Michael Ridpath

Edge of Nowhere

1

Baldur was smiling. Baldur never smiled. Magnus was suspicious.

Baldur Jakobsson was the inspector in charge of the Violent Crimes Unit of the Reykjavík Metropolitan Police, and Magnus’s boss. He was in his forties, about ten years older than Magnus, with a long, lugubrious face beneath a high, bald dome of a forehead. He was not known for his sense of humour. ‘I have just the case for you,’ he said. ‘Now you’ve graduated and we can send you out on your own.’

‘Sounds good,’ said Magnus carefully.

Although Baldur knew all there was to know about Icelandic police work, Magnus had far more experience of the serious stuff. It was true that Magnus had just graduated from the Police College, but that was after a long stint working as a homicide detective with the Boston Police Department. The Icelandic National Police Commissioner had requested the loan of a detective from the States with big-city crime experience and, as a fluent Icelandic speaker, Magnus had seemed perfect for the job. But it was necessary for that officer to be familiar with the laws and policing methods of the country in which he was operating, hence the six-month spell at the Police College. Magnus couldn’t argue with that.

‘We have a suspicious death,’ said Baldur. ‘Ágúst Sigurdsson, forty-five, construction worker. He was killed under a landslide while repairing a road. It’s probably an accident, but the local constable feels there is a possibility the slide might have been started deliberately.’

‘Why does he think that?’

‘The location of the landslide. And the victim was unpopular in the village.’

‘I see,’ said Magnus. ‘And where is this village?’

‘Bolungarvík,’ said Baldur, his lips twitching upwards. ‘The edge of nowhere.’

Magnus knew where Bolungarvík was. To the north-west of Iceland a peninsula in the shape of a hand with outstretched fingers reaches out into the Atlantic. The area is known as the West Fjords and is the most remote part of a remote country. Right at the tip of the longest of these fingers lies Bolungarvík.

Magnus glanced out of the window of Baldur’s office. It was mid December and sleet was driving horizontally across the police car park. That was in Reykjavík. In Bolungarvík the weather would be a lot worse.

He glanced at Baldur’s long face. His boss was doing his best to suppress a smile. For Baldur to be that amused there must be more to the case than an isolated village in bad weather.

‘Are there any suspects?’ Magnus asked.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Baldur. ‘You are going to need all your forensic-science and criminal-profiling expertise for this one.’

Magnus waited for more explanation, but Baldur was making him ask. ‘Tell me.’

‘The hidden people,’ Baldur said, his disconcerting grin re-emerging.

‘Hidden people?’

‘That’s right.’ Baldur laughed out loud. ‘They think the poor guy was killed by elves.’

The small commuter plane bumped and jolted and then banked alarmingly as the pilot guided it down through thick cloud on the approach to the airport at Ísafjördur, the largest town and administrative capital of the West Fjords. Magnus had been there once before, on a trip back to Iceland with his father when he was fifteen. He smiled to himself as he remembered the trip: a week hiking together along the uninhabited north coast.

Although Magnus had been born in Iceland, he had followed his father to America when he was twelve. His father had ensured Magnus retained contact with their homeland, speaking to him in the language, reading the sagas with him, and taking him on one-week hiking trips to the Icelandic wilderness every year. It was something father and son looked forward to.

Until Magnus’s father died, stabbed by an intruder when Magnus was twenty. The police had never found his killer. Magnus was still looking.

Suddenly the plane emerged beneath the clouds into a spectacular amphitheatre of grey and white. They were only a few hundred feet above the dark waters of the fjord and steep mountains rose on all sides. There was no sign of the sun, which, at this latitude and time of year, skipped above the horizon for only a few hours a day. The lights of Ísafjördur gleamed ahead, the arms of its harbour walls grasping the sea. Mountains and town glimmered white in the snow.

There was a stiff crosswind, but the pilot crabbed the plane down on to the runway with only the smallest of bumps. Magnus leaned into the breeze as he and the other passengers battled their way to the small terminal.

Inside he searched for the black uniform of a police officer, but couldn’t spot one. He did see the lone taxi outside the terminal drive off with two other passengers. He felt a flash of impatience: he had made it to the Reykjavík City Airport and on to the plane to Ísafjördur within an hour of receiving Baldur’s instructions. It was a bit pathetic if the local police couldn’t even get from Bolungarvík to Ísafjördur to meet him.

‘Sergeant Magnús?’

He turned to see a tall woman approach him. He had noticed her as soon as he had arrived in the terminal: she was very noticeable. She was a couple of years older than Magnus — in her late thirties probably — lean, with long curly blond hair and a strong jaw. Although she was wearing a warm parka, like everyone else in the terminal, there was something elegant about her. Her stylish silver earrings, perhaps, or her subtle make-up.

‘Yes?’

She held out her hand. ‘I’m Eyrún. I’m the Mayor of Bolungarvík. Tómas, our policeman, didn’t want to waste the hours of daylight: he’s searching the scene right now. Since I was coming through Ísafjördur on my way back to town, I said I could pick you up.’

‘I’m honoured,’ said Magnus. He was also impressed that the local cop had got his priorities right.

Eyrún led Magnus to a Land Rover Freelander and within a few minutes they were on their way westwards out of town.

‘Actually, I was grateful of the opportunity to meet someone new,’ the Mayor said. ‘It can get a little lonely up here.’

‘I guess it can,’ said Magnus. ‘But you must be used to it.’

‘Not yet,’ said Eyrún. ‘This is my first winter here. I come from Reykjavík.’

‘That figures,’ said Magnus. ‘I didn’t have you down as a local.’

‘A year ago I was a corporate lawyer flying to New York and London all the time. Then the kreppa came and Iceland didn’t need quite so many corporate lawyers.’ The kreppa was the Icelanders’ name for the credit crunch, which had hit them particularly hard. ‘I thought it would be good for my husband and me to slow down a bit, get out of the rat race. So I applied for the job of Mayor in Bolungarvík.’

‘They must have leaped at you.’

‘I thought landing the job would be easy, but it turned out there were sixty applicants, many of them better qualified than me.’

‘But they took you?’

Eyrún smiled. ‘Yeah. I guess they must have liked me.’

Of course they liked her, thought Magnus. She must have been the best thing to hit Bolungarvík for years. ‘How do you like them?’

‘The work is actually pretty interesting. There’s a lot going on for such a small town: the population of the village itself is just short of a thousand. And by and large I like the people. The isolation just takes more getting used to than I expected.’

They were driving along the edge of the fjord. Mountains rose steeply on all sides into the thick folds of grey cloud that acted as a ceiling to the narrow corridor of water winding out towards the open sea.

They approached a junction. Directly ahead was the mouth of a tunnel, but the entrance was blocked with a ‘Road Closed’ sign. Eyrún turned right along a road that hugged the shore.

‘Bolungarvík is at the head of the fjord,’ Eyrún said. ‘There’s only one road there and that’s this one, Route 61. It’s frequently blocked in winter by avalanches and rockslides, which is why they built the tunnel.’

‘When will the tunnel be finished?’

‘It is finished. But the landslide blocked the road on the other side. It would only take half an hour to clear it, but Tómas insists it’s a crime scene and won’t allow them to touch it.’

‘Good for Tómas. I bet that doesn’t make him popular.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. There’s quite a few people in town who think the road should stay blocked.’

‘Why?’ asked Magnus.

‘The hidden people.’

Magnus checked to see whether Eyrún was joking, but she wasn’t. Baldur excepted, many Icelanders, if not most, took the hidden people seriously.

Traditionally, Icelanders believed that their country was populated by a parallel society of human-like beings known as huldufólk, or hidden people. They generally kept themselves to themselves, but occasionally interfered in the lives of their more visible cousins. Every farm and village in the country had its tales of hidden people seducing young men or women, punishing wayward farmers, or providing helpful advice. The hidden people lived in rocks, the locations of which were passed down to their human neighbours through the generations. It was common for a hidden person to appear in the dream of the mother or grandmother to suggest a name for a new born child.

Hidden people were important people. Even well educated and sophisticated Icelanders like Eyrún wouldn’t deny their existence, although they usually wouldn’t characterise themselves as whole-hearted believers either.

Eyrún saw the way that Magnus was looking at her. ‘I tell you, up here in Bolungarvík it’s much easier to believe in the hidden people than it is in Reykjavík. The town is so isolated, the mountains are so big. It’s dark. There are storms, avalanches, strange things happen.’

‘Like road workers being buried under rockslides?’

‘That’s what people in Bolungarvík are saying.’

‘So the hidden people killed Ágúst?’

‘Gústi everyone called him. And I guess that’s something for you to find out.’

2

‘There it is,’ said Eyrún. ‘Bolungarvík.’

They had skirted a headland and in front of them, across a bay in the fjord, crouched the village. It was wedged on to the western edge of a small, flat plain, surrounded on three sides by steep mountains, and on the fourth by the sea. A cluster of white buildings clung tightly to the foot of the tallest mountain, a great block of snow-covered rock at the mouth of the fjord, towering above the town. A harbour wall stretched out into the sea, and beyond it, and beyond the great mountain, lay the Atlantic Ocean, swelling with power and danger.

The wind was blowing the clouds away behind them to the east, leaving dark blue sky tinged with pink. The sun was lurking somewhere behind the mountains to the south-west. At this time of year, dawn and dusk crowded out the daytime.

‘It’s a beautiful spot,’ said Magnus.

‘It’s beautiful from a distance,’ said Eyrún. ‘Up close it’s a different matter. The town’s architecture isn’t going to win any awards.’

They passed a squat orange lighthouse and then came to the junction with the road from the tunnel. Eyrún drove past the ‘Road Closed’ sign and pulled up next to a police car with its lights flashing, parked in front of a scattering of loose rocks not far from where the tunnel emerged out of the hill.

A tall figure dressed in the practical black uniform of an Icelandic policeman approached them.

Magnus and Eyrún got out. The cold wind slapped Magnus’s face and he zipped up his coat.

‘This is Tómas, Bolungarvík’s constable,’ Eyrún said.

