He was getting ahead of himself. If the evidence against Villi for Hallgrímur’s murder didn’t stack up, then he would keep his status as prime suspect. He wasn’t out of jail yet.
He heard the sound of heavy footsteps, some wheezing and a key jangling, and the cell door opened. It was Emil himself. They must be short of constables.
‘Magnús. We need to talk. Come on.’
Magnus followed Emil’s wide buttocks on their slow journey up the stairs to the interview room. The detective was puffing heavily and his face was red. He slumped into a chair in the interview room, and Magnus sat opposite him. Magnus noticed that Emil didn’t turn on the recording equipment. That was a serious lapse of procedure, but Magnus assumed Emil knew what he was doing.
‘Things are moving fast,’ said Emil. ‘But I have no idea in which direction.’
‘What’s happened?’
‘Villi has killed himself. Blown out his brains at Swine Lake. Baldur and Vigdís are there now.’
‘Wow,’ said Magnus. ‘Well, that’s an admission of guilt. Did he leave a note?’
‘Not one we have found. We haven’t checked Bjarnarhöfn yet.’
‘So we don’t know whether Villi killed Hallgrímur as well as Benedikt and my father?’
‘Actually, we do,’ said Emil. He was still breathing heavily from the effects of the stairs. ‘He didn’t.’
‘He didn’t?’
‘We have two transactions from his credit card in Reykjavík timed at 8.35 and 11.16. And the camera at Hvalfjördur recorded him leaving the tunnel heading northwards at 12.32, at least an hour after you found your grandfather’s body.’
‘Oh,’ said Magnus. ‘So if it wasn’t Villi and it wasn’t Ollie, who the hell did kill Hallgrímur?’
‘You are the obvious candidate,’ said Emil. ‘And you are still under arrest for that murder. But just for fun, if we assume that it wasn’t you, who else could have killed him?’
‘Just for fun? Is that why the recording equipment is off?’
‘Maybe,’ said Emil. ‘I think I can use all the help I can get.’
Magnus stared hard at Emil. He could tell the fat detective’s instinct was that Magnus was innocent, but he also knew he couldn’t admit to it.
Magnus thought.
Emil waited.
‘Have you been to the scene of Villi’s suicide?’ Magnus said eventually.
‘No,’ said Emil.
‘Don’t you think you should go?’ said Magnus. ‘And take me with you?’
Keflavík Airport was as chaotic as it had been just over twenty-four hours earlier when Ingileif had left it. Once again at Logan she had blagged her way on to an overbooked departing flight, taking a seat that had become available at the last minute. She had at least slept for a few hours on the aeroplane.
She was very pleased with what she had done for Magnus. She was confident that Vigdís would have got the message through to him at Litla-Hraun. She just hoped it would make a difference.
Perhaps they had let him out already? It was a bit much to hope for, especially given what she had told the police about his admission that he had killed his grandfather. But things seemed to be going her way. She still didn’t know what he was up to with that confession. She was sure it wasn’t true; she just had to trust that he knew what he was doing. She was desperate to see him, wherever he was.
She called Vigdís’s number.
‘Hi, I can’t talk much now. What is it?’ said Vigdís.
‘Is Magnús still in jail?’
There was a pause on the other end of the phone. Then Vigdís said one word: ‘Stykkishólmur.’
Ingileif realized immediately that Vigdís couldn’t let whoever she was with overhear that she was talking about her colleague. ‘You mean Magnús is in Stykkishólmur now?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is he free?’
‘No. Not yet. Where are you?’
‘I’m back in Iceland.’
‘That was quick. I’ve got to go.’
‘OK, Vigdís. Thanks.’
Ingileif rang off and made her way to the car park. Her friend María wouldn’t mind if Ingileif borrowed her car for another day, she was sure. Because she was going to take it up to Stykkishólmur.
Vigdís hurriedly put her phone away and avoided the quizzical glance of her boss standing next to her.
They were at Swine Lake, and Vigdís had just finished erecting the tape around the primary crime scene. The body had been dragged in from the lake and laid on a plastic sheet, but a reddish brown stain was still visible in the water where blood had spread out from the mess of soggy tissue that was once Vilhjálmur Hallgrímsson’s head. The doctor, not Ingvar this time but his less experienced colleague from the hospital, Íris, had pronounced him dead. It didn’t take any specialist training in forensic medicine to do that. Edda and her team were hard at work checking the area immediately around Villi’s hired Peugeot. They were working against time; rain was on its way, and it would be impossible to protect the whole area. One of them was erecting a tent to prevent rain falling on the already soaked body.
‘Who was that?’ Baldur asked.
‘Árni,’ said Vigdís, keeping her gaze away from Baldur and on to the tight black clouds to the west. ‘It was nothing.’
Her mobile rang again. She checked the display: Árni. She glanced at Baldur.
‘Hello again,’ she said.
‘Again?’ said Árni, perplexed.
‘What have you got now?’
‘I spoke to Aníta,’ Árni said, and proceeded to tell Vigdís about the farmer’s wife’s confused statement, and the postcard that was under Sylvía’s bed.
Baldur was watching her closely, and when she had finished, Vigdís relayed what Árni had told her.
‘Why didn’t he tell you all that the first time he called?’ Baldur asked.
‘I was wondering that myself,’ said Vigdís. ‘Sometimes I don’t understand Árni.’
‘Sometimes?’ snorted Baldur, and went over to talk to the doctor.
Magnus recognized the spot from his childhood. A strip of volcanic sand about fifty metres wide lay between the high wall of lava and the lake. A group of police vehicles were parked on the track from the road above the lake. Farther on, just before the track met the volcanic sand, stood a small white vehicle and, a short distance from that, a forensic tent. People were milling around, most of them in forensic overalls.
