Black Skies (29 page)

‘Are you referring to what I explained about complicity?’

‘Yeah, what was that all about?’

‘Are you suggesting that you want to alter your statement?’

Thórarinn was silent.

‘Do you want to change your statement?’ repeated Finnur.

‘Let’s just say that I’m not necessarily the only one to blame,’ Thórarinn replied, still addressing Sigurdur Óli. ‘Let’s just say that. You said yourself that it wasn’t necessarily all my fault. You said that last time.’

‘What are you getting at?’ asked Sigurdur Óli. ‘Could you try to be clearer?’

‘I’m just saying that maybe it wasn’t all my fault.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You’ll have to be more precise,’ said Finnur. ‘How exactly?’

Thórarinn’s lawyer leaned over and whispered in his ear. Thórarinn nodded. The lawyer whispered something more and Thórarinn shook his head.

‘My client has expressed an interest in cooperating with the police,’ announced the lawyer, once their conference was over. ‘He wishes to know if he can come to an accommodation that would grant him leniency in return for information.’

‘There will be no leniency on our part,’ said Finnur. ‘But the prosecution is another matter.’

‘He’s wasted too much of our time,’ added Sigurdur Óli.

‘He’s offering to cooperate,’ the lawyer pointed out.

‘Lighten up, man,’ said Thórarinn. ‘What’s the problem?’

‘Right,’ said Sigurdur Óli, sitting down by the tape recorder again. ‘Out with it then.’

An hour or so later Höddi was led into the interview room with his lawyer. Sigurdur Óli and Finnur were there to receive him. Soon the barely audible hissing of the tape recorder started up again and Sigurdur Óli conscientiously announced the time and place and those present. Höddi seemed to sense that something had changed, that the game might be turning against him. His eyes flickered from them to his lawyer, who shrugged.

Finnur cleared his throat. ‘Your friend and associate, Thórarinn, has volunteered under questioning that he was acting as a favour to you when he forced entry to Sigurlína Thorgrímsdóttir’s home.’

‘He’s lying,’ said Höddi.

Finnur continued unperturbed. ‘He claims that you asked him to go to the home of Sigurlína Thorgrímsdóttir, or Lína, in order to intimidate her by inflicting injuries on her that would cause her
considerable
pain, and to deliver the message that if she didn’t stop she would be killed. He was also told to find and bring away certain photographs.’

‘That’s a pack of lies!’

‘He alleges moreover that you told him you had received this request from a party who was known to you and that you had found it amusing that this person should have contacted you about this favour.’

‘Fucking bullshit.’

‘Thórarinn asserts furthermore that he did not receive payment for his attack on Sigurlína because you were calling in a favour that he owed you, dating back to when you set fire to a four-wheel drive that was parked in front of a car sales office in Selfoss, as part of a tax avoidance and insurance scam perpetrated by one of Toggi’s acquaintances.’

‘Is that what he’s claiming? The man’s a nutter!’

‘He also pleaded that it had not been his intention to kill Sigurlína but that the two blows had struck her unfortunately, as he put it. It was not his intention, nor the intention of you or the person who commissioned you, to kill the woman. That was merely an accident on Thórarinn’s part.’

Finnur paused. Neither he nor Sigurdur Óli knew whether Thórarinn had told them the truth but his statement had sounded plausible, in spite of the holes it still contained. He had shown a willingness to help them bring the case to a conclusion. But Höddi might conceivably be right: Thórarinn might be trying to frame him, unlikely though it seemed.

Finnur and Sigurdur Óli gave him time to digest this new development. Eventually he leaned over to his lawyer and they began conferring. The lawyer requested a break so that he could take further instruction from his client. They agreed, and he and Höddi went out into the corridor.

‘It’s all bullshit,’ they heard Höddi saying as the door swung closed behind them. Sigurdur Óli and Finnur waited patiently. It was many minutes before the two men reappeared.

‘I want to go back to my cell,’ announced Höddi on re-entering the room.

‘Who told you to attack Lína?’ asked Sigurdur Óli.

‘No one,’ replied Höddi.

‘What was the purpose behind it?’ asked Finnur.

‘Nothing. There was no purpose.’

‘What was it that Lína was supposed to stop doing?’ asked Sigurdur Óli.

Höddi did not answer.

‘Do you know any of the following bankers: Sverrir, Arnar or Knútur?’ asked Finnur.