Tómas was the same height as Magnus, about six-foot-four, with fair hair peeking out underneath his black cap, and bright blue eyes. For someone so large he had surprisingly delicate features. He held out his hand and greeted Magnus with a grin.

‘I’ll leave you to it,’ said Eyrún.

After the Mayor had driven off towards the village, Magnus turned to the constable. ‘So, Tómas. Tell me what happened.’

‘It was about six-thirty this morning,’ said Tómas. ‘Gústi, that’s the victim, came up here to install some protective netting against rockslides and avalanches. We’ve had quite a few recently.’

‘So, I’ve heard,’ said Magnus.

‘He seems to have been setting up the generator to power the floodlights when for some reason he climbed up the hillside over there.’

By the side of the road was a pickup truck half full of equipment. Next to it was a generator and a floodlight, unlit. A few metres along the road and further up the hillside was a jumble of rocks and stones, some of which had spilled across the tarmac.

‘Who found him?’

‘Me. A car on its way to Ísafjördur saw the rock fall and had to stop since the road was blocked. The driver got out, looked around for the owner of the pickup, didn’t see anyone and so called 112. I came out. It took me a few minutes to figure out what happened, but when I climbed up to the rock fall I saw a leg sticking out under the stones. I called in an ambulance and the fire engine and scrabbled away. It was Gústi. He was dead.’

‘What were his injuries?’

‘He had taken quite a battering. Bruises all over his body. His head was cracked open by the rocks: I’d guess that’s what killed him.’

‘Where is the body now?’

‘At the district hospital in Ísafjördur. The doctor will do the autopsy today.’

Most autopsies in Iceland were carried out by local doctors. There were two forensic pathologists in the country, but at this stage the death didn’t warrant their attention.

‘Did the driver see the landslide?’

‘No. No one saw it. She didn’t see any people or parked vehicles near the scene, either.’

‘All right,’ said Magnus. ‘Show me.’

Tómas led Magnus up an icy path to where he had found the body. Tómas had diligently placed crime-scene tape around the pile of rocks. He and Magnus ducked under it. ‘Right here,’ he said.

Magnus looked up the slope. The sun was definitely below the horizon now, and the last vestiges of daylight were seeping away. It was still possible to make out the hillside above. ‘I can see where the fall started,’ Magnus said.

‘Yes. One of the reasons I was suspicious is that there is a narrow footpath up the hill to that point. Can you see it?’

‘Yes,’ said Magnus. He could just make out a path under the snow. ‘Did you spot any footprints?’

‘Well, I think I did. I can’t be sure. It had just started to snow. To be honest, I didn’t think of the place as a crime scene. I just wanted to get Gústi out of there. There were the ambulance guys and the fire service and a couple of cops from Ísafjördur. So there was a real mess of footprints all over the place. By the time I began to consider that path, the snow had just about covered everything.’

‘Just about?’

‘I thought I could make out some prints on the path. It was cold, it was dark, they were gone in a few minutes if they were ever there.’

‘Did you get a photograph?’

Tómas shook his head apologetically.

‘What else made you suspicious?’

‘The victim. Gústi was not popular in the village. For example, just last Saturday night someone threatened to kill him.’

‘Who was that?’

‘Arnór. A local fisherman. He was drunk at the time, they both were, but there’s no doubt he hates Gústi. Hated him.’

‘Have you spoken to him?’

‘Not yet. I was waiting for you.’

Magnus nodded. ‘Good. We’ll talk to him.’

‘Also, I couldn’t help wondering why Gústi climbed up here. Right in the path of a potential rock fall.’

‘Was this where he was planning to install the netting?’

‘No. That was supposed to be a few metres lower down.’

Magnus surveyed the scene. ‘It’s a good question. Any answers?’

Tómas shook his head.

‘A very good question.’

‘Anything else that made you suspicious?’

‘Well ...’ The constable hesitated.

‘Show me where the hidden people live,’ said Magnus.

Tómas smiled sheepishly. ‘They are all over the place. One of their dwellings is said to be there, right where Gústi was going to plant the netting.’ He pointed to a smooth rock that jutted out from the hillside.

‘Didn’t like to be messed with, huh?’ Magnus said.

‘Neither did Arnór,’ said Tómas. ‘And he’ll be a whole lot easier to interview.’

Magnus grinned. ‘Good point. I know you searched the area thoroughly, but I think I’ll take another look.’

Magnus spent twenty minutes poking about the scene with Tómas as the light drained off the mountainside. They saw nothing suspicious, but Tómas’s question bothered him. Why had Gústi climbed up to that spot? Magnus stood next to the generator, where Gústi must have been working and stared at the place where he had been crushed.

‘Come on,’ he said to Tómas.

He took Tómas’s powerful flashlight and led him up to the slide. He scrabbled across the rocks, sending several stones crashing down to the road below.

‘Careful!’ said Tómas.

‘Help me,’ said Magnus as he began to push boulders away a few metres beyond where Gústi’s body had lain. ‘He must have seen something and been climbing up towards it. If he did, that something is under these stones.’

It took them half an hour to find the thing, or rather things. There was a small hurricane lamp, its glass smashed. A stuffed bear, a polar bear to be precise, with a red ribbon tied around its neck. And a fold of several thousand kronur in notes.

‘Bait,’ said Magnus. ‘We’ve found the bait.’

They photographed and bagged the bear, the lamp and the banknotes. Tómas called Gústi’s boss to tell him to clear the road, but they left the tape around the immediate crime scene. Magnus climbed into Tómas’s police Jeep, and the constable drove them back to the village.

‘You were right to be suspicious,’ Magnus said.

‘Do you really think the bear was bait?’

‘Could well be,’ said Magnus. ‘Gústi arrives at the site, sees a light and a teddy bear, goes a bit closer, sees the banknotes, goes to pick them up and he’s just where the murderer wanted him. If it was bait, it worked.’

‘Could it be anything else?’

‘Possibly.’ Some elf-related weirdness, Magnus thought but didn’t say. The less said about elves in this investigation, the better. ‘Tell me about Gústi. And this guy Arnór.’

‘Gústi worked for the local construction company, Bolungarvíkur Engineering. They do road maintenance, minor building works, they build the odd house. Knock things down. It’s not high tech, but the quality of their work is pretty good. He’s lived here all his life. Used to be married, but it ended in disaster about ten years ago. Two kids that Gústi sees as little of as he can. No one much likes him, or trusts him. In a community this size it’s bad not to be trusted. He works hard, so they tolerate him, but that’s about it.’

‘I’m impressed with your knowledge.’

‘I know people in the town,’ said Tómas. ‘It’s unavoidable.’

It was not yet completely dark and they were getting closer to Bolungarvík. On their left Magnus spotted a sign for a golf course, although all he could see was a flattish area of snow. As they drew nearer, the mass of the mountain reared up above the tiny village, wrinkles of grey rock peeking out beneath the snow. It looked as if it might crush the human habitation at any moment. And given what Magnus had heard about landslides, that possibility didn’t seem too far fetched.

They passed a white church with a small red steeple standing alone on a knoll and crossed the bridge over a river into town.

Eyrún was right, Bolungarvík would not win any architectural prizes. Square blocks of white concrete, much of it peeled away by the Atlantic winds. Most of the roofs were classic Icelandic red corrugated metal, with the odd lime green specimen thrown in.

‘And Arnór?’

‘He’s a fisherman. Small-time, struggling. Same age as Gústi; they’ve been enemies since school. Things got out of hand last year when someone gave the Ministry of Fisheries a tip-off about Arnór cheating on his quota. That’s a big deal, as I’m sure you know.’

‘I can imagine.’

‘The Ministry investigated, didn’t find enough evidence to prosecute Arnór, but they warned him. Arnór was sure that Gústi had tipped the Ministry off. They had a fight outside the local bar last Saturday night: it had been a long time in coming. I slung them into the two separate cells at the station for the night — although when they began screaming at each other, I let Gústi go.’

‘Death threats?’

‘And the rest. Arnór swore he would kill Gústi that very day. And then leave him on the mountain for a troll to sodomize him.’

‘Nice.’

‘Didn’t see any evidence of troll-rape back there,’ said Tómas. ‘You can usually spot the signs.’

Magnus laughed. He missed the black humour of the Boston homicide cops. He liked Tómas.

They pulled up outside a flashy white block made of concrete, glass and wood, that might in fact win an architecture prize. It was the municipal building: town hall, mayor’s office, police station, post office all in one.

A woman was waiting for them outside the entrance. She was in her forties, short, with long red hair spreading out underneath a brightly striped woolly hat.

She approached Magnus as soon as he was out of the police car. ‘Are you the detective from Reykjavík?’

‘Not now, Rós,’ said Tómas. ‘We are busy.’

‘But I have some information for the detective,’ Rós said. ‘About Gústi’s death.’

‘Well, come back tomorrow morning and I’ll take a statement from you,’ said Tómas.

‘No, that’s all right,’ said Magnus. ‘Rós, is it?’

The woman nodded. She had a broad friendly face with big brown eyes.

‘My name is Sergeant Magnús. Come in and you can tell me what you have to say.’

The three of them sat in the police station’s small interview room, and once Rós had been furnished with a cup of coffee, Magnus took out a pen and pad. With her hat off, Rós’s flaming red hair spread out over her shoulders. ‘It’s the hidden people. They killed him.’

‘I see,’ said Magnus, in as serious a tone as he could muster. He wrote down the words ‘hidden people’ on his pad in big letters and underlined it. ‘And why do you think that?’

‘They told me they would.’

‘Really?’ Magnus said. ‘How?’

‘In a dream. Well, in several dreams over the last few months. They are very unhappy about their homes being destroyed. You know they live in the rocks on this side of the tunnel?’

Magnus nodded. ‘Yes, I’ve just been to see where Gústi was killed. Tómas pointed out their home.’

‘That’s just one of their dwellings. There are many more, or there were, before they were blown up to make the tunnel.’

‘And the hidden people are unhappy about this?’

‘You can say that again. At first they told me they would break the construction company’s machines. Which they did. But the company couldn’t take the hint. So now someone has been killed.’

‘I see,’ said Magnus. ‘And they told you this in a dream?’

‘They did.’

‘Who did?’ said Magnus.

