Far North - Michael Ridpath [133]
All Magnus’s instincts told him to go to Grundarfjördur.
‘Páll, I’ll be with you in a couple of hours.’
He hesitated a moment, grabbed the Benedikt Jóhannesson file, and headed for the door.
Árni drove up the narrow street of Bakkavör, one of Reykjavík’s most exclusive, leading up from the western shore of Seltjarnarnes. The houses were much less grand than the rich people’s homes he had seen in America, and indeed to an American eye they were nothing special, but in Reykjavík, a city of small, unpretentious, wind-battered dwellings, they were something.
The street was split into two. On one side, the houses were bigger, the sea views slightly better. Many of these properties belonged to the newly wealthy, including the owners of a multinational food company which they had named ‘Bakkavör’. On the other side of the street were slightly more modest homes, with the view of the sea partially hidden. Many of these were owned by the quota kings.
Árni stopped outside one of these and rang the bell.
The door was answered by an older and plumper version of Harpa.
‘Good morning,’ Árni said. ‘My name is Árni and I am with the Metropolitan Police. I am looking for Harpa.’
‘Oh, hello. Come in,’ the woman said frowning. As Árni took off his shoes he saw Harpa’s son staring at him. There was an unmistakeable resemblance to the late Óskar Gunnarsson.
Harpa’s mother, whose name was Gudný, led Árni into the kitchen. Her grandson disappeared into a living room.
‘Has something happened to her?’ Gudný asked.
‘No,’ said Árni. He almost added, ‘at least we don’t think so,’ but thought better of it. ‘Do you know where she is?’
‘She’s gone off with Björn, her boyfriend.’
‘Oh, I see. And do you know where she has gone?’
‘Is she in trouble?’
‘We just need her help with an inquiry. The death of Gabríel Örn Bergsson.’
‘Oh, that.’ The frowned deepened. ‘No, I don’t know where she is. My husband went to drop off Markús at her house around the corner and found a note. It just said she had gone off with Björn for a few days.’
‘It didn’t say where?’
‘No.’
‘Have you been in touch with her?’
‘No,’ said Gudný, still frowning.
‘What about Markús?’ Árni asked. ‘Hasn’t she wanted to talk to him? Say good night last night?’
‘No. I tried to call her on her mobile, but it was switched off.’
‘Do you think that’s strange?’ Árni asked.
Gudný sighed. ‘Yes. A little. I mean, she always gets in touch when she is away with Björn. To speak to Markús as much as anything else. Is she all right?’
‘We don’t know,’ said Árni. He watched as Gudný’s eyes widened. ‘We believe she is in Grundarfjördur with Björn. Or she was. Björn was seen loading his truck with supplies. Where do you think they might have gone?’
‘I don’t know. Camping perhaps? Perhaps he has taken her out on a boat? I don’t know.’
Árni considered the woman’s replies. They seemed to reflect genuine ignorance of where her daughter was.
‘Has she had a row with Björn, do you think?’
‘No,’ said Gudný. ‘At least not that I know of. I don’t think they ever row.’
Árni raised his eyebrows. Couples always rowed, in his experience.
‘Harpa looks up to Björn,’ Gudný said. ‘She relies on him. She has had a very bad year. First losing her job, then her boyfriend killing himself. Björn has been a rock the whole time.’
Árni was pretty sure he wouldn’t get anything more out of Harpa’s mother. It was clear that Harpa had kept her in the dark about what was really worrying her. ‘You say your husband found the note?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is he around somewhere?’
‘Oh, yes, he’s fiddling about in the garage.’
‘Can I speak to him?’
Gudný led Árni out of the kitchen towards the back of the house. ‘He’s tying flies,’ she said. ‘He’s a very keen fly-fisherman. He can’t go sea-fishing any more, so fly-fishing is the next best thing. He just came back from a few days in the north.’
Einar, Harpa’s father, looked very little like her. A squat strong man with grey hair, blue flinty eyes and