Höddi remained mute.

‘Was it one of them who encouraged you to prevent Lína from talking?’

Still no answer.

‘What about men called Patrekur and Hermann?’ asked Finnur, with an eye on Sigurdur Óli, as if he should have put the question himself.

‘I want to go back to my cell,’ repeated Höddi. ‘You won’t get me to back up Toggi’s lies. He’s just trying to stitch me up. You must see that! Don’t you get it? It was him who killed that woman. Him and no one else. There’s no way he’s going to pin it on me. No fucking way!’

‘Are you acquainted with any of the men we named?’

‘No! I don’t know them.’

‘What was Lína supposed to stop doing?’ asked Sigurdur Óli again.

Thórarinn had been extremely evasive on this point. He had claimed that Höddi had said something along these lines, though he had forgotten the precise words, so he had simply told her to
stop
. According to Thórarinn’s statement, he had driven up to the house, seen Lína arrive home and assumed she was alone. After parking some distance away he had launched his attack, not giving her a chance to defend herself or to demand an explanation, and he had not really taken in whatever she was saying. He had struck her on the shoulder as he passed on the message but she had not seemed to understand. He had intended to hit her again, a harder blow to her shoulder or upper body, but the baseball bat had struck her head instead and she had fallen to the floor. Just then he had heard someone outside the house and hastily sought a hiding place.

‘Don’t tell me you’re so thick that you can’t remember,’ said Sigurdur Óli.

‘Shut your face!’ said Höddi.

‘Stop what?’ repeated Finnur. ‘What was Lína doing that you were supposed to stop?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Who sent you?’

‘No one.’

Sigurdur Óli switched off the tape recorder.

‘We’ll resume this interview tomorrow morning,’ he said. ‘I hope you’ll give it some thought tonight.’

‘Dream on,’ retorted Höddi.

46

IT WAS EVENING
by the time Sigurdur Óli pulled up to a smart detached house in one of the new suburbs up by Lake Ellidavatn. It was a white, modernist building with a flat roof and large, aluminium-framed picture windows designed to make the most of the superb views. There were two black SUVs parked in the drive outside the double garage, and the garden, which had obviously been landscaped, boasted a sun deck, jacuzzi and large stone slabs on a bed of smooth, sea-washed pebbles. Three mature trees, including a laburnum, had been planted to pleasing effect.

Sigurdur Óli rang the bell. A child’s bicycle had been abandoned by the front door, colourful ribbons decorating the handlebars and a stabiliser on one side. Someone was clearly making progress with their cycling.

He was perfectly aware that he was attacking the weakest link in the chain and had no qualms about doing what was required. It struck him as worth applying a little pressure to see what would come of it.

The door opened and he was greeted by a smiling woman in her
late
twenties or early thirties. She was wearing a white, short-sleeved shirt and brand-new jeans, and looked cheerful and busy.

‘Come in,’ she said with a charming smile. ‘He’s packing and I’m in the middle of baking, so I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me.’

‘Thank you,’ said Sigurdur Óli. ‘Is he going far?’

‘No, London first, then Luxembourg.’

‘Always working,’ commented Sigurdur Óli.

‘I know, and all this travelling,’ she said, as if it were utterly exhausting. ‘It’s a nightmare.’

She did not ask who he was or what he wanted with her husband: so open and easy-going, so entirely free of suspicion. Perhaps she had fallen for his baby face, Sigurdur Óli thought, or the name, Knútur – ‘cute’, it sounded like.

‘Anyway, we’re going to meet up in Greece afterwards for a little break,’ she said as she disappeared back into the kitchen. ‘We decided yesterday. He says he’s earned it.’

A boy of no more than five appeared in the kitchen doorway, completely covered in flour. He gazed at Sigurdur Óli, shy and sceptical, then ran back to his mother’s side.

The woman had gone through the kitchen to find her husband. When Knútur emerged from the depths of the house and saw Sigurdur Óli standing in the hall, he was instantly wary.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked in a low voice, almost a whisper.

‘We need to ask your opinion on a couple of matters,’ said Sigurdur Óli. ‘It’s rather urgent. The investigation is moving ahead quickly and we need to clear up a few points.’

He used the plural deliberately as if he were not acting alone. In his view he was not. And he left the nature of the urgent investigation deliberately vague.