‘One of the hidden people.’

‘Which one?’

Rós looked a little confused by the question.

‘I’m investigating who killed Gústi,’ Magnus said. ‘I need names.’

‘Actually, I don’t have a name,’ said Rós uncertainly.

‘All right,’ said Magnus. ‘Then how about a description?’

‘A description?’

‘That’s right. Of the hidden person who told you this. In the dream.’

‘Oh, I see,’ said Rós. She cleared her throat and frowned. ‘She was a woman, maybe thirty years old, long, fair hair.’

‘Height?’

‘Height?’

‘How tall was she?’

‘I don’t know.’

Magnus allowed himself to frown at the witness. ‘OK. Dress?’

‘A long blue dress. Plain.’ Magnus raised his eyebrows. ‘That’s all I can say, really. Her hair was braided.’ She paused. ‘She was beautiful. She is beautiful.’ The woman’s eyes glowed in rapture.

Magnus wrote the words down. ‘And did she mention Gústi by name?’

‘No,’ said Rós. ‘But she wanted me to tell everyone in town that if construction went ahead on the tunnel, there would be trouble. Nobody took any notice, of course, even after all their equipment was broken. So they built the tunnel anyway. I hoped that the apology we gave the hidden people on Sunday would have worked, but it obviously didn’t.’

‘Obviously not,’ said Magnus. ‘What was this apology?’

‘We had a little ceremony, a lot of the people in Bolungarvík came, including the pastor. He said a prayer. It was an important thing to do.’

‘I see that,’ said Magnus. He spent another ten minutes asking Rós about the hidden people and their habits, before finally putting his pen down. He had two sides of notes on his pad. ‘OK, thank you for coming forward, Rós,’ said Magnus.

The red-haired woman smiled, in her stride now. ‘Not at all. I’m glad the police are finally listening to me.’ Her eyes flicked to Tómas sharply.

‘One other thing,’ Magnus said. ‘Did you ever leave anything out for the hidden people?’

‘What sort of thing?’

‘A gift of some kind,’ said Magnus.

‘A stuffed polar bear, for instance?’ said Tómas. Magnus concealed his irritation: that was a detail he wanted to keep to himself. Now everyone in Bolungarvík would know. Until then, Tómas’s actions had been very professional, but Magnus had forgotten that the constable wasn’t a detective.

‘Did you find one where Gústi was killed?’ Rós asked.

‘Did you leave anything for them?’ Magnus repeated.

‘No,’ said Rós.

‘Do you know anyone else who might have?’

‘There are a lot of people in town who are angry on behalf of the hidden people,’ she said. ‘It could have been anyone.’

‘Why a polar bear?’ Magnus asked. ‘Do the hidden people here like polar bears?’

‘That’s a ridiculous question,’ said Rós. ‘I’ve no idea.’

Magnus smiled apologetically. ‘Thanks again, Rós. And next time you see your hidden woman, ask her her name, will you?’

‘Why did you take her so seriously?’ Tómas asked, after Rós was safely out of the police station.

‘To shut her up, mostly,’ said Magnus. ‘And her friends. If the hidden people are as popular in town as you say they are, we could waste a lot of time dealing with people who want us to take them seriously. Now they know we do.’

‘You don’t believe any of this crap, do you?’ said Tómas.

‘Don’t you?’

‘Of course not. I was brought up in this town and I’ve heard it all my life. That woman is a nutcase. There aren’t any hidden people here or anywhere else. It’s only because we are all stuck in the middle of nowhere that it’s difficult to tell what’s real and what isn’t.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ve heard about you. You lived in America, didn’t you? Don’t tell me you believe her.’

‘I spent twelve years working as a cop in Boston, and you’re right I didn’t come across any elves there,’ said Magnus. ‘I was in Homicide; elves would come under Narcotics.’

Tómas smiled.

‘I was also curious about the bear,’ Magnus said. ‘I thought she might have put it there.’

‘It’s the kind of whacko thing she’d do,’ said Tómas.

‘By the way, when we are interviewing someone together, leave the disclosure of information to me,’ said Magnus. ‘It’s always good to hold some details back.’

Tómas blushed. ‘Oh. Oh, I see. I’m sorry.’

‘We still have the ribbon,’ said Magnus. ‘I wonder what that was for?’

Tómas thought a moment. ‘So Gústi could see the white bear in the snow?’

‘Possibly,’ said Magnus. ‘But why a polar bear?’

‘They are popular in this town,’ the constable said. ‘There’s a stuffed one in the Museum. It was shot north of here when it arrived from Greenland on an ice floe. It’s very famous.’

‘Of course,’ Magnus couldn’t help smiling. He was getting used to Icelanders craving attention. Even in this far corner of this remote island, there was something of world renown. There had to be. It wasn’t quite as strange as the Penis Museum in the small town of Húsavík further to the east, but a polar bear was better than nothing. ‘Sorry, Tómas. Let’s take a quick look at Gústi’s house and then pay a visit to Arnór.’

3

Gústi’s house was little more than a run-down shack on the edge of town next to the river. For someone involved in the construction industry, he had spent very little time on his own dwelling. Outside, paint was peeling on the concrete walls and the roof was rusting. Inside, there was a hole in the ceiling.

Tómas had the key he had taken from Gústi’s body. Magnus and Tómas walked slowly through the small house, made up of two bedrooms (one little more than a closet), a kitchen, a living room and bathroom. It was clear that Gústi’s wife was long gone. The bed was unmade, there were coffee cups and the signs of an early breakfast by the sink. The surfaces in the bathroom were covered in a layer of brown scum.

Gústi liked vodka. There were four bottles in the house, three of them empty. He also liked Manchester United. The posters tacked to the walls showed teenage enthusiasms; a programme from a match against Blackburn Rovers at Old Trafford ten years before had pride of place in his bedroom, next to a giant poster of a semi-naked Icelandic model Magnus had never heard of.

Magnus poked around: bills; payslips from the construction company; fishing gear; lots of tools, many of them in bad condition; an old desktop computer with an ancient screen in the bedroom; no notes of any interest; an address book, in which most of the dialling codes were local. Magnus checked the room for photographs. Icelandic homes were full of family photographs; Icelanders had large families and usually everyone had to be represented. But not in Gústi’s house.

‘Where is his wife?’ asked Magnus.

‘In Ísafjördur,’ said Tómas. ‘With his kids.’

‘Any other family in town?’

‘Just a brother. They didn’t really get on.’

Magnus grunted. They should interview the wife. Spouses were always suspects, even long-gone ones. Although somehow Magnus suspected no one was going to inherit very much from Gústi.

Magnus went back into the bedroom. He glanced at the computer. Next to it was a small stand-alone webcam. Magnus picked it up. It looked new, certainly newer than the other equipment.

‘Tómas, can you get a warrant for us to impound the machine?’ he said.

‘Why don’t we just check it out now?’ said the constable, reaching for the on switch.

‘No,’ said Magnus. ‘If this does become a murder investigation we need to be sure that evidence is gathered by the book.’ Back in Boston too many cases had gone wrong because someone somewhere had screwed up the chain of evidence.

‘Are you sure? I’ll have to go to the magistrate in Ísafjördur.’

Magnus glanced again at the webcam. ‘Best do it,’ he said. ‘After we have seen Arnór.’

They found Arnór at the harbour next to a small blue fishing boat named Bragi. He was wrestling with a net. He was a broad-shouldered man of about forty, unshaven, with dark thinning hair. He had the rock-hard face of a man who had spent a couple of decades battling the North Atlantic.

He stood up and wiped his hands on his overalls. ‘I heard about Gústi,’ he said. ‘I expected a visit from you. Come on board.’

He led them into the boat’s small cabin and they sat on benches crammed around a little table. It was only marginally warmer than the quay outside.

‘I didn’t kill him,’ Arnór said.

Magnus took out his notebook. ‘You appreciate I have to ask you some questions.’

‘I just told you — I didn’t kill him. That’s really all you need to know.’

‘Tell me what you did this morning. From when you woke up.’

Arnór stared at Magnus. Magnus stared back. The fisherman rolled a cigarette and lit it. He had big strong hands, and he looked as if he was about to crush the roll-up as he held it between thumb and forefinger. He took a deep drag. Magnus waited. Eventually Arnór spoke. ‘The alarm went off at six. I got dressed, loaded some tackle on to my pickup, checked the computer and went down to the café at the harbour. Had breakfast with some of the guys.’

‘What time was that?’ Magnus asked.

‘About seven, I guess. I’m not sure.’

‘And who was there?’

Arnór gave Magnus and Tómas five names, all of which were known to Tómas.

‘Who else lives with you?’ Magnus asked.

‘My wife and two kids.’

‘Did they see you get up?’ Family members could always lie, of course, but then they could also tell the truth.

‘Nah. Whenever my wife hears the alarm she just rolls over. She doesn’t start work until nine. And the kids don’t get up for school until after seven. I’m often up early and they just ignore me.’

‘OK,’ said Magnus. ‘Now tell me about Gústi.’

‘I didn’t kill him,’ repeated Arnór.

‘That may be so, but you didn’t like him?’

‘He was a bastard. A lying, sneaking bastard.’ Arnór launched into a long disquisition on what a lying, sneaking bastard Gústi had been since the days when they had both been to school together. Magnus let him talk.

‘What happened last Saturday?’ he asked when Arnór had eventually finished. ‘You two had a fight. Why?’

‘Haven’t I given you enough reasons why?’ Arnór asked.

‘Yes, but why last Saturday in particular?’

Arnór took a drag on his cigarette. ‘There was a guy from Grindavík in here last week. Helgi. We don’t know each other well. He was in the café and I was talking to him, just chatting, you know. A couple of other guys were there as well. We were talking about quotas and me being busted last year. I mentioned my suspicions that Gústi had told someone in the ministry lies about me. Anyway, Helgi said his brother worked in the ministry and that he knew that the tip-off had come from someone living in Bolungarvík. It was proof that it was Gústi. Not that I needed it, I’d known all along, but Gústi had always denied it.’

