Far North - Michael Ridpath [134]
There was something about the man’s body language when they were introduced that suggested to Árni that he knew more than his wife about Harpa. This wasn’t a surprise visit. He knew his daughter was in trouble.
‘Do you mind if I speak to your husband alone?’ Árni said.
Gudný hesitated and then left them to it.
Árni looked over Einar’s shoulder, where there were indeed signs of fly tying – he saw something in a vice and a magnifying glass. Árni examined it: a few drab feathers wrapped around a hook.
‘Doesn’t look much like a fly to me,’ he said.
‘You’re not a salmon,’ said Einar.
‘That’s true.’
‘Have you ever been fly-fishing?’ Einar asked.
‘No. It always seemed a bit expensive for me,’ Árni said.
‘It’s got cheaper in the last year or two, with the kreppa. But then people have less money to throw around. I can’t afford the good rivers any more.’
‘Your wife said you had just come back from a trip. Any luck?’
‘Some. It’s more of a challenge when there are fewer fish to catch, and that’s fun in its own way. As long as you catch some. Which I did this time. Have a seat.’
Árni sat on a plastic chair, while Einar removed a small coil of wire from another one and sat opposite him. Árni scanned the garage. There was no room for a car: it was full of tools and other clutter, including a set of golf clubs in a corner – a bolthole for a practical man in retirement who needed things to do with his hands.
‘How much do you know?’ Árni asked the man in question.
‘About what?’
‘About the trouble Harpa is in.’
‘What trouble?’ The question was more of a challenge than the response of a worried parent on hearing bad news. Einar’s face was rock hard. Impassive.
‘I think you know that Harpa is in trouble,’ Árni said. ‘I think you know more than your wife. We can discuss this with her. Or you can tell me. How much do you know?’
Einar sighed. He smiled grimly. ‘Quite a bit. I went to drop off Markús the other day and I found Harpa collapsed on the floor, weeping. She told me everything.’
‘What did she tell you?’
Einar looked uncomfortable. ‘I can’t say. It’s up to her to talk to you.’
‘You don’t want to incriminate her?’
Einar shrugged. His square shoulders stiffened. An immovable object.
‘Did she tell you about Gabríel Örn? About what really happened to him?’
Einar didn’t reply.
‘Look. Einar. We need to locate Harpa urgently. We know she is with Björn. Do you have any idea where they might be?’
Einar shook his head.
‘We know that Gabríel Örn’s death wasn’t suicide. We know your daughter struck him, and he fell and hit his head. I don’t want to ask you about that, at least not now. We can discuss it later. But we believe that some of the people she was with that night were involved in the shooting of Óskar Gunnarsson and Julian Lister, the British government minister.’
Now Árni did get a reaction. ‘That’s ridiculous! I know Björn. He’s a good man. In fact…’ Einar hesitated.
Árni waited.
‘In fact Harpa asked me to check where Björn was when those two people were shot. I did that. He was out at sea the first time, and in Grundarfjördur harbour the second.’
Árni decided not to point out that Björn had actually been to France the day before the ex-Chancellor was shot. But it was interesting that Harpa herself had been suspicious enough to get her father to check out her boyfriend.
‘Einar, although we know that Björn did not carry out the shootings himself, we believe he was involved,’ Árni said. ‘In which case your daughter might be in some danger. Wherever she is. Now do you have any idea where that might be?’
‘I can’t believe it of Björn,’ Einar said.
‘I’m sorry, but it’s true. Now, where is Harpa?’
‘I don’t know,’ Einar said. ‘The note just said they were going away for a couple of days. It didn’t say where.’
‘Who signed the note?’ Árni asked. ‘Was it Harpa?’
‘No,’ said Einar. ‘It was Björn.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
MAGNUS WAS MAKING good time. The road beyond Borgarnes was virtually empty, and there were long straight