‘I’m here when you need me. Take care.’
‘Thanks.’
Krakatoa knew why Dísa was suddenly driving to Dalvík. He glanced at her pink USB stick jutting out of his computer. Without that, she needed the back-up private key to her bitcoin wallet. And that must be at Blábrekka.
It wasn’t necessarily a problem that Dísa was on her way to Dalvík. To pay him back, she needed that key, and that was the solution Krakatoa wanted. Then no one else had to die.
Whatever choice Dísa made about her bitcoin when she got access to them again, Krakatoa needed to be there too.
Krakatoa quickly packed a bag, which included two of his three computers. He hit the combination of keys that acted as the kill switch on the third, locking the hard drive from outside interference.
He was just about to leave the flat when the door opened and Petra walked in.
‘Oh, hi, Jói. I got off work early.’ She noticed his bag. ‘Where are you off to?’
For a moment Jói looked at his girlfriend in something close to panic. She frowned. ‘What’s up, Jói? Where are you going?’
Then Krakatoa barged past her and down the stairs without a backward glance.
Ómar stared at his computer screen.
Here was proof that his son was a murderer. Proof that his son was perfectly capable of killing his sister.
And his father.
Ómar realized he was scared. Scared of his own son. Jói, the sweet, innocent nerd who would never hurt a fly.
He had to warn Dísa. He typed a text. I spoke too soon. Krakatoa still wants his money back.
Ómar hesitated before pressing ‘Send’. Then he added: Maybe you should give it to him.
He sent that.
No response.
Ómar realized he could warn Dísa that Krakatoa was Jói, that Jói was after her. He could also tell the police.
If he did that, Jói had said that the professional hitman who had killed Helga and Dísa would kill him too.
Did Ómar believe Jói would do that?
Damn right he did.
He was absolutely correct to be scared of his son.
But he couldn’t let Jói get away with it. Somehow he had to regain the initiative with his son.
How?
He didn’t know. He just didn’t know. Jói, he could deal with. But Krakatoa?
Krakatoa had him.
‘Fuck!’ He slammed his fist on his desk so hard the whole apartment seemed to rattle. It made no difference.
Ómar closed his eyes. There was still a solution to this — of a sort. Dísa gives Jói his bitcoin back. Jói disappears. Dísa is still alive.
It was the only way.
Warning Dísa that Jói was after her wouldn’t save her. It wasn’t Jói whom she had to look out for. It was whatever hitman Jói had dragged out of the dark web. A hitman who had killed at least twice before.
Ómar sent another text.
For God’s sake, Dísa! Please do as he asks. I don’t want to lose you!
A reply came.
Don’t worry, Dad. Krakatoa stole that stupid pink wallet you gave me, but it’s password protected. Once I’ve got my paper back-up, I’ll disappear. No one will find me. I’m going to pay the money back to the people who lost it in the first place.
Ómar shook his head. This didn’t look good.
Ómar couldn’t help but admire his daughter’s bravery. Dísa thought she could hide from Jói’s hitman. And maybe she could — for a week or a month or perhaps even a year.
But not forever.
Which was why Ómar didn’t call the police. He believed his son. Or rather, he believed Krakatoa. If he told the police about Jói, he would die, and Dísa probably would too.
But at least he knew where Dísa was going. There was only one place that her paper cold wallet would be hidden.
Blábrekka.
That was probably where Jói’s hitman was going too.
Ómar checked his computer. There was a flight to Akureyri in forty minutes. He could make that if he was quick.
He might just be able to prevent his son from killing his daughter.
Fifty-One
It was only a couple of minutes’ drive from Fjóla’s apartment to police headquarters at the bottom of Hverfisgata.
Magnus had at least been able to get through to Sharp. He wasn’t sure whether he had made the most of the opportunity. If Sharp was indeed Krakatoa, then he had no reason to respond to Magnus’s questions at all. But if he wasn’t — at least Magnus had opened up a line of communication.
As Magnus parked his car and walked towards the back entrance of the station, he recalled his conversation with Ingileif.
He had an important decision to make, once he had a moment to think about it. One that could change his life. And Ingileif’s and Eygló’s. And Ási’s.
There was only one sensible answer, he knew that. Eygló was loyal. Ingileif was dangerous.
And yet. He felt an unexpected tingle of excitement course through his body.
‘What are you smiling about?’ said Vigdís as he sat at his desk. ‘Did Fjóla come up with something?’
‘Not really. I did message Sharp using her messaging app. His nickname is Lindenbrook, you know? The professor from Journey to the Centre of the Earth.’ That classic story by Jules Verne had supposedly taken place at Snaefellsjökull, only a few kilometres from where Magnus had grown up.
‘But not Krakatoa?’
‘He wouldn’t say,’ said Magnus. ‘Fjóla thinks he uses both handles, but she’s not sure. And he didn’t answer any of my questions.’
‘So what were you grinning about?’
Magnus ignored her question. ‘Any sign of Dísa anywhere?’
‘Nothing. The Selfoss guys are on their way to Apavatn.’
‘It’s worth checking the buses to Akureyri. And flights from the City Airport.’
‘I’ve done that.’
‘She may just have gone to stay with a friend somewhere in Reykjavík.’
‘What friend?’
‘She hasn’t been at the university very long: this is her first semester. Maybe a kid from her school in the north who’s now at uni with her?’
‘Before she moved in with Kata, she was staying with her brother Jói,’ said Vigdís. ‘Maybe she’s gone back there?’
‘That’s not exactly hiding, but we should check it out. We need to question her friends in Reykjavík systematically. Find out who was close to her. Ask if anyone has seen her. We can use that list you put together of Kata’s friends — there will probably be an overlap. How are the warrants for tracking her phone and Ómar’s computer coming?’
‘Still waiting.’
Two hours later, there was still no sign of Dísa, or, to Magnus’s frustration, the warrants to locate her phone or to search Ómar’s devices. They were piecing together a network of Dísa’s friends in Reykjavík, but none of them had seen her. A detective had interviewed Jói’s girlfriend at his flat; she said Dísa hadn’t been back since Kata’s murder.
Magnus’s phone beeped.
A text. From a country code he didn’t recognize: +507.
Krakatoa = Jói Ómarsson. I am not a murderer. Jói is. Sharp.
‘Vigdís! Come with me! Now.’
It was ten minutes to Jói’s apartment in a modern block in Gardabaer, next to the sea, or at least that’s how long it took at the speed Magnus was driving.
A woman with dark hair and an un-Icelandic olive complexion answered Jói’s door. Her eyes were red; she had been crying.
‘Where’s Jói?’ Magnus asked in Icelandic, after identifying himself.