Arnór was scowling. ‘The ministry investigated me, you know. They cleared me in the end, but if they had found me guilty it would have been all over for me. I can barely keep Bragi afloat as it is. A ban or a fine would have been the last straw.’

Magnus nodded. If Arnór had taken any loans out on his boat, he would be suffering from the credit crunch like most other Icelanders. It wouldn’t take much to put him out of business.

‘So I confronted him. We were both drunk. We both ended up outside. Trouble was I was too far gone to do him real damage. And then Tómas locked us up.’

‘Do you deny you threatened to kill Gústi?’ Magnus asked.

Arnór frowned. ‘No I don’t. And to be honest, that evening I felt like it. But not the next morning. And not this morning, either.’

Magnus examined the fisherman closely. He sounded convincing, but there was no doubt he had a motive.

‘Are you arresting me?’ Arnór asked.

‘No,’ said Magnus. ‘Not as long as you promise to stay in port tomorrow.’

‘I was planning to go out fishing tomorrow morning,’ said Arnór. ‘Just for the day.’

‘Got the handcuffs, Tómas?’ Magnus said.

Tómas reached for his belt.

‘All right, all right,’ Arnór grumbled. ‘I’ll be around tomorrow if you need me.’

‘Arnór?’ Magnus asked.

‘Yes?’

‘If you didn’t kill Gústi, do you have any idea who did?’

‘Sure,’ said Arnór.

‘Who?’

The fisherman grinned. ‘Got to be the hidden people, hasn’t it? They hated Gústi even more than I did.’

Magnus and Tómas checked with three of the local fisherman who had had breakfast with Arnór. They confirmed that he had come in at about seven, as did the owner of the café. Then the two policemen went on to Arnór’s house. His two teenage daughters were back from school and claimed they had heard nothing that morning, but their mother was still working at the petrol station.

It took less than five minutes to get there. Arnór’s wife was a small, businesslike woman with her dark hair tied up neatly in a bun, who confirmed that she had no idea when her husband had woken up. As a fisherman’s wife she had long ago learned to roll over in bed when the alarm went off, but she assured Magnus that although her husband hated Gústi he was incapable of killing him or anyone else.

There was no doubt that Magnus and Tómas’s questions rattled her, as they should. Arnór could have got up at six and left the house just before seven as he claimed. Or he could have left much earlier.

If it was Arnór who had started the landslide at just before six-thirty, there was time for him to return to town and the harbour for breakfast with his buddies. Just.

Things did not look good for the fisherman. Magnus and Tómas decided to ask some more questions the following morning, and then bring him in.

Tómas drove off to Ísafjördur to get the warrant from the magistrate there to search Gústi’s computer and also Arnór’s house and boat, leaving Magnus at the police station. He spent half an hour writing up his notes. He had almost finished when there was a knock at the door.

‘Hi!’ It was Eyrún. ‘How’s it going?’

‘Just about finished for the evening.’

‘Are you staying at the guesthouse?’

‘I am. I’m just going there now.’

‘Do you want to join us for dinner?’ Eyrún asked.

‘I’d love to,’ said Magnus.

‘OK. Bring your bag and I’ll drop you at the guesthouse afterwards.’

It wasn’t far to Eyrún’s house, and the Mayor talked the whole way. Magnus recognised the road. They pulled up into the small driveway of a neat white concrete house with a lime green corrugated metal roof.

‘Do you know Arnór?’ he asked. ‘Arnór Hafsteinsson, the fisherman? He lives just over there.’ He pointed to a smaller house two doors down on the other side of the street. Lights were blazing inside.

‘Yes I know him. And his family. He’s your prime suspect, I suppose?’

‘He didn’t like Gústi very much.’

‘He certainly didn’t,’ said Eyrún. ‘But he’s a good man. His girls babysit for us.’

‘You didn’t happen to see him this morning, did you, about six-thirty?’

‘No. I left very early to go to a meeting in Patreksfjördur. My husband might have done. He often takes the dog out about then.’

She led Magnus to her front door and opened it. ‘Hi!’ she yelled.

‘Mama!’ came the answering cry, and much scampering of feet as two children, a boy and a smaller girl cannoned into her, quickly followed by a black Labrador. She fussed over them and introduced them to Magnus. The boy was called Pétur, and was aged seven, the girl, Lára, was four and the dog was called Prins. The girl in particular was angelic, with curly hair so fair it was almost white, bright blue eyes and a wide smile. Clearly her mother’s daughter.

Magnus became aware of a presence further down the hallway. The kids let go of their mother and stood still. Eyrún’s smile changed down a gear from joy to something else. Compassion perhaps. Or impatience. Or both. Even the dog’s tail stopped wagging.

‘This is my husband, Davíd.’

Magnus held out his hand to the dark-haired man with a scrappy beard who was staring at him. He was lean with a square jaw and high cheekbones. His eyebrows were knitted together in a twisted furrow in the shape of a question mark, which gave him a pained expression. An uncomfortable couple of seconds passed before he took Magnus’s hand and shook it briefly.

‘Darling, this is Sergeant Magnús, the detective from Reykjavík I told you about. I’ve invited him to dinner.’

‘Good, good,’ said Davíd.

‘You didn’t happen to see Arnór this morning when you were taking Prins for a walk, did you?’ Eyrún asked.

‘Yes,’ said the man.

Magnus smiled encouragingly at him. ‘Oh, good. What time was that?’

‘About six-twenty. He was loading up his pickup truck. When I came back ten minutes later he was still at it.’

‘Are you sure of the time?’ Magnus asked.

‘Quite sure.’ He turned on his heel and disappeared into a room off the hallway and shut the door.

‘Yes, well,’ said Eyrún, clearly a little embarrassed by her husband’s brusqueness. ‘That would make sense. Davíd has a routine — he takes the dog out for ten minutes about the same time every day. So he probably did get the time right.’

‘That’s very useful,’ said Magnus. Very useful indeed. It meant there was no chance that Arnór was two kilometres away starting a rock fall.

‘Come through and join me in the kitchen,’ said Eyrún. ‘It’s only spaghetti, I’m afraid. Would you like some wine?’

Magnus sat at the dining table while Eyrún poured out two glasses of red wine and busied herself at the stove. While on the outside the house looked like any other in Bolungarvík, inside it was furnished in the ultra cool minimalist fashion of the most stylish houses in the capital. The furniture looked Danish and expensive, and Magnus recognized an abstract seascape at least six-foot wide that adorned one white wall. Magnus’s former girlfriend had run a gallery in Reykjavík, until she had disappeared to Hamburg a couple of months before, and although hers wasn’t Magnus’s world, some of it had sunk in.

‘Do you think Gústi was murdered? Couldn’t it just have been an accident?’

‘It could have been,’ said Magnus. ‘But we found some objects at the scene, buried under the rocks.’

‘What kind of objects?’

‘A stuffed toy. A lamp. Some money.’

‘Strange,’ said Eyrún. ‘What were they doing there?’

‘Could have been bait,’ said Magnus. ‘Or possibly some weird gift for the hidden people. Either way, Gústi went over to take a look.’

‘And started the landslide?’

‘Or had it started for him,’ said Magnus.

Eyrún shuddered. ‘Speaking of the hidden people, I saw you talking to Rós.’

‘Yes,’ said Magnus. ‘She had a lot to say.’

‘Some people in the village listen to her, but I think she’s a fraud,’ said Eyrún. ‘Or she might be kidding herself, as well as everyone else. There was an old lady who lived here called Sigga who people were convinced was a seer. You know, could see into the future?’

‘And could talk to the hidden people?’

‘That too. She died about a year ago. She was a sweet old woman, and everyone treated her with enormous respect. I think Rós saw herself as her disciple. She claims that Sigga taught her things. Personally, I doubt it. All the dreams about the hidden people started just after Sigga died: I put them down to attention seeking. Although the construction equipment really did break down. It drove the company nuts.’

‘Well, I was very polite to her,’ said Magnus. ‘With luck she’ll leave the investigation alone now.’

‘It was she who insisted on that apology ceremony on Sunday. She somehow managed to get the pastor involved. I had to be there, as Mayor. You know Gústi tried to ruin it? Drove a digger right into the crowd. I had to persuade him to leave. Gústi didn’t have much time for Rós or the hidden people.’

‘I bet he didn’t,’ said Magnus.

Eyrún shouted to her husband and children and they all gathered around the dinner table. She chatted to her children about school and nursery and Magnus talked basketball with Pétur. Throughout all this, her husband ate silently at one end of the table, the question mark etched permanently into his brow. Eyrún and the kids ignored him, although Magnus was very aware of his presence.

Eventually, Eyrún let the children leave the table and poured Magnus and herself another glass of wine. Her husband wasn’t drinking.

‘Nice kids,’ said Magnus to Davíd.

Davíd grunted in response.

‘Thank you,’ said Eyrún. ‘They seem to have adjusted pretty well to life in Bolungarvík.’

‘And you?’ Magnus asked.

Eyrún glanced at her husband, who didn’t respond. ‘It’s been harder than we expected. Summer was great: there are some gorgeous places around here, and we are well out of the rat race. But the winter is difficult. And the wind blows in from the Atlantic, it never stops. You think the weather in Reykjavík is bad, you should try Bolungarvík. What about you? Tómas called you the “Yankee detective”. Do I detect an American accent?’

Magnus knew that he had established a bit of a reputation for himself in his eight months attached to the Icelandic police force, but he hadn’t realised it had reached as far as Bolungarvík.

‘I hope not,’ said Magnus. ‘I’m working on losing it. Yeah, I was born in Reykjavík, but I’ve lived in Boston for a while. And I do find it difficult to adjust to Iceland. On the one hand I feel that I am finally back in my home country, on the other I feel like a foreigner. Everyone seems to know each other, they all have their in-jokes. Maybe I am more of an American than I realised.’

‘Why did you go to America in the first place? Followed your parents?’

‘My father. He was a university lecturer in mathematics and he got offered a job in Boston. At first, I stayed here with my mother and grandparents. When she died, my brother and I went over to join my dad in America.’

