Authors: Michael Ridpath
Ollie smiled ruefully. ‘A couple of minor drug busts. Possession. I was questioned a couple years back about mortgage fraud, but they had nothing on me. They might keep records of that kind of thing, I don’t know. But I’m not an international master criminal.’
Emil laughed at Ollie’s attempt at humour. ‘So why, after twenty years, did you suddenly want to see your grandfather?’
Ollie took a deep breath. ‘That’s a very good question.’ He hesitated, drinking some of his coffee. ‘Neither Magnus nor I liked our grandfather. He gave us a real tough time at Bjarnarhöfn, especially me. That’s why I wanted to come here to be interviewed rather than there, the place still gives me the creeps. But after our father was murdered—’
Emil sat up. ‘Murdered? I heard he had died, but I didn’t know he was murdered.’
‘Oh, yeah,’ said Ollie. ‘In 1996. I was the one who discovered his body.’ He winced. ‘It was in a house we were renting on the South Shore. Of Boston. As you can imagine, it freaked me out. Freaked us both out. Magnus became obsessed with trying to figure out who did it. He was twenty, I guess, at
college, but he nosed around asking questions. I figure that’s why he became a cop.’
‘And did they catch the murderer?’
‘No,’ Ollie said. ‘He’s still out there somewhere. And Magnus is still looking for him. Which is why I came to Iceland.’
‘You were here to help him?’
‘No. No, not at all. I was here to try to persuade him to stop. You see, he thinks there is a link between our grandfather and our father’s death, and since he’s been back in Iceland, he’s been asking questions.’
‘Was your grandfather in Boston when your father was killed?’
‘No. Magnus says he has never left Iceland. Doesn’t even have a passport. But there was another murder, here in Iceland, which had the same, what do you call it – MO?’
Emil nodded.
‘Yeah, MO. Some guy called Benedikt something or other. He was a famous author. He was killed in 1985 in Reykjavík.’
‘Benedikt Jóhannesson? I remember that,’ Emil said. ‘I helped out on that investigation.’
‘And you didn’t find the killer either, did you?’
‘No,’ said Emil. ‘Didn’t Benedikt come from up here somewhere?’
‘Exactly right. He lived at Hraun when he was a kid. The farm on the other side of the lava field from Bjarnarhöfn. He and my grandfather were neighbours when they were kids.’
‘OK,’ Emil said. ‘That’s a link, but a weak one.’
‘It gets stronger, at least according to Magnus,’ Ollie said. ‘Back to the MO. Benedikt was stabbed in the back once and twice in the chest by someone who was right-handed. Dad was killed in the exact same way. So Magnus thinks the two crimes must be linked. And he thinks the link must be Grandpa.’
‘But you don’t?’
‘I didn’t. I mean it could be a coincidence, right? I thought that this was just Magnus’s obsession and I wanted him to stop it. Anything that brings back that place does my head in. At first he
listened, but then he said he was going to carry on regardless. So I came over here to try to persuade him not to. Which is where I met Joe.’
‘Jóhannes?’
‘Jóhannes Benediktsson. The schoolteacher. Benedikt was his father. In fact, Joe discovered his dead body as well. Back in 1985. Magnus turned him up from somewhere and we both met him last week. He has read all his father’s books many times, and he thought that they implied there was a feud between our two families, with Grandpa right in the middle of it. A feud going right back to the 1930s.
‘Magnus lapped this up, of course, but I was sceptical. But the more I thought of it, the more I thought Joe might have a point. So I went around to his house a couple of days ago and we talked about it. We figured we may as well go right up to Bjarnarhöfn and ask Grandpa straight. I could never have done that myself, I’m still scared of the guy, but with Joe I thought I could do it. So we drove up this morning.’
‘I see,’ said Emil. ‘But why go with Jóhannes? Why not with your brother?’
‘Well, that’s what I thought of doing first,’ said Ollie. ‘Naturally. But Magnus is kind of weird about all this stuff. And I’d have had to admit to him I had changed my mind. He’s a cop, and so he might have suddenly come over all official. So that didn’t work. But I suddenly thought, wait a minute, maybe I could come up here with Joe? And so here we are.’
‘And what was Magnús doing here?’
Ollie blew air through his cheeks. ‘I’ve no idea. He made some big arrests yesterday, to do with that tourist who got killed on the volcano. I didn’t see him. And we left early this morning, Joe and me.’
