Sea of Stone (18 page)

Sibba was going to visit her cousin. In prison.

She had got the call the evening before. She was watching television with her husband. In the couple of years since the
kreppa
had taken hold, she had received a number of these calls at home and at odd hours from bankers or lawyers who had suddenly found themselves confronted by policemen asking difficult questions. Sibba was a lawyer, a partner of a firm with smart offices in Borgartún, a boulevard lined with swish modern bank headquarters that ran along the shore of Faxaflói Bay. She was a commercial lawyer, but increasingly her work had become criminal, as her clients had been questioned about their role in various alleged frauds that had taken place during the boom years in the first decade of the century.

But this phone call was different. This time she had been asked to defend a murder suspect. And the murder suspect was Magnús Ragnarsson, her cousin.

Sibba had been placed in a difficult position. Magnus had informed her who the victim was – her own grandfather,
Hallgrímur. She had resisted the urge to call her uncle at Bjarnarhöfn and find out what had happened, or even to ring her parents in Canada. She had refused to act for Magnus at first, pointing out the obvious conflicts and her lack of experience of murder cases, but Magnus had insisted. He said she was the only lawyer in Iceland he could trust to do what he wanted her to do.

She respected Magnus. He knew what he was doing. So, reluctantly, she had agreed to act for him.

That was the first strange call she had received that day. The second, later on that evening, had been from her father who said that he had arrived at Bjarnarhöfn that afternoon to find the place in uproar and his own father murdered. Sibba was so surprised to hear that he was in Iceland, and concerned about the conflict with Magnus, that she hadn’t admitted that she knew already. That had been stupid. Her father would discover soon enough that she was defending the man accused of murdering her grandfather.

Sibba understood why her father hadn’t told her he was coming to Iceland, but nevertheless she was a little miffed that he hadn’t dropped in on her in Reykjavík on the way up to Bjarnarhöfn. She had a good relationship with him, and both her parents doted on her children, their grandchildren. Still, it would be a big help for Kolbeinn and Aníta to have her dad around. He was good in a crisis; he had faced them in mining camps all over the world. He would know what to do.

Sibba and Magnus had a lot in common. Like him, she had grown up abroad, in her case Toronto, only moving to the land of her ancestors when she graduated from law school. But they were not really close; Sibba had only realized that Magnus was back in Iceland when she had bumped into him in the street about a year before. He was eight years younger than her, but they liked and respected each other. The idea that he had murdered Hallgrímur seemed preposterous.

The road descended sharply, winding down a steep hillside. In front of her a broad plain stretched down to the sea, clear of snow at the lower altitude, dotted with farms. And in the far
distance, at least seventy kilometres away on the other side of the plain, a plume of white rose high into the deep blue sky, and then bent over to the right as the north wind pushed it towards Europe. Beneath the white, and somehow quite separate from it, were smaller puffs of black. Ash. Not the fine high ash that was travelling across oceans high in the atmosphere, but denser stuff that fell to ground.

Eyjafjallajökull.

The sight took Sibba by surprise. She had watched the eruption on the news, and seen the disruption to local farms and to air travellers thousands of kilometres away. But she had yet to see the volcano itself.

She forced her eyes back to the road, with its switchbacks twisting down the steep slope, and then glanced quickly to the south. Along the shoreline she could see the ribbon of houses that made up the old trading port of Eyrarbakki, and at its eastern edge the white tower and buildings of Litla-Hraun prison.

She had been there a couple of times over the previous few months to visit bankers charged with financial crimes. It hadn’t taken long to get them out, and none of her clients had yet been successfully prosecuted; this was new territory for the Icelandic legal system. But defending a murder charge would be an entirely different story. It was rare in Iceland once the police and prosecution had put together a case for a suspect in a traditional serious criminal trial not to be found guilty. There were no juries, and few loopholes to seek out.

She hoped Magnus’s arrest had just been a dreadful mistake that would quickly become clear. Otherwise she would have her work cut out.

