Far North - Michael Ridpath [55]
‘I think he was,’ said Magnus.
Sharon winced. ‘Can you remember what police station he was at? Did I say?’
Magnus shook his head.
‘Toot,’ said Vigdís.
‘Tooting? What the hell was he doing in Tooting?’
Baldur appeared at the door. ‘Sergeant Sharon? Magnús? Come to my office.’
Baldur was insistent that Sharon had uncovered all she was going to in Iceland, and Sharon herself couldn’t really argue. So Magnus agreed to give her a lift back to her hotel, and pick her up in a couple of hours to take her out to the airport.
Baldur pulled Magnus aside and told him that he should go back to the police college on Monday morning unless anything new cropped up from London. Vigdís could do the remaining work on Sharon Piper’s list of Óskar’s contacts. Magnus protested, but he got nowhere.
It wasn’t far at all from police headquarters to the Hotel Reykjavík, Sharon could easily have walked it. As Magnus pulled up outside he took a decision.
‘Sharon, pack your bag and bring it down here. I think we should leave early for the airport. There’s someone I want you to see.’
‘OK,’ said Sharon, her curiosity aroused. ‘I’ll be ten minutes. I need to ring my husband to make sure Charlie is all right.’
A quarter of an hour later, Magnus was driving along the ring road that skirted the city centre towards Seltjarnarnes. He told Sharon all about Harpa and Gabríel Örn and his suspicions about Gabríel Örn’s death. He also told her about Harpa’s dalliance with Óskar in London.
‘Why didn’t you mention any of this before?’ said Sharon. She sounded offended that Magnus hadn’t trusted her.
‘Baldur didn’t want me to,’ Magnus said. ‘He figures there’s no connection. He wants to make sure there is no connection. And Gabríel Örn Bergsson’s death is firmly filed under suicide. It’s politics. Even in this country politics intrudes in police work.’
He explained the background, the pots-and-pans revolution, the fear of violence, the sense of relief that there hadn’t been any, the unwillingness to rewrite history and admit that there had.
‘I get it,’ said Sharon. ‘So then I suppose the question becomes why are you telling me all this?’
‘It may be nothing,’ Magnus said. ‘In which case you can just forget it. But if there is a real link it’s important that you know about it in case you come across something in London that fits. I want to nail whoever it was who killed Óskar.’
‘OK,’ Sharon said. ‘Let’s meet Harpa.’
The bakery where Harpa worked was on the corner of Nordurströnd, the road that ran along the shore. The wind had died down from the previous day, but there was a chill in the air, and the warmth of the bakery was welcoming. Harpa was one of two women behind the counter, both wearing red aprons and with their hair tied up under white hats.
She tensed when Magnus walked in.
‘Do you have a moment, Harpa?’ Magnus asked.
‘I’m busy,’ said Harpa, glancing at the woman next to her. ‘Can’t you see I’m working?’
‘Would you like me to talk to your boss?’ Magnus said.
Harpa turned to the woman. ‘Dísa? Do you mind if I speak to these two people for a minute? It won’t take long.’ She glanced at Magnus as she said these words.
Magnus nodded.
‘Go ahead,’ said the woman named Dísa, her curiosity aroused.
Harpa led Magnus and Sharon to a table in the far corner of the bakery.
‘Do you mind if we speak English?’ said Magnus. ‘This is Detective Sergeant Piper of Scotland Yard.’ He didn’t think that Sharon actually worked out of Scotland Yard, but it sounded good.
‘That’s fine,’ said Harpa. Magnus was surprised to note a slight relaxing of the tension in Harpa’s shoulders. ‘I’ve told you I know nothing about Óskar’s murder.’ Her English accent was good: British English.
‘Yes, you have told me that,’ said Magnus. ‘Thing is, we know you and Óskar met at a party in London four years ago.’
‘Oh,’ said Harpa. ‘Well, yes, of course we did. I was working in the London office then. The head of the office used to have quite a few parties. I am sure that Óskar will have come to one or two.’
‘I’ve spoken with María Halldórsdóttir,’ Magnus said. ‘She figures