Far North - Michael Ridpath [107]
‘Do you still think I flew off to London?’ he asked.
‘No,’ said Harpa. ‘I’m sorry I suggested that. I believe you. But I am worried that Sindri is responsible in some way.’
‘You know if you speak to the police they’ll reopen the Gabríel Örn business?’
‘Yes, I know, I’ve thought of that.’
‘OK, so when they do, are you going to tell them what really happened that night?’
‘No. I’ll say that we all went back to Sindri’s apartment. And then I’ll say I called Gabríel Örn and he didn’t show up.’
‘They’ll be all over you,’ said Björn. ‘Once you admit you lied to them, they won’t give up until they break you.’
‘Well, then I just won’t answer their questions,’ said Harpa.
‘They’ll charge you.’ Björn said. ‘You’ll go to prison.’
‘I didn’t intend to kill Gabríel Örn,’ Harpa said. ‘Maybe the judge will understand that. Perhaps I should be in prison.’
‘But, Harpa, there are two crimes here. There’s Gabríel Örn’s death. We know that was accidental and maybe a judge would agree. And then there’s the cover-up. We did that on purpose, you, me, Sindri, the student guy, the cook. They’ll get us for that. All of us.’
Harpa sighed. ‘Maybe I’ll try to tip them off anonymously. But I must find a way of warning them.’
‘Look,’ said Björn. ‘I’ll come right down to Reykjavík now and we can discuss how you do this.’
‘You won’t be able to talk me out of it.’
‘I understand. But don’t do anything till I get there.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
THE SHOP WAS one of several with Til Leigu signs displayed on Laugavegur, meaning ‘For Rent’. Vigdís remembered the location: it had been the site of a high-end boutique, way beyond Vigdís’s pocket. And everyone else’s in Iceland nowadays, she suspected.
She had spotted the blue VW Transporter outside with Gulli Helgason’s name and number on it, parked on a side street a few metres away, the front wheel half a metre outside the marked parking bay. She walked in to the shop. Three men were stripping the walls of bright orange paint. A radio was playing Jay-Z loudly.
‘Gulli?’
One of the three men turned towards her. He was older than the other two, probably in his early thirties, with dark hair cut very short and strong tattooed arms. He would have been quite attractive, if it wasn’t for his belly thrusting out aggressively beneath his painters’ overalls.
The man raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘Yes?’
‘I’m Detective Vigdís from the Metropolitan Police. I called earlier. I’d like to ask you a couple of questions.’
The man laughed.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘You’re not a cop.’
‘And why not?’ said Vigdís.
‘It’s obvious. You’re black. You can’t be a black policewoman. So who the hell are you?’
Vigdís fought to control herself. She was used to people doubting her identity, but rarely so blatantly. She pulled out her ID, and thrust it in his face. ‘See that? A black face. My face.’
Gulli raised his hands in mock surrender and then held out his wrists as if he was about to be handcuffed. ‘OK, OK. I’ll come quietly.’
‘Very funny.’ Vigdís turned to the other two younger painters who were watching with grins on their faces. ‘You two, outside. And turn the radio off as you go.’
‘Hey! They’ve got work to do,’ Gulli protested.
‘I said, outside.’
The men looked at their boss and then at Vigdís. They shrugged, turned Jay-Z off, and sauntered out into the street.
Vigdís scanned the room. It had been cleared of everything except dustsheets, brushes and tins of paint, as yet unopened. There was nowhere to sit, so they remained standing. ‘Now, where have you been this past week?’
‘Away. On holiday.’
‘Oh, yes? Alone?’
‘No. With my girlfriend.’
‘And where did you go?’
‘Tenerife. In the Canary Islands.’
‘I see. When did you get back?’
‘Yesterday. We started in here this morning.’
Vigdís pulled out her notebook. ‘All right. I want your girl-friend’s name and address, and details of your flights and which hotel you stayed at.’
Gulli shrugged and gave them to her. ‘What’s all this about?’
‘We’re taking another look