Whale Fjord

Twenty-Seven

Before interviewing Bjarni, Magnus caught up with his team. As usual in a murder investigation, the atmosphere was one of excitement and activity — Icelanders worked fast in a crisis. But as usual, Magnus was wary. Speed was important, but so was thoroughness. He would much rather his officers took an extra hour over a task than that they missed a clue or a connection.

Five hours after the discovery of Louisa’s body, there was a lot to report, a lot still to investigate. There had been no obvious signs of blood on Gudni’s clothes, but forensics were taking a closer look. No communications with Louisa on Gudni’s phone or his computer, although he had spoken to his son Bjarni three times in the previous forty-eight hours, including just after Louisa came to see him.

Police in Britain had tracked down her two adult daughters but were still trying to find Louisa’s husband, or rather ex-husband, Daniel Sugarman. They had been divorced ten years.

Nothing from the phone company yet about Louisa’s phone. Magnus was hopeful that if her murderer had grabbed her phone and hadn’t switched it off, then it might leave a trail and perhaps even point to his whereabouts. If he had had the sense to switch it off or take out the SIM, then that action would give an idea of the time of the attack.

CCTV at the car park on Saebraut showed Louisa leaving in her rental car at 4.45 p.m. the previous afternoon and returning at 8.15 p.m. Where did she go? Whom did she speak to? What information had they given her that she wanted to pass on to Magnus?

Two officers had been looking at footage from the CCTV up and down Hverfisgata. It was hard to be sure because it was dark and raining, but they hadn’t spotted any images of a small, frail old man matching Gudni’s description between 9.30 p.m. and midnight. Magnus asked them to check again for Bjarni, whose photograph had now been taken.

Forensics were still trying to untangle the various traces of fingerprints in Louisa’s apartment. The most interesting was a print on her bag. It wasn’t hers, and it hadn’t matched anything in the LÖKE database. Her phone could well have been in that bag, so there was a good chance the print belonged to whoever had stabbed her and then taken her phone. Magnus asked them to check the sample against Bjarni’s prints.

He set them all back to work and called the prosecutor to brief her on how the case was progressing and to ask her to arrange a warrant for Bjarni’s phone and computer and his clothes. If Louisa hadn’t been in touch with Gudni, maybe she had spoken to Bjarni.

Then he went outside the police station to talk to the gaggle of reporters and cameramen hanging around the entrance. He identified the victim as Louisa Sugarman, a British citizen, and asked any member of the public who had seen her between 3 p.m. and 9.30 p.m. the day before to come forward. He answered questions about suspects with an assurance that the investigation was progressing well. An officer handed out photographs of Louisa for the reporters.

Bjarni was not happy when Vigdís and Magnus entered the interview room.

‘I’ve been here nearly two hours!’ he said. ‘They tell me I’m under arrest so I can’t leave. That can’t be right.’

‘It is, Bjarni,’ said Magnus, taking a seat opposite him. ‘We can hold you for twenty-four hours, longer if a magistrate allows it. But you are entitled to a lawyer.’

Bjarni took a breath and glared at Magnus. ‘You’ve made a mistake. I hope we can straighten everything out now and I can go. But, yes, if you try to hold me for twenty-four hours, I will want a lawyer.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Magnus. He quickly ran through the formalities to start the interview. ‘We need to ask you about Louisa Sugarman,’ he began.

‘She’s the Englishwoman I’m supposed to have killed?’

‘She was murdered yesterday and that’s what we are investigating,’ Magnus confirmed. ‘And you are a suspect. Have you ever met her?’

‘No,’ said Bjarni.

‘What do you know about her?’

‘Just what Dad told me yesterday. He called me after she came to see him in Grafarholt. He said she was the daughter of a British officer who had been in Iceland during the war. This man had been in love with Dad’s mother — that’s my grandmother.’

‘Kristín Hálfdánsdóttir?’

‘That’s right. Anyway, Louisa had got the wrong end of the stick about who had killed Kristín and Marteinn. She had the wrong guy. It was actually Louisa’s father who had shot them. And Dad wanted me to bring him here so that he could tell you. He was really upset about it, understandably, as you saw.’

‘Did you know that your father had seen who’d shot Kristín?’

‘No, I had no idea until then. I knew my grandmother and her brother had disappeared during the war. I asked Dad about it a couple of times, but he always refused to talk about it. It was clearly painful — I mean Dad was just a little boy when it happened. I spoke to Uncle Siggi about it once — he was Dad’s uncle, not mine. Kristín’s younger brother. He said he was away from Laxahóll at the time, working for the British on the naval base, but he always believed she had been killed by the British. He never liked the British.’

‘Siggi must be long dead by now?’ said Magnus.

‘Oh, yes. He died in about 2000. He was in his late seventies.’

‘Can you tell me a little bit about him? I understand he ran off with a girl from the neighbouring farm, who I think we’ve met?’

‘Yes, that’s right. Frída. He was married at the time, to a woman called Sunna. My grandfather was very unhappy about it and kicked him out, so Siggi went to live at Selvík and ended up running the farm there. This was in the early sixties — Dad had left home by then. Siggi had helped bring up Dad after Kristín died, with Sunna. Dad kept in touch with him, despite my grandfather’s disapproval, and so I saw him occasionally.’

‘OK. You say you didn’t know for sure that Kristín had been killed by a British officer until yesterday?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Did your father say why he hadn’t told anyone what he had seen until now?’

‘Yes. You asked him, and I heard him answer you. It made perfect sense to me. You see, I knew his mother’s disappearance cast a shadow over Dad’s life. If he didn’t want to dig up the past, that was his choice. His right. I wasn’t going to do it for him.’

