He left Magnus alone in the room. Magnus did as he was told, making a couple of trips to the car to carry up his meagre possessions.
The room was cosy and decorated in an old-fashioned Icelandic style. The walls were splattered with small paintings of Mount Hekla and fishing boats, framed embroidered aphorisms and black-and-white photographs of men in suits and women in traditional Icelandic dress. The furniture was old and dark and a forest of little wooden and ceramic ornaments covered every surface. Amongst them, two jaunty Icelandic flags waved at him. A bookcase held a few rows of ancient hardbacks and some yellowing paperbacks. At least there was a decent-sized bed. Magnus recalled that Tryggvi Thór had recently inherited the house from his mother. Clearly he had not touched this room since then.
It was a far cry from the black, white and glass minimalist style beloved of modern Icelanders, including Ingileif. But Magnus rather liked it. It felt like a warm, safe Icelandic nest.
He spent a few minutes unpacking his stuff and putting it away. His encounter with Ingileif had shaken him. It wasn’t just the surprise of seeing her; he had known that was inevitable at some point. She seemed to have lost her warmth and exuberance. Perhaps it was marriage and motherhood or maybe she was just having a bad day. But her face looked worn by more than just one bad day.
He wondered what she thought of him: he too had aged, of course.
He needed to think through the Carlotta case. But first he really ought to go downstairs and spend a couple of minutes being sociable to his host. Although he knew it was the kind of thing Icelanders did, he was still grateful to Tryggvi Thór for getting him out of a hole.
Tryggvi Thór was outside, sitting in one of two wooden Adirondack chairs, staring out over the sea. The sun had escaped the clouds and was simmering the sea in ruffles of yellow and grey. It was cool in the light breeze and thin sunshine, but that didn’t seem to bother Tryggvi Thór.
‘May I join you?’ Magnus asked.
‘If you like.’
Magnus slumped into the other chair, and let his eyes rest on the sea, and the bleak blackness of the rugged Reykjanes peninsula stretching out towards the Atlantic. The cone of Mount Keilir thrust up from the lavascape, a segment of geometric order in a jagged wilderness.
Tryggvi Thór said nothing. Magnus let the sun stroke his face and the sound of the seabirds and the occasional car lull him.
‘Coffee?’ Tryggvi Thór said eventually.
‘Yes, thank you,’ said Magnus.
‘Or a beer?’
‘You bet. I’d kill a beer.’
Tryggvi Thór disappeared inside and returned a minute later with two bottles of Gull.
‘Cheers.’
Magnus took a sip. It had been a long day: the beer tasted very good.
‘Are you working on the Italian tourist case?’ Tryggvi Thór asked.
‘Yeah. I’m the senior investigating officer.’
‘How’s it going?’
‘We are making some progress. But not enough. In fact, I’d say we are almost stuck.’
They sat staring at the sea for a couple more minutes. Magnus was beginning to feel more relaxed than he had for a long time.
‘Do you want to tell me about it?’ said Tryggvi Thór.
Actually Magnus did. But: ‘I can’t. You know — it’s confidential.’
‘Of course.’
‘Were you a detective? When you were in the police.’
‘Yes,’ said Tryggvi Thór.
Magnus’s brain was beginning to clear. Talking about a case with a civilian was unprofessional. And in Iceland where everyone was connected to everyone else it was a particularly bad idea. Yet.
‘There are three ways we can go,’ he said. ‘Either we can treat this as the killing of a lone female tourist by a stranger. That happens in other countries, but frankly not very often here. Or she was murdered by someone she knew in Iceland. It turns out she was having an affair with an Icelandic archaeologist who supervised the dig she was working on in Greenland. The man was a womanizer and his wife was unhappy about the affair and got him to finish it.’
‘Those both sound plausible. What’s the third?’
‘Carlotta and this archaeologist — his name is Einar — were caught up in a couple of discoveries related to Gudrid the Wanderer and the Vikings’ exploration of America.’
‘OK.’
‘Now, from what I understand, when they make these finds public, there is likely to be a big fuss. One of them suggests Columbus knew about America and how to get there all along, and that will be a big deal. I don’t have evidence that there is anything fishy about these finds, but I can’t help wondering if there might be. I’ve always had an interest in the sagas and Norse history and I know my colleague will say I’m just getting distracted. But it’s worth bearing in mind.’
‘And who is your colleague?’
‘Vigdís Audardóttir. Do you know her?’
‘The black girl?’
‘Yeah.’
‘She was after my time. But I have heard of her. Who would have thought of a black detective in Iceland? And a female one too. Is she any good?’
‘She is very good.’ Magnus knew he sounded defensive, but he was used to working with plenty of black detectives in Boston, while — for all their ostensible liberalism when compared to American society — many Icelanders were still not comfortable dealing with black people.
‘Good,’ said Tryggvi Thór. ‘I sometimes wonder how my daughter would find life if she was working here in Iceland.’
‘I thought she was working in the Foreign Ministry?’
‘Not Sóley. Greta, Charity’s daughter. She’s at medical school in Kampala. She also is black.’
‘Does she speak Icelandic?’
‘Not really. I hope she will learn some day. She’s been here a couple of times during vacation from medical school. It’s great for me to see her, but she doesn’t like the cold. I miss her.’ He paused. ‘And I miss her mother.’
Magnus didn’t say anything.
‘So what about the affair between the Italian tourist and the archaeologist?’ Tryggvi Thór asked.
Magnus told him. All about Einar and Carlotta, and about Rósa and Eygló, and about the wampum and the Columbus letter. Tryggvi Thór listened mostly in silence, although he did ask one or two questions. As Magnus spoke, the case arranged itself in his mind.
‘What is the motive?’
‘That’s the question; that’s what I need to find out. The most obvious motive is something to do with Einar and Carlotta’s affair. Maybe Einar and Carlotta had a fight about it. Maybe she threatened to leave him, or she didn’t accept that he was leaving her. Or maybe Rósa was jealous and wanted to get rid of her husband’s lover. The trouble is, both Einar and Rósa have alibis.’
‘So you think there might be some motive related to the TV documentary? What?’
‘I don’t know. But there is something odd going on with these discoveries and the documentary. It just doesn’t feel right. Too many secrets. Too much serendipity.’
‘Coincidences happen in real life,’ Tryggvi Thór said.
‘That’s true. But it’s odd that these two finds should suddenly point to Nantucket. The wampum they found in Greenland is credible. And I suppose the Columbus letter just might be. But both of them together?’
‘Doesn’t the fact that the two finds point to the same thing make them more likely to be authentic? They can’t both be fakes, can they?’
‘I suppose not...’ said Magnus.
The sun was sliding downwards and to the right. A touch of pink glimmered at the base of a small cloud, but it would still be hours until the sun actually disappeared below the horizon. Sunset in Iceland was a drawn-out affair.