Far North - Michael Ridpath [44]
‘With the same woman?’
‘No, a different woman. I think the first one was genuinely a one-night stand. This other one was in London too. This was before he bought his house in Kensington, but he used to travel there a lot. I realized that that was where he messed around. With two women to hide from in Reykjavík, his wife and his mistress, I guess it made some sense.’
‘When was all this?’
‘About four years ago.’
‘So you dumped him?’
‘I did. And then six months later I met Hinrik.’ She glanced at a photograph of the gaunt man behind her shoulder.
‘Who was a much better bet,’ said Ingileif.
‘Since then you haven’t seen Óskar?’
‘No. I mean I’ve bumped into him at one or two social occasions, but never alone.’ Her lower lip began to quiver. ‘He was a good man. I don’t know whether he committed any technical financial crimes, but I am quite sure he did nothing wrong. He was honest, you know, you could trust him.’ She stared at Magnus, daring him to contradict her. It struck Magnus that a man who could be unfaithful to his wife and then his mistress and still give the impression of being trustworthy, must have had some charisma.
It was strange with murder victims. You never got to meet them, obviously, but you came to know them better and better as the case went on. Óskar was more intriguing the more Magnus found out about him. Was he really the evil banker that the press made out?
Whoever he was, he hadn’t deserved to die.
Vigdís had been taking notes. ‘Do you know the name of this woman?’
‘No, I don’t. He never told me.’
‘Was she Russian?’ Vigdís asked.
‘No. No, she was English. A lawyer, I think.’
‘I see. And the first one? The one-night stand?’
‘The slut? Oh, she was Icelandic all right. She was an employee of Ódinsbanki in London. She’s back in Reykjavík now.’
‘And do you know her name?’ asked Magnus.
‘Yes. Harpa. Harpa Einarsdóttir.’
Frikki stood in the arrivals hall at Keflavík Airport staring at the screen, shifting from foot to foot in impatience. Where the hell was she? The plane from Warsaw had arrived twenty minutes ago. It couldn’t take her that long to pick up her bags and go through customs, could it? Frikki had never flown before, in fact this was his first time at the airport, so he had no idea what happened on the other side of the double swing doors. Perhaps Customs had stopped her? Oh, God! Perhaps Immigration hadn’t let her in to the country?
He couldn’t bear that thought. He bit his thumbnail. Where the hell was she?
He had been overjoyed when Magda had messaged him on Facebook that she had bought a cheap ticket to come and see him. She had been a chambermaid at the Hotel 101 where he had been an assistant chef. He had been distraught when, like him, she had lost her job, because in her case it meant she had to go back to Poland. That had been in early January, just after New Year. Since then they had managed to keep their relationship going, through the wonders of Skype and Facebook. She was a year older than him, and much more sensible. He was a different person when he was with her, calmer, happier. Better.
And in a few minutes he would see her again. If the immigration people didn’t stop her.
At the same time, he was nervous. Since he had lost his job he had let things slip, and she would pick up on that. He had always been a bit of a wild kid, getting himself into all kinds of trouble, until he had gone on that cooking course. He was a natural. More than that, cooking calmed him down, channelled his energy away from getting drunk and causing trouble. He had been so proud to get his job at 101, the trendiest hotel in Reykjavík. And he had done well there. He was a good-looking kid and had no trouble pulling girls, but he was aware that it was his new self-confidence that had attracted Magda.
It was an inevitable result of the kreppa that one of the hottest places to hang out in the good times would slow down. It wasn’t their fault that he and Magda were