‘So he’s unlikely to be a jihadi hitman, then?’
‘I suppose not,’ said Ajay. ‘But there is no reason why there shouldn’t be a Hindu hitman, is there?’
Magnus decided to put Árni out of his misery, something he should have done earlier. ‘Call the guy back and tell him we are withdrawing the inquiry. There is no point in wasting his time. It’s just about possible that Carlotta was murdered by a paid killer, but Ajay does not fit that profile and frankly neither does the method. Professional killers don’t rely on finding pickaxes lying about.’
‘Yes. Sorry.’ Árni sounded chastened.
‘Good work on the hotel Wi-Fi, though, Árni.’
Magnus had reached his desk as he hung up. ‘Did you get that?’ he said to Vigdís who had been listening to his half of the conversation.
‘I think so. Eygló was logged on to the hotel’s Wi-Fi when Carlotta was killed.’
‘Looks like it.’
Vigdís made no attempt to hide her disappointment.
There was a note prominently displayed on Magnus’s desk telling him to report to Thelma as soon as he arrived. He grabbed a cup of coffee and headed for her office. She was deep in conversation with Snorri, the National Police Commissioner. The conversation stopped abruptly as Magnus appeared.
‘I’ll come back,’ Magnus said.
The Commissioner got up from his chair and gave Magnus a friendly grin. ‘No, no, I was just leaving. Go ahead, Magnús.’
Magnus couldn’t help wondering what they had been discussing. He hoped it had nothing to do with him.
‘Any progress?’ Thelma asked when the senior officer had left the room.
‘Some,’ said Magnus. ‘We’ve established that Einar Thorsteinsson and Carlotta Mondini carried on a relationship several years ago. And she was unofficially helping him research the television documentary they were filming at Glaumbaer.’
‘Is there a connection between the documentary and her death?’
‘Not sure yet. There are still some leads to chase up.’
‘Is Einar a suspect?’
‘He has a strong alibi for when Carlotta was killed. But he keeps on hiding things from us. I’m not convinced that he is telling us the whole truth.’
‘What about Eygló, the presenter?’
‘She has been lying to us too, probably covering for him. But she also has an alibi for the time of death: she was logged on to the hotel Wi-Fi.’
Thelma nodded. ‘Because I have had Ingólfur Sveinsson on the phone.’ Ingólfur was the Minister of Justice, Magnus knew. ‘Margrét, the Minister of Culture, has told him how important this documentary will be for Iceland; they expect it to be shown all over the world. She says it is vital that Einar and Eygló go to Greenland to film it before the weather turns bad.’
Magnus was impressed at how quickly someone had been working. He thought it unlikely it was Einar — he had seemed too distracted. Probably Suzy Henshaw or Eygló or both of them together. That might have explained the Commissioner’s presence in Thelma’s office.
‘But surely if they are suspects in a murder investigation, that must take precedence?’
‘That’s what I told the minister, and that’s what he says he told Margrét Sveinsdóttir. And if you need to keep them in the country, I’ll make sure you can — I’ll get the Commissioner involved if necessary.’
‘But?’
‘If it turns out that neither of them is a real suspect, it will be harder to defend the decision not to let him go.’
‘I see. Sveinsson? Sveinsdóttir?’
Thelma smiled. ‘Yes, the Minister of Justice is the Minister of Culture’s younger brother.’
‘That figures.’ And Magnus had thought Boston’s city politics was incestuous.
‘Have you ever been to Greenland, Magnús?’
‘No.’
‘Well, the only direct flights from there are to Reykjavík and Copenhagen, so it will be difficult for Einar to skip town. Maybe you can work something out informally with the Greenlandic and Danish police to keep an eye out for him. We have good contacts.’
‘Maybe.’
‘So?’
Magnus thought a moment. Einar was always the more likely suspect than Eygló, and he was pretty sure now that Einar hadn’t killed Carlotta. Although he wouldn’t be surprised if Einar still hadn’t told them everything, the man wasn’t about to say anything more now. The police would have to search elsewhere for answers.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘We’ll let them go to Greenland.’
But as he left Thelma’s office, he was not looking forward to telling Vigdís.
Twenty-Two
‘What exactly is that?’ said Professor Beccari, eyeing Eygló’s dessert.
‘Skyr. It’s made from milk — it looks and tastes a bit like yoghurt. Try it. It’s good, especially with berries.’
Eygló picked up a spare spoon from the place setting next to her, and offered it to the Italian.
He recoiled. ‘I’ve been warned about your Icelandic delicacies. Rotten shark. Rams’ testicles.’
‘Don’t worry. The testicles taste much better when they are mushed up like this and added to the skyr.’
‘There are rams’ testicles in that?’
Eygló nodded. ‘Only a teaspoon or so. Try it. Be brave.’
The challenge to the professor’s courage was too much for him to resist, so he took the spoon and tasted the skyr.
‘That’s actually not too bad. A bit bitter.’
‘You can add sugar and cream if you want.’
‘It doesn’t really have rams’ testicles in it?’ said Beccari.
Eygló grinned. ‘No. Or at least I don’t think so.’
‘Einar seems distracted,’ said Beccari, nodding at an empty plate. Einar and the others had just left the table, leaving Eygló and Beccari, and Ajay by himself a few places away.
They were having an early lunch in the hotel before filming at Ingjaldshóll, a few kilometres away, in the afternoon. The atmosphere had been tense. The crew knew that the police’s questioning was focused on Einar, but with the exception of Suzy, who had been encouraging, they had avoided asking him about it.
He had looked miserable. As well he should, thought Eygló. She was still confident that he had nothing to do with Carlotta’s death, but she thought he had no one to blame but himself for being implicated. And why had he thought it a good idea to bother her the night before? He had been genuinely distraught and her soft heart had gone out to him. He had insisted he just wanted comfort from her; she had insisted he sleep with his underpants on. But he should never have knocked on her door and she should never have let him in.
But she would have to wait for a good opportunity to talk to him in private. At least the others did not yet realize that she herself was now a suspect.
Damn Einar! It was all his fault.
‘Is he a suspect for the murder, do you think?’ Beccari asked.
‘He shouldn’t be, unless the police are complete morons,’ said Eygló. ‘He was with me and Suzy for most of the evening, and I saw him later on in the street.’
‘So Carlotta was killed by a stranger?’ Beccari asked.
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Eygló. ‘I presume so. We don’t get many murders here in Iceland, especially not of tourists.’ She finished her skyr. ‘Don’t worry. The police will find whoever it is. They’ll have to — no one wants our tourists murdered: they are far too important to our economy.’ She was trying hard to sound confident and she thought she was succeeding.
‘Can I get you a coffee?’
‘That would be nice,’ said Eygló.
The professor signalled to the waitress. He was wearing a pale yellow cashmere sweater and his pink scarf even indoors; Eygló was wearing a T-shirt. As so often in the last couple of years, she marvelled at how she was rubbing shoulders with such an august historian, almost as an equal. She was pleased to see that he was lingering. Certain middle-aged men liked her company. She was willing to take advantage of that, especially since none of the others were around.