Whale Fjord

Twenty

As Bjarni led his father out of the police station, Magnus turned to the window behind him, let his eyes rest on the familiar hulk of Esja on the other side of Kollafjördur and pondered what to do next.

Bjarni had asked when they could hold the funeral, and Magnus had said that the radiocarbon dating was inconclusive and they would have to wait until the DNA analysis came back from Sweden before they had a firm enough ID for the district magistrate to release the body for burial.

But, thinking about it, Gudni’s testimony was pretty conclusive. He had seen his mother shot in the head and his uncle shot in the chest. Carbon dating was clear that the bones were from before 1950.

The bones couldn’t belong to anyone else. He would talk to the magistrate. Gudni could bury his mother.

That left the problem of what to do about Louisa Sugarman. The knowledge that it was her beloved father who had shot Kristín and Marteinn all those years ago would devastate her. Magnus was tempted to leave her in the dark. But Gudni’s testimony would have to be recorded since it was key to identifying the bodies. Louisa was a lawyer and she was determined: she would find out what Gudni had testified.

Better if Magnus told her right away.

The Airbnb address she had given him was on Hverfisgata, up the hill from the police station. Not far. This was a message to be delivered in person, not on the phone.

He was lucky to catch her: she was just heading out for a walk. The Airbnb was an old one-bedroom flat in a building clad in deep-red corrugated metal. The ground floor was occupied by an outdoor-clothing store.

She offered him a cup of tea, but he asked for coffee. They sat down in the small living room. It was minimally furnished with a blue sofa and armchair, a TV and a pine table and chairs standing on weathered undulating floorboards. A large abstract painting of blacks and reds dominated the wall behind the table, somehow evoking a volcanic eruption.

‘You have something to tell me,’ she said. ‘And I can see from your expression it’s not good.’

‘Gudni came in to see us just now. He said you spoke with him this morning?’

‘Yes. I found Gudni’s address on já.is, and I went round to see him today.’

‘And he didn’t say who he thought had killed his mother?’

‘No. I told him about my father and Kristín, and how my father believed Captain Pybus-Smith had killed her and her brother. Then I told him Pybus-Smith had himself been murdered in 1985.’

‘And how did he respond?’

‘He seemed dazed. Confused. I don’t know — it was hard to tell. I had meant to ask him whether he had been in London when Pybus-Smith was killed, but I didn’t have the heart. It all seemed too much for him to take in. I was thinking maybe I should see him again and ask him once he has had a chance to digest what I told him the first time. Or maybe not. Maybe I’ll just leave it.’

‘The thing is,’ said Magnus, ‘it turns out that Gudni did see who shot his mother.’

Louisa opened her eyes. ‘And it was Pybus-Smith?’

Magnus shook his head. ‘I’m sorry to say it was your father.’

‘What?’ Louisa sat stunned. ‘What?’ she repeated.

‘That’s what he said.’

‘He must be mistaken. I did the numbers: he must be eighty-nine. He’s old; he’s confused. He’s just got it wrong.’

‘He described how Kristín and Marteinn were shot, one in the head and one in the chest. We hadn’t released that information to anyone. He must have seen it.’

‘That makes no sense at all.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Magnus said.

‘But Dad loved her! He told me so many times he loved her. Why would he say that if he’d killed her?’

Magnus shrugged. ‘I’ve seen a bunch of murders in my career, a lot more in America than here. And when a young woman is murdered it’s often a husband or a boyfriend or a lover who killed her.’

‘Why would he do that? What possible reason could he have?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Magnus. ‘And I’m not going to guess. It was more than eighty years ago. Gudni was six. We have no way of knowing.’

‘My father wouldn’t kill anyone! You never knew him. He didn’t lose his temper. He was reliable, good in a crisis. I can’t imagine him as a murderer.’

‘Then don’t,’ said Magnus. Magnus was impressed by Louisa. She was driven by a sense of justice as acute as Magnus’s. She had come all the way to Iceland because she had believed that a woman she didn’t even know had been wrongly convicted. She was clearly a strong woman, but some of that strength would have come from her father, whom she had evidently admired all her life. To learn that this man who had given her so much was in fact a murderer must undermine everything she believed, everything she was.

This could break her. And that wasn’t right.

‘I know it’s going to be very hard,’ Magnus said. ‘Just trust your instincts. We’re not going to launch an investigation. We need Gudni’s testimony to confirm that the bodies do indeed belong to Kristín and Marteinn, but nobody needs to make a fuss about it.’

‘What about the press?’

Yes, what about the press? ‘I know my boss, the detective superintendent, is very keen that the press don’t get hold of the idea that these two were shot by a British officer. That’s one of the reasons why we withheld the details of how they were killed. Gudni’s testimony is not conclusive proof, and also he has been reluctant to talk about it for the last eighty years. So we may be able to keep the details quiet.’

‘But you think my father shot them?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Magnus.

‘If he killed her, why would he talk to me about her so much? Take me on a trip with him to Iceland?’ She sat up straight and shook her head. ‘No. I just don’t believe it.’

‘All right,’ said Magnus. ‘I can understand that. But I know you were considering going to Kristín’s funeral. You might want to rethink that.’

Louisa sighed. ‘You’re probably right. And thanks for telling me.’ Although her face was set firm, Magnus could see in the trembling of the corners of her lips and the desperation in her eyes that she was struggling against the crushing weight of the news she had just heard.

‘I’ll leave you now,’ said Magnus. ‘I am sorry.’

Louisa didn’t respond; she just stared at that big painting of black and red.