‘What about?’ asked Knútur, glancing in the direction of the kitchen. He could not disguise his trepidation.

‘It might be better if we sat down,’ suggested Sigurdur Óli.

‘Is it important?’

‘Could be.’

‘Right, come with me, we’ll go to my office.’

Sigurdur Óli followed him through the house. Everywhere Sigurdur Óli looked projected wealth: the graphic designs on the walls, the pristine white sofa suite, the gleaming walnut floors.

‘How did you get on with the chamber orchestra?’ asked Sigurdur Óli.

‘What? I’m sorry?’

‘You were trying to book one when I met you the other day.’

‘Oh, fine, thanks. It went well.’

‘Did they perform here?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you off somewhere?’

‘No. Well, yes, actually. Did Maja tell you? I’ve got to go abroad, on business.’

‘Followed by a holiday, I understand?’

Knútur showed him into his study.

‘We’re going to spend a few days in Greece,’ he said, closing the door behind them.

‘I hope I’m not the reason for that,’ Sigurdur Óli said, looking round the room. It was just to his taste: no books, white shelves graced only by ornaments, parquet flooring of some light-coloured wood, a flat screen and a sound system that would have cost him more than a month’s salary. There were two computer screens on the white-varnished desk. He had not seen a radiator anywhere in the house, so they presumably had underfloor heating. He would have liked that himself, if he had money to burn.

‘No,’ replied Knútur with a weak smile.

‘Have you just moved in?’ asked Sigurdur Óli.

‘Six months ago.’

‘It must have cost you an arm and a leg. Two cars as well. Unless it’s all on credit? Everything’s on credit these days.’

Knútur forced himself to smile again. He was not about to divulge his financial arrangements.

‘What are you worth?’ asked Sigurdur Óli. ‘Isn’t that the party game with you boys? When the chamber orchestra’s gone home and you’re trying not to pass out over the brandy? What are you worth?’

‘No, I don’t know.’

‘How much do you reckon you’re worth? Do you know? Exactly?’

Knútur pulled himself together. ‘I don’t see what that has to do with you.’

‘It may be relevant. To the police.’

‘I can’t imagine why it should –’

‘We know about Alain Sörensen,’ interrupted Sigurdur Óli.

Knútur did not flinch.

‘We know about Luxembourg.’

Still no reaction. Knútur merely watched Sigurdur Óli take the list of participants on the glacier tour from his pocket and hold it out.

‘It wasn’t all that difficult to trace the connection.’

Knútur took the list.

‘Why didn’t you admit you knew Sörensen?’

‘I don’t know him,’ said Knútur, not looking at the piece of paper.

‘We’ve received confirmation that you went on the glacier tour with him.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘I have a witness,’ said Sigurdur Óli. He had rung Patrekur who had told him that the Swede – as he called Sörensen – and the bankers had been travelling together; he had a clear memory of them as a group. Sigurdur Óli had felt this was sufficient evidence for the moment. He cleared his throat. ‘The witness confirms that
Alain
Sörensen was travelling with you and your colleagues from the bank.’

Knútur had turned pale.

‘Yet you didn’t recognise his name on the list. Nor did your colleagues. And now you’re claiming not to know him at all.’

Knútur still did not say a word.

‘Why would you all be lying? Can you tell me that? Why lie about such a trivial fact as knowing Sörensen when it’s so easy to catch you out?’

Knútur sat motionless.

‘It leads me to conclude that you must be hiding something.’

Sigurdur Óli stepped up the pressure.

‘We know all about him,’ he said, though really he knew next to nothing, certainly nothing connected to any conceivable misconduct. ‘Father of two. Of Swedish-French parents, brought up in Sweden but educated in France. Hobbies include cycling and travelling, which is presumably why he took the risk of joining you on the glacier trip.’

Knútur now lifted the list and stared at the names.

‘We’ve arranged to go and pay him a visit in Luxembourg,’ Sigurdur Óli added.

Knútur appeared to be on the verge of breaking. He had no answers to Sigurdur Óli’s questions.

‘Getting involved in fraud on this scale can be highly stressful,’ Sigurdur Óli continued. ‘And of course we don’t know the half of it yet, such as …’

Apparently Knútur did not trust himself to look up from the list.

‘… such as what Lína was up to.’

Knútur’s wife opened the door, interrupting the conversation.