The prison was surrounded by a high wire fence. Sibba parked in a space outside the gates and introduced herself to the guard. She was led through to House Number One, a low white building fenced off from the others, where prisoners were held in solitary confinement. The building held a mixture of prisoners on remand and troublemakers from the main
prison who had been sent there as a punishment. Conditions in the main prison were quite lax, but solitary was tough: no contact with other prisoners or visitors, one hour per day exercise alone in a walled courtyard. And this for citizens who had not yet been found guilty. The permanent residents, by contrast, had a shower in their cells, a wide-screen TV in the communal area of each wing, a gym, a snack shop, classrooms and plenty of social life.

The set-up was quite an incentive to confess, really.

Sibba was searched and then led into the interview room. She waited a moment and then Magnus came in. It struck her again how he looked like a younger version of her father: big, square-shouldered with red hair and an air of strong composure. He was wearing sweatpants and shirt, no doubt provided by the police.

He grinned when he saw her. She hesitated, torn for a moment between her role as cousin and lawyer, and then gave him a hug. The guard was surprised and made no effort to stop her.

They sat down and the guard left.

‘I’m used to being in your chair,’ said Magnus. They spoke in English, as they usually did. Neither Magnus nor Sibba’s accent had any trace of Icelandic. ‘It’s weird to be on this side of the table.’

‘This whole thing must be pretty weird for you,’ Sibba said.

‘It is.’

‘How long have you been here?’

‘Half an hour, maybe,’ said Magnus. ‘Haven’t had time to decorate my cell yet.’

‘Did you see the volcano on the way down?’

‘Yes. Spectacular. Can’t see it from my cell, though. Can’t see anything from my cell.’

‘How did the hearing go in Borgarnes?’ Sibba asked.

‘As you would expect. They’ve got me here for twenty-one days. I’m sure they will show you the paperwork.’

‘You should have let me come,’ Sibba said.

‘You and I know there is nothing you could have done,’ said
Magnus. ‘It was a formality. The judge was always going to send me down here.’

‘Possibly,’ said Sibba. ‘But before we start, I have to ask you. Are you sure you want me to act for you?’ She looked closely at her cousin. ‘I can find you another lawyer with more experience of violent crime.’

He smiled. ‘No. I’ve thought this through. I want you.’

‘But what about the fact that Hallgrímur was my grandfather too? You know my father showed up yesterday at Bjarnarhöfn? I’m going to have to explain to him that I am defending the man who is supposed to have murdered his own father.’

Magnus sighed. ‘I know it will be difficult for you, Sibba, but I would really like you to represent me. I’ve thought about it hard. You are about the only person in this country I know who I can trust to do what I want. You and me are pretty similar. As you said, we both shared the same evil grandfather. You’ve been in this country a lot longer than I have, but I think you at least understand what it’s like for me to be here.’

‘Maybe I do,’ said Sibba.

‘Look. If I promise not to lie to you, will you promise to do what I instruct you to? As my lawyer?’

Sibba paused. This was getting strange. She was wary that Magnus was leading her into some kind of trap. But on the other hand, he seemed to need her. Sibba liked to be needed, by her family as well as by her clients. That was why she had become a lawyer in the first place. And although some of the bankers who had defrauded their shareholders out of millions needed her too, that was not quite so satisfying.

‘OK,’ said Sibba, pulling out a notepad. ‘Let’s start. Tell me what happened.’

In calm, clear tones, Magnus did just that. He explained how he had driven up from Reykjavík to see his grandfather, how he had found the body, how he had called the police, and how he had answered their questions. Sibba took detailed notes.

After he had finished, she looked them over. She realized that he had told her nothing more than what he had told the police.
Not one tiny bit more. Usually her clients had plenty to say that they hadn’t included in their statements. Maybe Magnus had nothing to hide. But no one had nothing to hide, especially someone sitting in jail charged with murder.

‘So what aren’t you telling me?’ she asked him.

He just shrugged.

She leaned forward. ‘From what you’ve said, the case against you is pretty strong. The evidence is all circumstantial, but that can be enough. If the police and the judge are convinced you are guilty, they will find you guilty. There’s no jury for us to bamboozle. You’ll go to jail for a long time. Obviously you will be fired from the police force here. And when you get out, everyone in this country will know who you are for evermore: the American cop who killed his Icelandic grandfather. If you go back to the States, no police department there will take you with a murder conviction. Do you want all that?’