‘You know he was lying to us?’ Magnus said.

‘About what?’

‘About Lieutenant Marks killing Kristín and Marteinn.’

Bjarni frowned. ‘Are you sure? My father is an honest man.’

‘Turns out he isn’t. He did see a British officer killing his mother, but it wasn’t Lieutenant Marks. It was Captain Pybus-Smith. He admitted it just now.’

‘Did he? Oh. And this is related to Louisa Sugarman’s death somehow?’

‘We believe it is.’

Bjarni paused. Thinking. ‘How?’

‘We were hoping you would tell us.’

Bjarni snorted. ‘I have no idea what’s going on. I do know my father didn’t kill this Louisa woman.’

‘What about you? Did you kill her?’

‘No! Of course not. Why would I kill her?’

Magnus glanced at Vigdís.

‘How old are you?’ she asked.

‘Sixty-two.’

‘So, how old were you in 1985?’

‘I was... twenty-four, I suppose.’

‘And you had a full head of hair, then? Blond hair?’

‘Yes. I didn’t start going bald until my thirties. And, as you can see, what little hair I have left is still mostly blond.’ Bjarni touched the thin, closely cropped hairs edging his shiny scalp.

‘Did you travel to London in March 1985?’

‘No.’

‘Are you sure? Because, you see, a tall young man with blond hair and speaking a Scandinavian language was seen entering the apartment building in which Sir Neville Pybus-Smith was murdered, along with an older grey-haired guy.’

‘It wasn’t me,’ Bjarni said with confidence. ‘I was in the States then, doing a master’s degree. At Florida State University.’

‘Have you ever been to London?’

‘Yes, plenty of times. But not so much when I was in my twenties, and definitely not when I was in the States.’

‘Did you ever go with your father?’

‘We went a couple of times as a family when I was a kid. And I went once to see Spurs with him and Uncle Siggi. But I was younger then — about eighteen. And I never liked watching football, much to Dad’s disappointment. So, no, I’m quite sure I didn’t travel to London in March 1985, either by myself or with Dad.’

‘All right,’ said Magnus. ‘What about last night? What were you doing after nine-thirty last night?’

‘That’s easy,’ said Bjarni. ‘I took some German clients out for dinner with a colleague of mine from work. We went to an Indian restaurant, Austur-Indíafélagid. I’ve found clients seem to like the concept of Indian food in Iceland. We finished about ten-thirty and I called cabs for everyone. I got home to Kópavogur about eleven, maybe eleven-fifteen.’

Vigdís glanced at Magnus. ‘That restaurant is on Hverfisgata, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. So?’

‘So Louisa Sugarman was found dead in her Airbnb which is also on Hverfisgata,’ said Magnus. ‘About a hundred metres from the restaurant.’

‘Whoa!’ said Bjarni, frowning. He shook his head. ‘Look, that’s just a coincidence. I got in a cab right at the restaurant. I can give you the number of the driver. And my colleague, María, took a different cab at about the same time. María called three taxis. We put the clients in the first one and then took the other two ourselves.’

‘You said you called the cabs,’ said Vigdís.

‘I know. I misspoke. It was María.’ For the first time, Bjarni looked worried. ‘Here, I’ve got her number. And she’ll have the number of the cab company.’ He pulled out his phone and read out a number.

‘And what about the German clients? Can you give me their names and where they are staying?’

‘We don’t need to involve them, do we? I’m hoping to get a big contract to supply their furniture to an office refurb in Vogar. It won’t look good if they are contacted by the police about my involvement in a murder.’

Magnus raised his eyebrows. ‘It won’t look any better if you are locked up in Hólmsheidi, now, will it?’

‘All right,’ Bjarni said. ‘But they flew back to Germany this morning. I can give you their names and numbers at their offices in Munich.’

There was a knock at the door, and a constable appeared with a note. Magnus scanned it.

Magnus showed the note to Vigdís. ‘Interesting, don’t you think?’

Vigdís nodded.

Bjarni was watching in confusion, barely resisting the urge to ask what was in the note.

‘Thank you, Bjarni, that’s all for now,’ said Magnus. ‘You’ve given us some leads to check. And we will be going to your home to examine your clothes for blood. We’ve requested a warrant to look at your phone and your computer.’

‘In the meantime, can I go?’

‘No,’ said Magnus, folding the note and putting it in his pocket. He checked his watch. ‘You’ve done three hours. Twenty-one more to go. We will definitely have more questions for you.’

‘I’ll want a lawyer.’

‘You’ll need one.’

‘What do you think?’ said Vigdís as they returned to their desks. ‘He was leaving a restaurant in Hverfisgata minutes before Louisa’s phone was thrown into the bay. Can that just be a coincidence?’

‘We’ll soon find out,’ said Magnus. ‘In the meantime, get over to his house with a couple of officers and talk to his wife. The warrant for his clothes should have come through by now.’

‘All right.’

‘Oh, Vigdís?’

‘Yes?’

‘You know I gave you twenty-four hours? To correct your statement about your mother?’

‘Yes?’

‘Let’s call it forty-eight, shall we?’

‘Thanks,’ said Vigdís. ‘I’m not sure that will change anything. I haven’t had a chance to think about it with everything that’s going on.’

‘I get that,’ said Magnus. ‘But you do have to think about it. And the quicker, the better. For you.’

Vigdís grunted.

‘And there’s something else.’ Magnus winced, suddenly unsure of himself.

‘What’s that?’

‘I think I’m going to have to tell Ingileif. About Erla.’

Vigdís scowled. ‘You promised you wouldn’t tell anyone.’

‘I know. I’m sorry, Vigdís. I don’t have a choice.’