Magnus found himself talking about the difficulties of being an Icelandic adolescent in an American high school, how speaking Icelandic with his father and reading the sagas were the only link to his home country. Then he told Eyrún about his father’s murder in a small town on Boston’s south shore and his determined but unsuccessful efforts to solve the crime when the police couldn’t. How he had joined the Boston Police Department as a result, rather than going to law school.

Eyrún was a good listener. She refilled the wine glasses, emptying the bottle. Although Magnus glanced at her husband at first, who was listening impassively, he soon forgot he was there. Magnus was relaxing in the company of an elegant, beautiful woman in this little piece of über cool Reykjavík.

‘Will you please stop flirting with my wife?’

Magnus turned, shocked by the interruption, to see Davíd staring at him. His brow was twisted, his eyes shining.

‘Davíd!’ Eyrún exclaimed.

Magnus felt a flash of anger, but he controlled it. This guy was clearly not stable. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said simply. ‘I didn’t mean to flirt. We were having a nice conversation, that’s all.’

‘I can see the way you are looking at her. I’m no fool. And Eyrún, why are you encouraging him?’

‘I’m not encouraging him!’ Eyrún snapped. Then, with a visible effort, she softened her voice. ‘Look, darling, Magnus is our guest. We should make him feel at home.’

‘I know how you want to make him feel at home.’

Eyrún reddened, but held her tongue.

Magnus pulled himself to his feet. He wanted to slug the guy. He wanted to slug him real bad.

A humourless smile had crept across Davíd’s face. Magnus turned to Eyrún.

‘Don’t Magnús,’ she said.

‘Why don’t you?’ said Davíd. ‘Go into a man’s home. Drink his wine. Flirt with his wife. And then attack him.’

A little voice of reason whispered to Magnus that beating up the Mayor’s spouse was not a good career move, no matter if he explicitly asked for it.

‘Thank you for a lovely dinner, Eyrún,’ he said. ‘I think I’ll be going now.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ said Eyrún.

‘Sure. Go right ahead,’ said Davíd.

‘Just to the door,’ said Eyrún.

‘Are you going to be OK?’ asked Magnus as she gave him his coat in the hallway.

‘Oh, he won’t touch me,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry about that. I should never have asked you. Davíd has been particularly bad these last couple of days.’

‘Is he sick?’ Magnus asked.

‘I think so,’ said Eyrún. ‘And I’m glad you realise it. He would never have done that a year ago. Even six months ago. I hoped leaving Reykjavík would help him. He used to work in a bank, but then he had a breakdown during the kreppa. He said he wanted to go somewhere quiet and this seemed the perfect place. And it was until a couple of months ago. Jealousy is his most recent thing, he doesn’t seem to be able to get it out of his mind. Which is absurd in a place like this.’

‘Can you take him to see someone?’

‘Out here? You must be kidding. But it’s a good idea; I’m beginning to think we should return to Reykjavík, but I’d feel really bad abandoning this job. And of course, it’s terrible for the children.’ She touched his sleeve. ‘Thanks for being so understanding. I shouldn’t have exposed you to all this. Look, I’m sorry I can’t give you a lift to the guesthouse, but I’d better stay here.’

‘I understand. And thanks for dinner.’

‘Not at all. I enjoyed it,’ she said. She smiled. ‘It was nice to talk to someone.’

The cold air bit into Magnus’s cheeks as he stepped out into the street. Bolungarvík at nine o’clock in the evening was dead. The wind had diminished to a stiff breeze, but not before it had ripped away the clouds overhead, revealing a clear night sky splattered with a million stars.

Magnus decided to walk through the town rather than go straight to his guesthouse. Icicles dangled from the corrugated eaves of the houses. He headed for the church on a low hill just on the edge of the village, threading his way through the soft pools of yellow thrown down by the street lights on to the snow. A traffic light blinked green, yellow and red, unnoticed by any passing car.

He felt sorry for Eyrún. No doubt a year or two ago she and her husband had appeared the perfect couple living the Icelandic dream: two high-paying jobs, lots of stylish stuff in a stylish house in Reykjavík, two beautiful kids. And now they were trapped in their own private hell. He could imagine how moving out of the fast city had seemed like a good idea, but it had clearly been a mistake.

Had it been a similar mistake for him to move to Iceland? He had enjoyed being a homicide detective in Boston. Over there, there were real murders, and they came thick and fast. And Magnus had relished clearing them up. He was good at it too. He smiled as he imagined what his old boss at the Homicide Unit, Deputy Superintendent Williams, would have thought of him chasing elves through the darkness and the snow. They would have loved that back in Schroeder Plaza, he wouldn’t have heard the end of it.

He still had the problem of what the hell to tell Baldur: whether to declare this a full murder investigation. He really didn’t want to get that call wrong. If he summoned reinforcements from Ísafjördur and Reykjavík and Gústi’s death turned out to be no more than an accident, he would look a total idiot. In an absurd way, the talk of elves and hidden people had raised the stakes. The bear and the lamp were suspicious, but he wasn’t convinced of Arnór as a suspect. He would sleep on it, ask some more questions and decide the following morning.

He crossed the bridge over the river and climbed up to the church. Below him the buildings of Bolungarvík huddled tightly together for warmth and security. Above the village towered the massive snow-covered rock of the mountain, and beyond that the wild North Atlantic tossed and churned. To the south he could make out the dark scars of previous landslides on the flanks of the fells. A streak of green caught Magnus’s attention as it fluttered and swished across the ridge of mountains on the other side of the fjord. The northern lights.

It was cold, it was bleak. The sun didn’t shine. There were no trees. Yet the mountains, the sea, the sky, seemed to be alive: swirling, shifting, shimmering as the stars, the moon and the aurora brushed them in a shifting palette of yellow, white and green illumination. And if the landscape was alive, then it had purpose and it had power.

It reminded him of his grandfather’s farm on the Snaefells Peninsula a little to the south where Magnus and his brother had spent four miserable years after their father had left Iceland. He shuddered. Those were years Magnus wanted to forget.

That had seemed lonely. But this, this seemed even lonelier.

People shouldn’t live here. No wonder those that did were driven crazy like Davíd, or crushed by the land itself like Gústi. They should leave it to the trolls and the elves.

What had Baldur called this place? The edge of nowhere.

Magnus shivered again and set off back into town to the guesthouse. The sooner he sorted out Gústi’s death and got back to Reykjavík the better.

4

Magnus was just finishing his breakfast, alone in the small dining room of the guesthouse, when Tómas strode in.

‘Good morning, Tómas. Have some coffee. They have a whole urn full and only me to drink it.’

‘I just got a call from a witness who said that he had information about Gústi’s death.’

‘An elf nut?’ asked Magnus.

‘No. Not really. Let’s just say he’s a reliable man. Very reliable.’

‘Who is it?’

‘Haraldur, the postman.’

Magnus imagined that a postman would be a good source of information in a small town. Perhaps he too had seen Arnór loading his truck.

‘What did he say?’

‘He said he needed to tell us in person. And I thought it was probably best if you were there in any case.’

Tómas had learned from his mistake with the stuffed toy the day before. ‘Thank you,’ said Magnus, gulping his coffee. ‘Let’s go.’

It was still dark outside: it wouldn’t get light until after eleven o’clock. Haraldur was half way through his round, so they met him at the petrol station. In Icelandic towns and villages the petrol station is one of the centres of social activity. There are always half a dozen Formica tables, a vending machine and a microwave. And coffee.

Haraldur was waiting for them, with a cup, and Tómas introduced Magnus, before buying two more. A girl of about seventeen served him: Arnór’s wife hadn’t started work yet. Haraldur was a small, serious-looking man with a neatly trimmed beard and deep-set, bright blue eyes. He was probably in his early thirties.

‘What have you got for us, Haraldur?’ Tómas asked.

‘I have some information about Rós,’ Haraldur said. He spoke deliberately and with a quiet authority. His voice was surprisingly deep.

‘I wasn’t sure whether to give it to you. It relates to your investigation of Gústi’s death.’ He paused.

‘Yes?’ said Magnus mildly. He could sense Haraldur’s reluctance, but he waited patiently. Now the postman had got them there, he would talk, in his own time.

‘You know that they have recently constructed a tunnel on the Ísafjördur road?’

Magnus nodded.

‘Well, the construction company’s equipment broke down several times when they were finishing the tunnel. There were demands that they cancel the project, demands led by Rós. She claimed the hidden people didn’t like it, and they were the ones breaking the machinery.’

‘So I heard,’ said Magnus.

‘It wasn’t the hidden people. It was Rós.’

‘Really?’ said Magnus. ‘How do you know?’

‘I just know,’ said Haraldur, glancing at Tómas.

Tómas shifted in his chair. ‘Do you have any evidence, Haraldur?’ There was anxiety in his voice, which Magnus didn’t quite understand.

Haraldur turned his attention back to Magnus. ‘Rós was a good friend of my grandmother, Sigga. You could say that she was her disciple. My grandmother could ...’ he hesitated. ‘She could see things. And Rós believed that she herself had picked up the knowledge of how to do this. I used to visit my grandmother quite often before she died, and I got to know Rós well. She grew up in Dalvík. Her father was a mechanic, he owned his own garage. She used to help him out: she knows a lot about engines. And braking systems.’

‘I see,’ said Magnus. ‘So she would know how to sabotage the equipment?’

‘Precisely.’

‘Interesting.’ But not quite enough, Magnus thought. ‘So she had a motive — to protect the homes of the hidden people — and she had the capability. But do you have any proof that it was she who sabotaged the equipment?’

‘Proof? No,’ said the postman shaking his head. He hesitated, and then looked straight at Magnus. His deep blue eyes bore right into the detective, unsettling him. Magnus had been stared at by all kinds of nasties in the past: murderers, rapists, gang leaders. But none was quite like this little village postman. ‘I know she did it.’

‘Did she tell you she had done it? Did you see her do it? Did anyone else tell you she had done it?’

Haraldur sucked in his breath and stood up. ‘No. No, none of those things. I ought to go back to my round now.’

He paused at the door of the service station, and then turned slowly back to Magnus. ‘But I also know she didn’t murder Gústi. That’s why I wasn’t sure whether to tell you about the machinery. I didn’t want to lead you down the wrong path.’ With that he was gone.