Magnus looked at her steadily, his expression grim. He blinked once, but he didn’t answer. Why didn’t he answer?

‘There must be other details you know that you haven’t told the police yet that can help establish your innocence. I need to know what those details are.’

Still nothing.

‘You promised you wouldn’t lie to me.’ Sibba stared hard into Magnus’s blue eyes.

He held her gaze. ‘I did.’

‘Very well, then. Why do the police think you are a suspect?’

‘They say I tampered with the crime scene. They say I hated my grandfather, and that I believed he was responsible for my father’s death. And I discovered the body, which means I could have killed the old man.’

‘Did you?’ Sibba asked.

Magnus didn’t answer at first. ‘Did I what?’ he asked slowly.

‘Did you tamper with the crime scene?’ Sibba asked.

Magnus didn’t answer.

‘OK. Did you hate your grandfather?’

‘You know I did,’ said Magnus.

And that left the big question. The one that lawyers had to be very careful about asking their client. But Sibba realized that she couldn’t defend Magnus unless she knew the answer.

‘Did you kill Hallgrímur?’

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

V
IGDÍS REALIZED SHE
had probably woken Katrín up. Árni’s sister took an age to answer the doorbell of the brightly painted little house in Njálsgata. She was bleary eyed with the remains of the previous night’s make-up staining her face. She was a tall woman with black dyed hair and a penchant for facial metal. So different from Árni. Vigdís didn’t know her well, but she rather liked her.

‘Hi. What do you want?’ Perhaps Katrín was not so keen to see her.

‘Sorry to disturb you. Did you hear about Magnús?’

‘Yeah. My brother told me you’ve arrested him for murder. And if you’re that stupid I’m not going to answer any of your questions.’

‘Hold on, hold on,’ said Vigdís, raising her hand to stop Katrín shutting the door on her. ‘I’ve got a day off. I know Magnús didn’t kill anyone. I’m here unofficially to help him prove it.’

Katrín blinked. Hesitated. ‘Oh. OK. Come in. I’ll make some coffee.’

The kitchen was surprisingly tidy, and Katrín began to fiddle with a coffee machine.

‘Has anyone come around to speak to you yet?’ Vigdís asked. ‘Officially.’

‘Not yet. I’ll tell them where to go when they do.’

‘Actually, it’s in Magnús’s interests if you answer their questions honestly. I believe the truth is that Magnús didn’t kill his grandfather. So we want the police to figure that out.’

‘Huh.’ Katrín didn’t sound convinced. ‘What is it? The police in Stykkishólmur have their very own Árni? They must be stupid. Magnús would never kill an old man.’

‘They must have strong evidence or they wouldn’t have arrested him. But they are making sure that none of us in Reykjavík has anything to do with the case, so I don’t know what that evidence might be. Which is why I want to talk to you. Magnús’s brother Ollie has been staying here, hasn’t he?’

The coffee maker began to bubble. Katrín sat down waiting for it to do its stuff. She lit a cigarette and offered Vigdís one. Vigdís shook her head.

‘Yeah, he came the middle of last week. Magnús hardly saw him; he was working on that murder case. Ollie was a bit pissed off. I ended up entertaining him.’

Vigdís raised her eyebrows, wondering if Katrín meant what she thought she did. From the other woman’s small smile, she saw that she did.

‘What’s Ollie like?’ Vigdís said. ‘I’ve never met him. A little Magnús?’

‘Oh, no,’ said Katrín. ‘Ollie is a bad boy. Which is why I like him.’ That little smile again.

‘Did Magnús approve?’

‘Of me fucking his little brother? I think he was a bit shocked. Ollie and I thought that was pretty funny.’

‘And did Ollie talk much about Magnús?’

‘No, not really. I mean, we joked about him a bit, but they have “issues”, as the Americans like to say. Something to do with their father and their grandfather, all that shit. I wanted to stay well out of it.’

‘That’s a shame,’ said Vigdís.

‘Sorry. All I know was they were having some kind of argument. I could tell Ollie was upset, although he didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t see much of Magnús last week. And then of course Ingileif showed up.’