The door was answered by a tall thin woman of about sixty: Linda, Emil’s wife. Despite only having met Vigdís once or twice, she recognized her immediately; people usually did. She greeted her warmly and led her through to a living room, where Emil was sitting in an armchair facing the home meadow, reading that morning’s Morgunbladid.
‘Someone to see you, Emil.’
He looked up, his eyes betraying confusion. Vigdís was shocked at what she saw. The last time she had seen him, he had been a large, very large, man in his late fifties, with a thick moustache and several robust chins. The moustache had gone, and so had much of the fat, leaving loose folds of skin around a haggard face. There was still a tiny little paunch above his jeans, but his legs appeared stick thin. Although he would only be in his sixties, he looked ten years older.
Two walking sticks leaned against the armchair.
‘Hi, Emil,’ she said, approaching him with a grin and holding out her hand. ‘Vigdís.’
The confusion left Emil’s eyes and a smile brightened half of his face. One corner of his mouth stubbornly pointed downwards. ‘Ah yes,’ he said. ‘Vigdís! How lovely to see you. Forgive me if I don’t get up. Sit yourself down!’
Emil’s voice was slurred. Vigdís knew he had had a heart attack, but he had clearly suffered a stroke as well. She couldn’t help wondering what effect it had had on his brain. On his memory.
‘Can I get you some coffee?’ Linda asked.
‘Yes, thank you,’ she said, sitting on a chair next to Emil. ‘What a lovely farm you have here!’
Emil snorted. ‘It used to belong to Linda’s parents. Unfortunately we have been unable to keep it up, what with only my pension. We sold the farmland and the yard to some people from Reykjavík, but we managed to keep the house.’
That explained the difference between the well-kept yard and the run-down farmhouse.
‘How are you doing, Vigdís? Are you still in the Violent Crimes Unit? Or has it been reorganized again?’
Vigdís exchanged some departmental gossip with Emil, who said that the only policeman from Reykjavík whom he saw these days was Snorri — the Commissioner and a friend from his younger days. Emil asked about Magnus, and Vigdís told him he was back in Iceland.
‘Are you here on official business?’ Emil asked.
‘Semi-official,’ said Vigdís. ‘Do you remember a cop called Tryggvi Thór? Tryggvi Thór Gröndal?’
‘I certainly do,’ Emil said. ‘We worked together when I was at Hverfisgata. A good man. What about him? He went off to Africa, didn’t he? Is he back in Iceland?’
‘Yes, he is. He was the subject of an assault last week at his house in Álftanes. And then again a few days ago. He was quite badly beaten up.’
‘Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. Have you any idea who did it?’
‘No. He doesn’t want us to pursue it. In fact he claims the second assault was just a fall.’
‘I take it I’m not a suspect?’ he said with a lop-sided grin.
‘No,’ said Vigdís. ‘But we are trying to find out why he left the police force.’
Emil frowned and fiddled with one of the flaps of loose skin hanging around his neck. ‘Have you tried looking in his file?’
‘Yes. There is virtually nothing in it.’
Emil nodded and then closed his eyes. Vigdís waited. Just as she was beginning to fear that Emil had fallen asleep, his eyelids twitched open.
‘Hence your description of your business as “semi-official”?’
‘That’s right.’ Vigdís waited. ‘You said Tryggvi Thór was a “good man”. That’s a strange way to describe a corrupt cop.’
‘I never could believe Tryggvi Thór was a corrupt cop.’
‘So what happened?’
Linda came in with coffee and some little cakes. She sensed the tension in the room. ‘Are you all right, dear?’ she said.
‘Oh yes, yes,’ said Emil.
‘Don’t tire him out,’ Linda said to Vigdís, before retreating to the kitchen.
‘It was a long time ago,’ Emil said. ‘Tryggvi Thór was investigating a suspected case of fraud at an insurance company. He was just in the early stages. He said he had an inside source and he went to meet the guy by the Pearl.’ This was a prominent hot-water tower that overlooked the city from a wooded hill. ‘The guy gave him the information in a thick envelope bound with a couple of metres of strong packing tape. Tryggvi Thór tried to open it, but couldn’t. As he was struggling with it, he was arrested by two policemen.’
‘Arrested? Why?’
‘They had a tip-off it was a bribe. And sure enough, inside was half a million krónur in cash.’
‘That sounds like a set-up to me,’ said Vigdís.
‘It certainly does,’ said Emil. ‘That’s what Tryggvi Thór said and that’s what I think. But of course it depends how you tell the story.’
‘It should have been easy to check. Talk to the whistle-blower. Look for evidence of fraud at the company. Didn’t anyone do that?’
‘Yes. Or they say they did. They say they found some evidence of minor fraud. The perpetrator admitted to it and also claimed he had bribed Tryggvi Thór to keep quiet. He was the guy Tryggvi Thór claimed was the whistle-blower.’
‘Oh. Did it go to court?’
‘No. It was all hushed up. The insurance company agreed not to press charges. Tryggvi Thór was fired; the fraudster was fired from the insurance company. From what you say, nothing was put in the file.’
‘Why was it hushed up?’
‘That’s a good question,’ said Emil.
Vigdís frowned. ‘What was his name, this fraudster?’
‘I can’t remember. I may never have known. I didn’t work on the case.’ Emil’s voice was flagging, his words were now so slurred they were hard to make out.
‘Can you remember the name of the insurance company?’
Emil closed his eyes. Was he trying to remember, or was he going to sleep? ‘Emil?’
‘It was Hekla Fire and Accident,’ he said.
Vigdís made a note. ‘And who was Tryggvi Thór’s boss at that point? Who fired him?’
‘It was Thorkell. Thorkell Holm. He must have retired by now.’
He had. Three years previously.
‘What was Tryggvi Thór’s reaction?’
‘He was angry. He tried to fight it, but he didn’t get anywhere. In the end it was almost as though he quit in disgust. I saw him afterwards for a drink, and he said he was going to Africa to do some good. He was very angry.’
‘And you?’
‘It didn’t seem right to me. But then I’ve always liked Thorkell — I couldn’t believe he would get rid of Tryggvi Thór unless there was a good reason.’
‘And what do you think that reason was?’
‘That’s another good question,’ Emil said. Then he closed his eyes. Within seconds his face had relaxed and his breathing became lighter, more regular. He was fast asleep.
As Vigdís drove back to Reykjavík she pondered what Emil had told her. It certainly sounded like a set-up. But, as Emil himself had admitted, there were two sides to most stories. Vigdís too had liked Thorkelclass="underline" he had been her ultimate boss, the chief superintendent in charge of CID in the Reykjavík Metropolitan Police. He was also Árni’s uncle.
Back at the station, Vigdís looked up Hekla Fire and Accident, a company she could dimly remember hearing of. It took a few minutes, but she eventually found it. It had been bought by a businessman in 1994, and in 1999 had been merged with another, larger insurance company recently acquired by the same man, and changed its name. Tryggvi Thór’s sacking would have happened in about 1996.
None of that particularly attracted her attention. But the name of the businessman did.