‘I see.’
‘If you are in the MLM business, you need a good product to sell. Amway, Avon, Herbalife — they all work because people want to buy the cleaning products or the cosmetics or the vitamins. And people really want to buy cryptocurrencies, once they’re explained to them.’
‘Provided they are worth something in the end,’ said Magnus.
‘Yes,’ said Fjóla. ‘And I believed Thomocoin would be. I’m trying to build up a network of loyal followers, people like Helga. The last thing I want to do is blow my credibility by selling them something worthless.’
‘That makes sense.’
‘Right. So Gunnar was concerned about the exchange that Thomocoin had promised to set up and hadn’t.’
‘I’ve heard that.’
‘He was putting a lot of pressure on Helga. He was putting a lot of pressure on me. He was getting impatient.’
‘Do you think that was why he killed Helga?’
‘I don’t know. But maybe. It’s awful. If only he had waited.’
‘Waited? Why?’
‘Well, there’s still a good chance that the Icelandic government will approve an exchange for Thomocoin.’
‘Do you really believe that?’
‘Yes,’ said Fjóla. ‘Thomocoin is in talks with the government now.’
‘That would be Skarphédinn Gíslason? Otherwise known as Sharp?’
‘That’s right. He’s in Iceland now.’
‘Have you seen him?’
‘I met with him yesterday. He had just flown back from Helga’s funeral in Dalvík. They were old friends.’
‘Tell me about Sharp.’
‘He lives in London now. He used to work for one of the banks before the crash, in their London branch. He wasn’t involved in any of the bad stuff. He’s an entrepreneur in London who gets cryptocurrencies. He’s an impressive guy. Inspirational.’
‘Do you have his address in London?’
Fjóla hesitated and then decided being helpful to the police was in her best interests. ‘Sure,’ she said. She read out a London address from her phone.
‘And he’s the chief executive?’
‘That’s right. There’s a French guy called Jérôme Carmin who is important too. Head of global marketing. He lives in Paris. I’ve got his address too.’ She read it out.
‘What about Krakatoa? Who is he?’
Fjóla smiled. ‘Ah. Krakatoa. He’s the brains behind the operation, supposedly. He lives in Canada, supposedly. British Columbia.’
‘Have you met him?’
‘No. Nobody has met him. He’s a genius holed up in some secret lair in the mountains or something.’
‘You sound sceptical?’
‘I am. You can imagine that something like Thomocoin takes place online. It’s the ultimate virtual company. And this guy Krakatoa runs it. Everyone is in awe of Krakatoa.’
‘Except you?’
‘I don’t think Krakatoa is in Canada at all.’
‘You don’t?’
‘I think Krakatoa is an Icelander.’
‘Really? Why do you think that?’
‘I don’t know. It started off as just a feeling. His English is excellent, but I thought occasionally he sounded like an Icelander writing in English. And there’s the name Krakatoa.’
‘That’s in Indonesia.’
‘Yes. But it’s a volcano. Volcanoes are really Icelandic. I bet he really wanted to call himself “Hekla” but couldn’t, so he chose a foreign one instead. And Krakatoa sounds better than Vesuvius.’
‘It’s a bit thin,’ said Magnus.
‘Plus, he puts an accent on the “i” in Reykjavík. No foreigner would do that unless maybe they had lived in Iceland.’
‘Hm,’ said Magnus. ‘It’s not exactly conclusive proof, but I see what you mean. So in that case, who do you think Krakatoa is?’
‘Sharp. It’s got to be Sharp.’
‘Have you asked him?’
‘No. I was nervous to. And if you see him, please don’t tell him I told you he’s Krakatoa. It’s just a guess.’
‘Why are you scared of Sharp, Fjóla?’
‘I’m not scared of Sharp, or at least the Sharp I know. But I am scared of Krakatoa. So if Sharp turns out to be Krakatoa...’
‘I see. And why is Krakatoa so scary?’
‘I don’t know. He’s decisive. Ruthless almost. You don’t mess with him. He’s at home on the dark web. All those drugs sites.’
‘And Sharp isn’t?’
‘I think they are like Jekyll and Hyde. Sharp is the inspirational entrepreneur when he’s in the real world. And Krakatoa is the enforcer on the dark web.’ Fjóla raised her hands. ‘Don’t get me wrong. I don’t think either Sharp or Krakatoa has broken the law. They’re too smart for that. I just wouldn’t mess with Krakatoa, that’s all. And if he is Sharp, I am sure he had nothing to do with Helga’s murder. There is no reason he would ever have even met Gunnar.’
‘I’d like to speak to Sharp. Where is he staying in Reykjavík?’
‘Just around the corner,’ said Fjóla. ‘At 101 hotel.’
Twenty-Six
Magnus was due to meet Ási and Ingileif at five-thirty, but he had an hour before then, which should be long enough to interview Sharp. He called Agent Malley in New York first. Malley was insistent that Magnus avoid tipping off Sharp that the FBI were on to him. He expected a red notice to be issued in the next couple of days. But it would be useful if Magnus could discover Sharp’s travel plans so they knew where to arrest him.
Reception at 101 hotel said Sharp was out, so Magnus decided to try again later on, after he’d seen Ási.
Magnus agreed with Dísa that Thomocoin bore some moral responsibility for her mother’s death, but it was looking increasingly unlikely that it bore any legal responsibility, especially given the Icelandic government’s approach to regulating it.
But he remembered his insistence on asking difficult questions of the authorities after his own father was murdered. He would give Dísa what answers he could. He would talk to Sharp.
And maybe he could help the FBI nab him. If Sharp ended up spending ten years in an American jail, that should give Dísa some comfort.
Ingileif had suggested that they meet at a playground in Vesturbaer, a neighbourhood just above the old harbour where sea captains used to live in grand houses — grand by Icelandic standards.
Ási had changed, obviously: he was now nearly twice as old as he had been the last time Magnus had seen him, although he was recognizably the same boy. Thinner, taller, hair just as red, freckles spattering his nose. He gave Magnus a shy smile and then ran off to clamber over a high and complicated climbing frame.
Ingileif smiled. ‘Perhaps this wasn’t such a good place to meet. You don’t get to talk to him, you just get to watch him.’
‘He looks pretty fearless.’
‘He’s just trying to show off in front of you.’
‘That’s nice.’
‘What, that your son is a show-off?’
‘That he wants to show off in front of me.’
Ingileif looked as if she was about to say something — point out Magnus’s neediness perhaps — but she thought better of it.
‘Maybe we can take him for pizza later?’ she said.
‘That would be good. Thanks for this,’ said Magnus. ‘It’s good just to see him.’
Ingileif didn’t say anything, but watched her son. Their son.
They went for pizza at a place around the corner, Ási chatting happily, and then Ingileif invited Magnus back to her apartment for a cup of coffee.
It was the top floor of one of those old, white, metal-clad sea captain’s houses, with glimpses of the harbour and the bay between the roofs. The apartment was decorated in what Magnus recognized as Ingileif’s minimalist taste. Warm wooden floorboards, plenty of glass, dramatic vases, lots of curves. He recognized also a couple of paintings by one of the women who co-owned the gallery in Skólavördustígur with Ingileif: landscapes of waterfalls and lava fields in blocks of blue, white, green and gold. Magnus had always rather liked them. And candles — lots of candles.