually go better for everyone.’

Gudni flashed Magnus a quick nervous smile. ‘That’s what I’m hoping.’

Magnus was silent. So was Gudni. He was really digging into his thumbnail. His son was watching impatiently.

‘What is it you didn’t tell me that you should have?’ prompted Magnus.

Gudni glanced upwards at him quickly before averting his eyes again.

‘Mum’s death. Uncle Marteinn’s. You know I said I didn’t see them?’

‘Yes?’

‘Well, I did.’

Magnus nodded. Gently does it. Seeing his mother shot would be a painful memory for a six-year-old boy, even eighty-three years later.

‘What happened?’ he said.

Gudni glanced at his son, who nodded back to him in encouragement.

‘A British soldier came to the farm to see Mum. It was late afternoon, just beginning to get dark. Grandpa wasn’t there, and Uncle Marteinn was out on the farm somewhere. Mum told me to go upstairs and play in the bedroom and she gave the soldier some coffee.

‘I heard them going outside together. A few minutes later I heard Uncle Marteinn shouting and then a loud shot. I rushed to my window. It overlooked the barns.

‘The soldier came out of the hay barn, and then Uncle Marteinn came out too with Mum, who was crying. Uncle Marteinn was carrying a shotgun.’

Gudni paused. Pressed his thumb against his quivering lower lip. ‘The man shot Uncle Marteinn with his pistol. Then he shot Mum.’

Gudni was speaking so quietly that Magnus could barely hear him. Bjarni clasped his arm.

‘I’m sorry to ask you this, but do you remember where the man shot your uncle and your mother? I mean whereabouts on their bodies?’

Gudni shut his eyes tight. A tear leaked out and ran down his cheek. Bjarni glared at Magnus, admonishing him for causing his father the pain.

Eventually, Gudni nodded. ‘He shot Uncle Marteinn in the chest. And then he shot Mum in the... in the...’

‘Yes?’

Gudni took a breath. ‘In the head. The forehead.’

That fitted with what the forensics people had found at the scene. More importantly, it was information that the police had withheld from the press or anyone else.

Gudni really had seen what he said he had seen.

‘Why didn’t you tell us this before?’

Now Gudni met Magnus’s eyes. ‘I was terrified. The soldier looked up from the farmyard and he saw me at my window. I hid under the bed. But he came back into the house and up to my room. He found me right away.’

Gudni swallowed. ‘He knew I’d seen what he had done. I thought he was going to kill me right then. But he didn’t. He just indicated that I should keep quiet or he would shoot me.’

‘Indicated?’

‘Yes. Put his finger to his lips. Pointed his gun at me. I knew what he meant. I knew if I said anything he would come and find me and he would kill me just like he had killed my mother. So I kept quiet. I told Grandpa I was in bed asleep and I hadn’t heard anything. And I said the same thing to the policemen.’

‘That was then. What about now? Why didn’t you tell me what had really happened now?’

‘I decided the best idea was to bury what I’d seen and keep it buried. And that’s what I did. Until now.’

‘Why now?’

‘A British woman came to see me. Her name was Louisa Sugarman. Her father was a man called Tom who liked my mother. I remember him. She talked to me about a Captain Neville something-or-other who she said had killed Mum and Uncle Marteinn.’

‘Did you tell her what you had seen?’

Gudni shook his head. ‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because it wasn’t this Neville man who shot my mother.’

‘Who was it, then?’

‘It was Louisa’s father. Tom.’