‘So he might have been seeing Hallgrímur for the same reason you were?’
‘He might,’ said Ollie. ‘I don’t know. Have you asked him?’
‘I will.’ Emil leaned forward. ‘Ollie? Do you think your brother could have killed your grandfather?’
‘No!’ said Ollie. ‘Absolutely not.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because Magnus has devoted his whole life to finding murderers, not murdering other people.’
‘Maybe that’s what he was doing? He had found his murderer, the murderer of his father. And he was bringing him to justice?’
Ollie frowned. ‘No,’ he said, uncertainly. ‘No way. Not Magnus.’ He leaned backwards, folding his arms and shaking his head. ‘Uh uh.’
They sat there, detective and witness, for half a minute. Ollie maintained his pose of denial. Emil thought, his fingers caressing the wart on his neck.
‘Ollie?’ he said.
‘Yeah?’
‘What time did you leave Reykjavík this morning?’
‘About seven-thirty.’
‘It takes about two, maybe two and a half hours to get from Reykjavík to Bjarnarhöfn. If you didn’t want to disturb Hallgrímur on a Sunday morning, why did you leave Reykjavík so early?’
Ollie frowned some more. ‘Er…’
Emil waited as Ollie floundered. Eventually he thought of something.
‘I don’t know. Joe just said he would pick me up at seven-thirty. It’s his country. I just did what I was told.’
‘I see,’ said Emil. ‘That will be all for now. Thanks for your cooperation.’ He nodded to Páll, who turned off the recorder. Páll and the interpreter would have the job of writing up a statement and then translating it into English for Ollie to sign.
‘Can I go now?’ Ollie asked. ‘I’ve missed my flight, but I’d like to go to Keflavík and try to get myself on another one.’
‘We’ll need you to hang around to sign the statement,’ Emil said in English. ‘And good luck with the airport. I saw pictures on the news and it looked like a zoo. Most of the flights have been cancelled and no one knows whether they are coming or
going. But I think I would prefer you stayed in Stykkishólmur, at least for another day or so. In fact, I’ll take your passport. You are a material witness in a murder investigation.’ He held out his hand.
Reluctantly, Ollie reached into his jacket and handed his passport over.
CHAPTER SIX
E
MIL STUDIED THE
man in front of him.
Magnus was a different prospect to his brother. Taller, broader, tougher. Where Ollie had seemed nervous, Magnus now looked composed, fit and alert. His steady blue eyes returned Emil’s appraising glance.
‘I’ve just spoken to your brother,’ Emil said.
‘Is he here?’ Magnus asked.
‘Yes. But I can’t let you see him.’
‘I understand,’ said Magnus. ‘What did he say?’
‘He said he didn’t like your grandfather much. Apparently neither of you did.’
Magnus didn’t respond.
‘He told me about how you had spotted a connection between your father’s death and the murder of Benedikt Jóhannesson.’
‘He did?’
‘Yes. And how you had discussed this with Benedikt’s son.’
‘I see,’ said Magnus, nodding.
‘Ollie thinks that you believed your grandfather was responsible for both the murders.’
‘I’m pretty sure that he wasn’t in America when my father was killed,’ Magnus said.
‘I said “responsible”. I didn’t say Hallgrímur committed the murders. There’s a difference.’
‘There is,’ admitted Magnus.
Emil realized that a more direct tack was required. ‘OK. So let’s start with this morning. When did you leave Reykjavík?’ He
glanced at Páll sitting next to him, pen at the ready. The constable’s moustache really was a fine one.
‘I won’t comment.’
Emil looked at Magnus sharply. ‘I don’t want a comment. I just want you to answer a simple question.’
‘And I don’t want to answer it.’
Emil leaned back on his chair. It creaked alarmingly. He slowly leaned forward; collapsing a chair was not good interview technique.
‘You’re a policeman. There’s been a murder. I need to know what all the witnesses’ and suspects’ movements were. You found the body. I have to know what you were doing.’
‘Oh, I quite understand that,’ said Magnus. ‘But I don’t intend to tell you.’
‘Even what time you got up in the morning?’
‘Even that.’
‘I see.’ Emil thought a moment. ‘You do know the laws here in Iceland?’
‘Yes,’ replied Magnus. ‘I did six months at the police college. I have read the Penal Code.’