Magnus turned to Tómas. ‘What was all that about? You said he was reliable. He’s a nutter like the rest of them.’

Tómas rubbed his chin. He was almost squirming in his chair. ‘The information that Rós’s father was a mechanic is interesting, isn’t it? I knew she came from Dalvík, but I didn’t know that. Haraldur’s theory makes perfect sense.

‘It does,’ Magnus had to admit. ‘And I really like the idea that the machines were broken by a real person. But what else is going on here? How can Haraldur be so sure? Perhaps he has a grudge against Rós?’

‘Haraldur doesn’t go in for grudges,’ said Tómas.

‘Why are you looking so uncomfortable?’ Magnus said. ‘What’s going on here, Tómas?’

Tómas sipped some of his coffee and stared into his cup.

‘Tómas?’

The constable took a deep breath and faced Magnus. ‘Haraldur has a lot of credibility in this town. He doesn’t talk much, but when he does talk, people listen.’

‘He does have a kind of authority about him,’ Magnus said.

‘It’s not just that. Rós makes a lot of noise about what she learned from Sigga, and about the hidden people, and the dead people she can talk to. You get none of that from Haraldur. But people say he has inherited his grandmother’s skills.’

Magnus rolled his eyes. ‘Here we go. Not you, too, Tómas.’

‘There are many things. For example, a couple of years ago a lot of people in town started to invest in the stock market. Haraldur knew the kreppa was coming: he suggested to people quietly that they should sell their bank shares. The people who believed him are OK, those that didn’t lost a lot of money.’

‘So he can read the stock market. He should get a job on Wall Street. Get a grip, Tómas, we’re investigating a possible murder here.’

‘OK. OK,’ said Tómas. ‘I’m sorry. But you have to admit that the idea that Rós sabotaged the machinery herself is interesting.’

‘You’re right. I like that. Tell me what happened.’

‘It was during the summer, July. There was a big construction company involved, a joint venture between Icelandic and Danish firms: they used Bolungarvíkur Engineering as subcontractors. Most of their stuff was kept at Ísafjördur, but they kept quite a few machines here at Bolungarvíkur Engineering’s yard. A digger had its brakes sabotaged. No one was hurt, but the company placed a guard on the yard. Then two bulldozers were damaged, and finally another digger. It looked accidental. Of course there was lots of talk from Rós and others about the hidden people. After the third episode, the construction company put a whole squad of guards on the yard and the damage stopped.’

‘So, the sabotage happened in the night?’

‘Yes, if it was sabotage. They couldn’t prove it. It could just have been faulty parts.’

‘Did the guard see anything?’

‘No. I interviewed him. He’s a local guy — Jonni Gudmundsson.’ Tómas paused, his face suddenly stricken. ‘Oh, God, why didn’t I think of that?’

‘What is it?’ said Magnus.

‘Jonni lives next door to Rós.’

‘Does he now? But this is a small town. Couldn’t that just be a coincidence? I mean Arnór lives opposite the Mayor. Everyone lives near everyone else.’

Tómas shrugged. ‘That’s true.’

Magnus thought. ‘OK. So what have we got? We know Rós hates the construction companies because she wants to protect the elves. We also know she understands how these machines work. So she breaks into the compound in the middle of the night, sabotages one of the machines and claims it’s the elves. The company puts a guard on the gate, but he is a neighbour of Rós’s, so she tells him to look the other way while she does it again. And again. Make sense?’

‘Makes more sense that Rós broke those machines rather than the hidden people,’ said Tómas.

‘Quite. But the construction company doesn’t give up and they complete the tunnel. Rós is really upset by now. And when she tries to apologize to her elf friends, Gústi drives his digger through the ceremony, spoiling everything. She wants to avenge the elves and so she plants some bait under some loose rock, where Gústi will go and check it out. He falls for the trap, she starts the landslide, and all the elves are happy, even if Gústi isn’t.’

‘Sounds plausible.’

‘But we have nothing that amounts to proof yet.’

‘Shall we go and speak to Rós?’

‘No,’ said Magnus. ‘The more evidence you’ve got when you confront a suspect, the better. Let’s talk to Jonni first.’

Bolungarvík Engineering’s yard was on the edge of town. They found Jonni dismounting from a snowplough. He was in his early twenties, wiry under his bulky winter clothing, with a toothy smile under a yellow hard hat.

‘Jonni, this is Sergeant Magnús Ragnarsson from Reykjavík,’ Tómas said grimly. ‘He has come to ask you some questions relating to Gústi’s death. We would like you to accompany us to the station.’

Magnus was happy to see the look of concern, verging on panic, that crossed Jonni’s previously cheerful face.

They slung Jonni in the back of Tómas’s jeep for the small trip to the police station, and let him stew. Magnus gave him twenty minutes waiting in the interview room before striding in with Tómas. They turned on the tape recorder and Tómas introduced the interview.

‘Jonni,’ Magnus said. ‘It’s looking increasingly likely that Gústi’s death was murder and not an accident. We believe you have information that will help us determine how he was killed. It’s very important that you answer my questions fully and honestly. Otherwise, if it turns out that this does become a murder investigation, you will be in big trouble. Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ said Jonni, his voice hoarse. ‘But I don’t know anything about Gústi’s death. I was supposed to come over and help him later on that morning, when I had finished ploughing. But I wasn’t there when he died, I promise.’

‘No. I want to speak to you about the machinery that broke down this summer. When you were guarding the yard overnight.’

‘Oh.’ Jonni threw Tómas a worried glance. In that moment, Magnus knew the man had lied to the constable.

‘You live next door to Rós, don’t you?’

‘That’s right,’ said Jonni.

‘And she asked you to look the other way when she broke into the yard at night to sabotage the equipment?’

‘No,’ said Jonni defiantly. ‘No, no she didn’t.’

Magnus leaned back. ‘You see, this is what I’m talking about, Jonni. You’ve got a big choice right now. You can either stick to the story you told Tómas over the summer or you can tell us the truth. If you tell us the truth, I can’t guarantee that you won’t get in any trouble; lying to the police is a crime. And your testimony is important so we won’t be able to pretend we didn’t hear it. But I’ll put in a good word for you and the trouble shouldn’t be too bad. I know you are not a real criminal and so will everyone else. But, as I said, if you stick with the lie, and we know it’s a lie, you’ll be in big, big trouble. You’ll be going to jail.’

Jonni’s Adam’s apple bobbed.

‘So, I’m going to ask you the question again. And take your time answering. Think about it. Think about it carefully. Did Rós ask you to look the other way while she sabotaged the construction equipment?’

Jonni opened his mouth, but Magnus raised his hand. Jonni shut it again. He put his face in his hands.

Magnus waited. It was only a minute, but it seemed to take forever.

‘Jonni?’ Magnus said.

Jonni breathed in and nodded. ‘Yeah, you are right. Rós asked me to leave the yard for half an hour at two o’clock in the morning, both nights the machines were broken.’

‘Did you see her?’

‘No. No I didn’t. I didn’t see anyone.’

‘Why did you do what she asked? Why didn’t you report it afterwards?’

‘My mother was a good friend of Rós’s. She died about five years ago. Rós used to speak to her sometimes.’

‘Speak to her? You mean after she died.’

Jonni nodded. ‘Yes. There were sometimes messages for me or my Dad, or my sisters. But then Rós said she had a message from Mum that I should leave the yard unguarded.’

‘Why?’ asked Magnus, barely managing to suppress his irritation.

‘Because Mum said that the hidden people were going to sabotage the equipment. And they didn’t want me to see them do it.’

‘Uh huh,’ said Magnus. Until that moment, Jonni had seemed a normal, rational twenty-two year old. But he was serious.

‘So I did what Rós asked. And the hidden people did what they said they would do.’

‘The hidden people did it!’ Magnus could suppress his irritation no longer.

Jonni swallowed. ‘Yes. My mother had spoken to them occasionally when she was alive. And Rós spoke to them all the time.’

‘Didn’t it occur to you that Rós might have sabotaged the machinery?’ Magnus asked.

‘No. Besides, Rós couldn’t have done that. It was complicated stuff, brake pads loosened, problems with the fuel pump. I like Rós but she is completely scatty. She wouldn’t know how.’

‘Did you know that her father owned a garage and she used to help him out with fixing the cars?’

‘Er, no,’ said Jonni. He began to blush. ‘Oh, God. You mean she conned me?’

‘Yes,’ said Magnus. ‘She conned you. I’m not saying that there are or are not hidden people who live in the rocks by the tunnel. What I am saying is that Rós lied to you about them.’

A tear appeared in Jonni’s eye. He wiped it. ‘I’m such a fool. It’s just my mother believed in them, used to talk to them. And she was a good person, and honest person. And what Rós said she was saying to us, the whole family, made perfect sense. Do you think that was all lies too?’

‘I don’t know, Jonni,’ Magnus said, his irritation replaced by sympathy. He had lost his own mother when he was a child. ‘Let’s not speculate here. It’s very important now that you just tell us the truth, say what you know happened, and we’ll figure out the rest.’

5

Magnus studied the woman in front of him. They were in the interview room in the police station, with the tape running. Rós had placed her multicoloured woolly hat on the table next to her, letting her red hair fall around her shoulders. Her lips were pursed, her expression tense, but she was also brave, determined, as if she knew she was in for a hard time and had steeled herself to see it through.

In the States, Magnus would have already read her her rights at this stage, but in Iceland they were allowed to question a suspect for twenty-four hours before getting a warrant from a judge, and lawyers were only for those who insisted on one.

Magnus had patiently explained the case against Rós, the testimony of Davíd, her knowledge of engines and auto parts. It seemed pretty convincing to him.

‘So, Rós, you see we know that you sabotaged the construction equipment in the summer. And that you killed Gústi yesterday morning.’

‘But I didn’t,’ said Rós.

‘OK. Then who did?’

‘It was the hidden people,’ she said. ‘I told you that.’

Magnus took a deep breath. Normally the best tactic to frustrate a detective was silence. No one had tried ‘the elves did it’ on him before, and he didn’t like it.

‘Now, Rós. We know that you asked Davíd to leave his post at the yard for half an hour in the middle of the night. Do you deny that?’

‘No,’ said Rós. ‘No, that’s perfectly true.’

‘And do you deny that you crept into the yard when he had left it unguarded?’

‘Of course I do. I was sound asleep. The hidden people came in, just like I told Davíd they would.’

For a second Magnus was tempted to ask why the hidden people cared whether there was a guard around since they were invisible, but he decided against fighting the battle on Rós’s terms.

‘Rós, you and I both know that’s ridiculous,’ he said reasonably.

A thought seemed to have struck Rós. She frowned.

‘What is it, Rós?’

‘Actually, I might have to plead guilty,’ she said.

Magnus sighed. At last! ‘All right. Tell me the whole story.’

‘To conspiracy to cause criminal damage. There is no doubt that I helped the hidden people, I must admit to that. And that’s probably a crime, isn’t it? Can we do a deal? If I plead guilty to that.’

Something snapped. Magnus picked up the papers in front of him and slammed them down on the table. ‘All right! That’s it! No more talk of elves and leprechauns and hidden people.’ He leaned over the table so that his face was only a few inches from the woman, who suddenly looked very scared. He jabbed a finger at her. ‘I know you sabotaged those machines, Rós. And more importantly, I know you killed Gústi. Not many people seem to have liked him, but he was a real live human being and now he’s dead. You may not care about that, but I do. And if you killed him, which I’m damned sure you did, you will go to jail for a long long time.’

Rós’s eyes were wide with fear. ‘I didn’t kill Gústi, I swear I didn’t! I know nothing about his death!’

Magnus felt the rage boiling up in him and he struggled to control it. ‘No, more lies, Rós! You’d better snap out of your fantasy world and into the real one pretty quick. Because that’s where Gústi died — in the real world. And that’s where I live and where the judge at your trial lives. Now, tell the truth for once in your life!’

Tears appeared in Rós’s eyes. ‘I don’t know anything. I promise you I don’t know anything.’

Magnus knew he wasn’t going to get anywhere just screaming at the woman. ‘Come on, Tómas,’ he said.

Tómas mumbled some words into the tape recorder and followed Magnus out of the room.

Magnus took a couple of deep breaths. ‘I don’t know how you stand it here, Tómas.’

‘You had her rattled.’

‘No, she had me rattled. OK. This is what we do. This is now a murder investigation. I’ll call my boss in Reykjavík and then we’ll call the Chief Superintendent in Ísafjördur. We’ll need reinforcements. We’ll get a forensic team up from Reykjavík and a the forensic pathologist to redo the autopsy, if it has even been done yet. Then I want you to go back in there and get all the details you can on where she was yesterday morning. We need warrants for her house and car.’

‘Should we focus on the murder or the criminal damage to the machinery?’

‘Both. We have better evidence for the criminal damage; we should be able to use that to get permission from the judge to hold her for more than twenty-four hours. Then we’ll build up the murder case.’

‘Are we sure she committed the murder?’

‘Not absolutely certain,’ said Magnus. ‘She’s looking good for it, but we need to keep an open mind. And she might have been working with someone else to sabotage the construction equipment as well. Now, we need to make some phone calls.’

It was a busy day. The Chief Superintendent came over from Ísafjördur, with four men to help out. Two of Magnus’s colleagues from Reykjavík, Vigdís and Árni, got on an aeroplane to Ísafjördur to join him, together with a couple of officers from the Forensics team. Magnus wondered what the good citizens of Bolungarvík would make of Vigdís, Reykjavík’s only black detective. They would probably find it easier talking to an elf. But he was sure that Vigdís could cope with it, she had developed a thick skin. But it was Árni, Magnus was more worried about. He had a fertile imagination, and all the talk of hidden people might set him off in all kinds of strange directions.

He was pleased to see them when they arrived at the police station in Bolungarvík.

‘Hey, Magnús. I hear you caught the elf that did it,’ said Vigdís. ‘How did you manage that?’

‘It’s these ultra-modern FBI forensic techniques he’s always telling us about,’ said Árni. ‘They work for invisible people too.’

‘Alibis must be difficult to check out. I mean, when witnesses can’t see the suspects.’

‘Do you want us to do rock-to-rock interviews?’

‘You could start up an Elf Squad when we get back to Reykjavík.’

‘Very funny,’ said Magnus. ‘I was looking forward to some sanity from you two.’

‘From Árni? You must be in big trouble,’ said Vigdís. But the two detectives got down to work with brisk efficiency.

Magnus was less pleased to hear that there were two journalists on the plane with them, one from RÚV, the national TV station, and one from Morgunbladid, the biggest newspaper in the country. Boy, would they love this story.

A full murder investigation was underway, with Magnus in charge. Statements were taken, premises searched. Tómas interviewed Rós again, with Magnus watching quietly, to get her whereabouts the previous morning. She claimed she hadn’t woken until nine o’clock, and since she lived alone that would be hard to verify. They left her in one of the two cells; Magnus decided to postpone interviewing her further until they had collected more evidence.

The doctor in Ísafjördur had done an autopsy in which he determined that Gústi had been killed by blows to the head and chest from falling rocks. But a specialist forensic pathologist from Reykjavík was on his way to give a second opinion.

Information was flowing into the small crowded police station, but as yet, there was nothing that either confirmed or ruled out Rós as Gústi’s murderer. Magnus knew the value of patience; the more information he had to work with the more likely a connection would be made. He decided to step outside to clear his head.

It was early evening, about six o’clock, and it had been dark for a couple of hours. The wind had let up a bit and the sky was clear. Moonlight shimmered yellow and blue on the snow and rock of the great mountain that loomed over the village. Did hidden people live up there as well, Magnus wondered. It would be a great place to look down on their human cousins below and lob a rockfall or two when they saw things that displeased them.

Normally, Magnus would have been happy to be in charge of an investigation, but this one struck him as particularly dangerous. He was reporting to two bosses, the Chief Superintendent in Ísafjördur and Baldur in Reykjavík. That was always bad. But it was the damned hidden people that would be his undoing.

The police hadn’t told the press anything apart from the fact that a woman was helping them with their inquiries. It wouldn’t be long before the two journalists discovered the elf angle, if they hadn’t already. That would bring the case to the top of the national news. It might even get coverage internationally. Everyone would be looking to Magnus to screw up. If the press could get anyone in authority to say anything at all about elves, it would be plastered all over the front page.

That damn woman.

Magnus took a deep breath. Forget the hidden people for a moment, and go back to basics. Although Magnus was at least ninety-percent sure that Rós or an accomplice had been responsible for the sabotage, there was a chance that she hadn’t murdered Gústi. Indeed an accident couldn’t be entirely ruled out, if someone else had left the stuffed polar bear and the money as a gift for the elves rather than as bait for Gústi.

Magnus didn’t really know much about Gústi, apart from what Tómas had told him. Know your victim, or ‘victimology’ as it was sometimes called, was often the key to solving a crime. Magnus remembered the new webcam next to the old computer in Gústi’s bedroom.

He went back into the police station and got the key to Gústi’s house. It took him ten minutes to walk there. He unlocked the door and walked in, wearing forensic gloves as he switched on the light. He would get the forensics guys in there as soon as they had finished with Rós’s house. The room looked much as it had done before, although something was beginning to smell. Old food.

He went through to the bedroom and turned on the computer. It took an age to boot up. No Skype, so that couldn’t be what the webcam was for. Which didn’t surprise Magnus; after all, who would Gústi need to Skype?

But he shouldn’t make assumptions about Gústi’s life. He should keep an open mind.

There wasn’t much on Gústi’s computer. A few old video games. He had an Internet connection. There were a couple of soccer-related sites, and porn. Lots and lots of porn.

But still nothing that he would need a webcam for.

Magnus searched the directory and then found it. A video file, dated two weeks before. The file name was hvalreki.mpg. Hvalreki literally meant ‘beached whale’ in Icelandic, but it was an expression that was still used to mean an unexpected piece of luck. Historically, there was nothing better that could happen to an Icelander than to have a whale wash up on the beach outside his house.

Magnus opened the file and clicked play. The video lasted four minutes and twenty-three seconds. When it was finished, Magnus clicked play again.

6

Magnus was deep in thought as he walked back through the lamp-lit streets of Bolungarvík to the police station. A Land Rover Freelander drove gently through the gloom towards him and slowed.

The window slid down. ‘Hi, Magnús! I was looking for you.’

The Mayor of Bolungarvík looked radiant, with her blond curls falling on her warm, white jacket. She smiled broadly at him.

‘And now you’ve found me.’

‘I expect you’re busy, but do you want to come to dinner again tonight?’

Magnus was taken aback. ‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’

‘Quite sure. In fact Davíd wanted me to ask you.’

‘Really.’

‘Yes, really. Jump in and I’ll explain.’

It was true that Magnus had a lot to do back at the station. But he shrugged and climbed in to the Land Rover beside Eyrún. ‘What happened?’

‘I was really angry last night,’ Eyrún said. ‘About what Davíd said to you. We had a major row. It went on for hours, it was really horrible. Then we went to bed. And then in the middle of the night, Davíd started talking. He said he was sorry. He said his jealousy was unreasonable. He said he just hadn’t come to terms with losing his job, with having nothing to do here and me having all the status of being Mayor.’

Eyrún smiled to herself. ‘I never realized he thought that. He said he knew he had been behaving badly, but he couldn’t help himself. It was, well, it was such a relief. Oh, I know he’s not cured yet, but it was a step forward. A huge step forward.’

‘And you are sure I won’t ruin it all?’ said Magnus.

‘I really don’t think so. He wants to see you again to apologize. To show himself and me that he can behave normally. At least that’s what he said, and I believe him.’

‘OK,’ said Magnus. ‘I’m game. But let me just call the station.’

Vigdís answered. ‘Where are you, Magnús?’ she said.

‘I’ll just be a couple of hours,’ Magnus said. ‘I’m having dinner with the Mayor.’

‘We need you back here,’ said Vigdís. ‘The press are asking questions about the hidden people.’

‘Don’t answer them,’ said Magnus. ‘Tell them we’ll give them a full press conference at eight a.m. tomorrow?’