‘Then you know that there is no constitutional right not to incriminate yourself like there is in the United States?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘You know that if you refuse to answer even the most straightforward question about what happened today, it will be reasonable for me and the prosecution to assume that you are trying to hide something?’
‘Yes, I know that,’ said Magnus.
‘All right. Let me go through the evidence against you,’ Emil said. ‘One. You discovered the body. We’re not sure yet, but it seems that the victim hadn’t been dead long when the first policeman arrived at the scene. That puts you at the scene at about the time Hallgrímur was killed.’
He glanced at Magnus, who made no response, just watched him coolly.
Emil counted off the points on his fingers. ‘Two. You hated
your grandfather. You suspected that he had had your father murdered.’
Emil checked Magnus again. No response.
‘Three. You easily have the strength to kill Hallgrímur, just by banging his head against the floor. Four, it appears that you did your best to disturb the crime scene. You intentionally got Hallgrímur’s blood on your shoes, you allowed a horse to shit all over the approach, and you seem to have tampered with evidence in his cottage.’
Emil counted his thumb. ‘And five, you are refusing to talk. I mean, think about that. All the evidence so far points to you murdering your grandfather. Now, if I’m on the wrong track, tell me about it. Give me your side of the story. We can check it out. If you are innocent, we can prove it. Do you understand me?’
‘I understand you,’ said Magnus.
‘Well?’
‘I’m not saying anything.’
‘And you know the consequences of your decision?’
‘The consequences are entirely up to you,’ said Magnus.
Emil could see Magnus wasn’t rattled. He had thought all this through. Emil had only come across one witness before who had been so reticent, and as a tactic it had worked very well. It wasn’t an Icelander – they could always be persuaded to say something – but a Dutchman, many years ago back in Reykjavík, a hardened drug dealer who had been accused of arranging a mule to import drugs through the airport. If a suspect didn’t tell a story, there was nothing to attack. Emil hadn’t been able to make the case, and eventually they had had to release the Dutchman, who had got on the first flight back to Amsterdam.
‘All right. In that case, Magnús, I’m arresting you for the murder of Hallgrímur Gunnarsson. Would you like to contact a lawyer?’
Magnus seemed unsurprised at the arrest, Emil thought, as though he was expecting it. Not just expecting it; as though he had planned it.
‘Yes, I would. Sigurbjörg Vilhjálmsdóttir. If you let me have my phone back, I have her number on there.’
‘OK. Páll, give Magnús the lawyer’s number and let him make the call. And then lock him up.’
The waiting was driving Ollie mad. Eventually the police had produced a two-page statement for him to sign, which seemed accurate enough. In the meantime he had eaten two sandwiches from the supermarket opposite the station and smoked a packet of cigarettes. It had stopped raining, but it was damp and cold as he took another circuit round the car park. He had tried walking further, but as soon as he was more than a couple of minutes away from the station, he was drawn back.
He had done good, he thought. Stuck to the story that he and Jóhannes had agreed. Except he seemed to have inadvertently dropped his brother into it. The possibility hadn’t occurred to him until the fat detective pointed it out; the idea of Magnus being involved in a crime was laughable. Ollie smiled at the irony that it was Magnus who was in trouble with the cops for once and not him.
Magnus would get himself out of it, he always did. Wouldn’t he? This was a foreign country, a pretty weird country, operating under a strange set of rules. Ollie knew too well Magnus could be a pain in the ass. If the Icelandic police didn’t like Magnus for some reason, perhaps they would turn on him?
It was too late now. Besides, Ollie had only told the truth, about Magnus at any rate. It was the story that Jóhannes would tell, and probably Magnus too. If Ollie had tried to hide Magnus’s obsession about their father’s death from the police, they would have discovered it soon enough anyway. And then Ollie would have been squarely in the frame, which is absolutely where he did not want to be. Magnus could cope with the Icelandic police much better than Ollie, that was for sure.
Ollie had had a difficult few days in Reykjavík with his brother. He had gone there to have a fight, and they had had
one. But Magnus had refused to drop his stupid fixation with their father’s death. Usually Magnus could be relied upon to support his little brother, as he had done so often over the years. But not this time, apparently.
Still, it had been nice to meet Magnus’s landlady Katrín. Ollie smiled at the memory of the long limbs, the white skin, the black hair and eyeshadow. She was hot in a spaced-out, kooky way that kind of suited Ollie.