‘Are you sure? Who knows what they’ll publish?’

‘That’s their problem,’ said Magnus. ‘See you later.’ He hung up.

‘The press?’ Eyrún asked.

‘Yes. They’ve got the hidden people angle. It was inevitable.’

‘One of them collared me earlier. The RÚV woman.’

‘What did you say?’

‘I said I had no idea about the investigation. But I had to tell them about the little ceremony on Sunday.’

‘Had they figured out we had Rós in custody?’

‘They knew you were questioning a woman, but they hadn’t worked out who. It won’t take them long, though. And then they’ll have a field day. Are you sure you don’t want to talk to them now?’

‘Let them make fools of themselves,’ said Magnus. ‘We’ll straighten them out tomorrow.’

They pulled up outside Eyrún’s house. Magnus noted that the lights were on in Arnór’s house over the street, and through a gap in the curtains he thought he caught sight of a family around a dining table.

Eyrún opened the door. There was a similar scampering of children and dogs as the evening before, and then Davíd appeared from the kitchen. He had shaved. His brow was still twisted in a question mark, but he smiled stiffly at Magnus and held out his hand. ‘Welcome,’ he said. ‘And thank you for coming. I’m sorry about my behaviour yesterday.’

Eyrún opened a bottle of wine, and she and Davíd both had glasses. Magnus excused himself, saying he still had work to do that evening. Eyrún’s cheeks glowed as she watched her husband take the fish stew out of the oven. Davíd did his best to talk, asking Magnus polite questions about the case and where he lived in Reykjavík. But he was struggling, and by the time the kids were called to dinner he had lapsed into silence.

Lára, the four-year-old girl, showed up with a panda and plonked it on the table beside her.

‘Take that down, darling,’ said Eyrún. ‘Put it on the floor.’

‘OK,’ said Lára, doing what she was told.

‘What’s his name?’ Magnus asked the girl.

‘He’s called Panda.’

‘Nice name,’ said Magnus. ‘Does he have any friends?’

‘Yes. There’s an elephant called Nellie, and an old teddy that used to belong to my Mum.’

‘I see,’ said Magnus. ‘And no polar bear?’

‘I used to have a polar bear, but I didn’t like him and then he ran away.’

‘Lára, the policeman doesn’t want to know about your toys,’ said Eyrún sharply.

Magnus glanced at her. Her cheeks were reddening.

‘That’s OK,’ said Magnus. ‘Maybe we can find him. When did he run away?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Lára. ‘But I don’t mind. Panda didn’t like him.’

Eyrún opened her mouth to scold her child, but then closed it. It was too late.

Magnus watched the Mayor closely. After a moment, he spoke. ‘Would you excuse me while I check in with the station?’

He got up from the table and went out into the hallway, where Eyrún and her husband could hear him, but not the person he was speaking to. He dialled Vigdís.

‘Hi, Magnús?’

‘Anything going on, Vigdís?’

‘The journalists are still pestering us.’

‘OK. I’ll be there in a moment. And I’ll bring the Mayor with me.’

‘Excellent. See you soon.’

Magnus returned to the kitchen. There was silence as the family stared at their food, waiting for Magnus to return before they started. Eyrún glanced at Magnus anxiously, her face bright red. Davíd stared at both of them, his expression a mixture of puzzlement, anger and fear.

He knew something was wrong, but he didn’t know what.

‘Eyrún, can you come with me to the police station? We really need to talk to the press and I’d like to have you with me.’

Eyrún hesitated. Glanced at her children and her husband.

Magnus waited.

Eventually she stood up and hugged each child. Then she kissed her husband on the lips. ‘See you later,’ she said.

‘What is it, Eyrún?’ he asked.

But she left her family and led Magnus out of the house.

‘I suppose I should give you a lift?’ she said, as soon as they were outside.

‘Please,’ said Magnus. ‘Or I could get a police car to come out.’

‘Don’t worry.’ She opened the door of the Land Rover.

Magnus waited until the car had driven to the end of the street. ‘Just stop here a moment, Eyrún.’

Eyrún pulled over in the yellow pool of one of the street lights. Dead ahead of them the rock wall of the mountain rose up towards the night sky, so high that they couldn’t see the summit without craning their necks.

‘Was it blackmail?’ Magnus asked.

Eyrún nodded. ‘How did you know?’

‘I’ve just been to Gústi’s house,’ Magnus said. ‘He had a video. Of you and him together.’

‘Oh, God, no,’ said Eyrún.

‘That was you, wasn’t it?’ Magnus asked.

Eyrún nodded.

In truth the woman in the video had been impossible to identify. Gústi hadn’t set up the camera very well. There was a lot of him, prancing around naked and talking, but very little of the woman. Just an ankle, a leg. The only sound apart from Gústi’s grunting was a female groan of disgust rather than excitement. Technicians would probably have figured out who it was eventually, but it was good to have confirmation without all that hassle.

‘He made you do it?’

Eyrún nodded again. ‘Twice,’ she said. ‘But then I refused.’

‘And he didn’t like that?’

‘No he didn’t.’

‘So what was he threatening to do?’

Eyrún bit her thumbnail. ‘Tell Davíd.’

‘Tell Davíd what?’

Eyrún took a deep breath. ‘About my affair. He saw me and another man, right after I had arrived in Bolungarvík. While Davíd was still in Reykjavík.’ She turned to Magnus. ‘It was a stupid thing to do, but it was such a relief to get away from Davíd that I just took the opportunity. I stopped as soon as Davíd brought the kids up here. But it was too late. Gústi had seen us.’

Her eyes were desperate, pleading for Magnus’s understanding. ‘You saw Davíd. He was jealous enough already. If he knew that I was having an affair, it would have tipped him over the edge. It would have finished us. It would have finished him. And the children. It would have been disastrous.’

‘Who was the affair with?’

Eyrún shook her head. ‘I can’t say. It wouldn’t be fair.’

‘Wouldn’t be fair?’ Magnus said. ‘Murdering someone is hardly fair, no matter what they have done to you. Even if they have blackmailed you.’

‘And forced you to have sex with them?’ There were tears in Eyrún’s eyes. ‘He said unless I had sex with him, he would tell Davíd. I was an idiot to go along with it. It just made me feel worse. That man deserved to die. No I meant it wouldn’t be fair on the other man.’

‘We’ll talk about it at the station,’ Magnus said. ‘You are under arrest. Shall I call out a car?’

‘No. I’ll drive there.’

She pulled away from the kerb. ‘Does Davíd need to know? About Gústi? And the other man?’

‘He’s going to find out at the trial.’

‘What if I plead guilty? Do you have to tell him?’

‘We do,’ said Magnus. ‘We’ll have to ask him questions. I’m sorry. For him. Not for you.’

They drove to the station in silence. Tómas, Vigdís and Árni were waiting for them. Fortunately, there were no journalists about.

‘I’ve arrested Eyrún for the murder of Ágúst Sigurdsson,’ Magnus said. ‘Tómas can you take her to the interview room? We’ll take a statement in a few minutes.’

Tómas flinched, but stood motionless.

‘Tómas?’

‘Yes, of course,’ he said, held out his hand to take Eyrún by the arm and then withdrew it. Eyrún avoided his eyes or Magnus’s and stared at the ground.

At that moment, Magnus knew whom Gústi had seen her with.

Two days later, Magnus and Vigdís departed Bolungarvík, leaving Árni behind to tidy up loose ends. They were driven by a constable from Ísafjördur: Tómas was suspended and was under investigation for obstructing a police investigation. He admitted to a very brief affair with Eyrún, but claimed he had had no part in the murder of Gústi, and that he didn’t even know that Gústi had seen him and Eyrún together and blackmailed the Mayor. Magnus believed him, but he was glad that he wasn’t responsible for proving it one way or the other.

Eyrún had made a full statement and had been transported to Kópavogur Women’s Prison near Reykjavík. Her husband had not taken the news well: if Eyrún had intended to protect him by killing Gústi, she had failed. The children had gone to stay with their grandmother, Davíd’s mother. Magnus felt for them — after all, he and his brother had had to stay with his own grandparents at the farm in Snaefellsnes when he was only a little older than them, and that had been one of the worst experiences of his life. But he didn’t feel sympathy for Eyrún. She had destroyed her family as well as finishing someone’s life.

It was mid-morning, and a murky dawn was suffusing sky and sea with a lighter shade of grey. A stiff breeze corkscrewed into the fjord, twisting around the edge of the brooding mountain and whipping up angry little waves. They crossed the bridge over the river and drove up past the church on its little knoll. Magnus spotted the postman’s van parked next to the rectory.

‘Wait a moment,’ he said.

As the Ísafjördur constable pulled over, Magnus got out of the police car and approached Haraldur who was checking his postbag. The postman grunted a stiff greeting.

‘Thanks for your help,’ Magnus said.

‘Not at all,’ said Haraldur. ‘I was sure Rós hadn’t killed Gústi but I thought you should know she had tampered with the construction machinery.’

‘Yes, that was very useful.’ Magnus hesitated, suddenly embarrassed. But there was no one to hear him apart from the postman himself. ‘Did you know who had killed Gústi?’

The postman shook his head. ‘I had no idea.’

‘Um.’

‘Yes?’ The postman’s eyes were clear.

Since he was twenty, Magnus had asked questions about his father’s death. Mostly he had just asked those questions of himself, but sometimes he had asked other people. And all he got were more questions, no answers. Now he wanted to ask questions again. Perhaps this quiet man really could see things. Perhaps he had answers. Or an answer.

Then Magnus shook his head. He was losing it: he needed to get out of town quick before he became like the rest of the nutters clinging on to the edge of nowhere.

‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘It’s nothing. Thanks again.’ And he turned on his heel back to the police car.

‘Oh, Magnús?’ the postman said.

Magnus turned. ‘Yes?’

‘You’re American, aren’t you?’

‘Not really. But I did live there for a while.’

‘Well, the answer lies here in Iceland. Not in America. Remember that.’

Magnus stared at the postman as he got into his van and drove off back to the little town.

Was that an answer? Or was it just another question?

Content

Michael Ridpath
Edge of Nowhere

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