The sky and the lake were a dark grey. It was about to rain.
Emil parked his car next to the others and led Magnus along the marked corridor towards the crime scene. Magnus was glad to see that despite the presumption of suicide, they were following the proper procedures for a murder.
‘Hey, Magnús!’ Vigdís grinned as she approached him. ‘Great to see you. Have they released you?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ said Magnus, returning her grin. It was good to see an unequivocally friendly face.
‘I thought Magnús might be able to give us some help,’ said Emil.
‘Good idea,’ said Vigdís. ‘Do you want to see the body, Magnús?’
‘Hold on, Vigdís,’ said Magnus. They were standing at the perimeter of the primary crime scene, about twenty metres from the edge of the lake. ‘Is Baldur around?’
‘He’s up there, with a hiker who saw Villi’s car earlier.’ Vigdís pointed up towards the frozen lava wall at the top of which stood two figures.
‘He won’t be happy with me poking around,’ Magnus said. ‘I don’t want to get you into any more trouble than you are in already. Just describe the scene to me.’
‘OK,’ said Vigdís. ‘The body was floating about twenty metres from the shore when we got here. You can see the rifle there; no one has touched it yet.’
About two metres from the lake edge, a bolt-action hunting rifle lay pointing away from the water towards Villi’s car.
‘Kolbeinn’s?’
‘Same model. Ballistics will confirm it. But for now we c
an assume it was Kolbeinn’s.’
‘Any casings?’
‘One, at about the point you would expect it to be had the rifle been pointing towards the lake. No bullet found as yet, but that’s hardly surprising. It will be out there somewhere.’ Vigdís waved vaguely over the water.
‘So the idea is Villi pointed the gun at himself, pressed the trigger and the gun recoiled away from him?’
‘And he fell backwards into the lake.’
‘Where was the wound?’
‘It just about blew his head off.’
‘Any gunshot residue on his hands?’
‘None that we have seen yet. But it could have been washed off in the water. Edda thinks once she gets a close look at his hands, she should find some traces.’
‘And the body is in the tent?’
Vigdís nodded.
‘Hi, Magnús. I’m glad they have finally let you go.’ Magnus turned to see the tall figure of Edda approaching him in forensic overalls, smiling, her short blonde hair hidden beneath a hairnet.
‘He’s still under arrest,’ said Emil. ‘But I thought he might be able to help us.’
Edda’s smile slipped from her lips. ‘All right,’ she said, carefully. Magnus couldn’t blame her caution.
‘Vigdís told me how they found the scene,’ he said. ‘Anything to suggest it wasn’t suicide?’
‘No,’ said Edda, but Magnus detected a touch of hesitation in her voice. ‘Can’t see any gunshot residue on the hands, but maybe I just need a closer look. Also, you would expect less with a rifle than a handgun.’
‘What about blood spatter?’
‘There is none,’ Edda said. ‘I suppose it must all have been blasted backwards into the water.’
‘Hmm. You would have thought something would have gone sideways on to the sand.’
‘Yes. You would,’ said Edda. ‘We’ve looked and haven’t found anything yet. Maybe it didn’t.’
‘Any sign of anyone else at the scene?’
‘No. There are signs of just one person moving around here. They all look like the victim’s footprints.’
‘Do you have a photograph of the victim?’
‘Yes,’ Edda said. ‘I took my own. Here.’
She pulled out a digital camera, flicked through the images on the display at the back, and then handed it to Magnus. There were several of the body floating in the water, and then of what remained of Villi’s head. A mess of bloody pulp. He was unrecognizable.
Magnus winced. He had seen suicides before. Shots in the head from close range were never pretty.
Then he looked again. The bottom right-hand jaw was still intact. ‘Was the entry wound to the left, do you think?’
‘Yes. The left cheek, or possibly temple.’
Magnus was silent. Vigdís, Emil and Edda all watched him.
‘Villi was right-handed,’ Magnus said eventually.
‘How do you know that?’ asked Emil.
‘His daughter told me.’
Edda frowned. ‘But this is a rifle, not a handgun.’
‘Still applies,’ said Magnus.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Quite sure. I had one of these three years ago in Boston. You can look it up in the literature.’
‘What are you talking about?’ asked Vigdís.
‘It is very rare for a right-handed suicide to shoot himself in the left temple,’ said Edda, who had been trained in forensics at the FBI Academy at Quantico. ‘At least with a handgun. Think about it. But Magnus claims it is also rare with a long-barrelled weapon.’
‘That’s right,’ Magnus said.
They turned at the sound of a vehicle speeding across the sand towards them. Baldur jumped out.
‘What the hell is he doing here?’
‘I thought it would be useful to bring Magnús to the crime scene,’ Emil said. ‘And I think it has been.’
‘Why?’ Baldur said.
‘Magnús has doubts that this was a suicide.’
‘Of course he does,’ Baldur sneered. ‘And does he say why?’
‘Villi was right-handed and shot himself in the left temple.’
‘So what?’ said Baldur. ‘If the victim was shot by someone else, how come we can’t see any signs of anyone else at the scene? Answer me that?’
Baldur stared at Magnus. It was a good question. Magnus shrugged.
‘Take him away, Emil. We don’t have any time to waste. It’s going to rain in a moment and then all the evidence will be washed away.’
‘OK. Sorry to get in your way, Baldur,’ said Magnus in as conciliatory tone as he could muster.
Edda looked at him thoughtfully. Magnus knew he had sown doubts.
‘Baldur is an arsehole,’ said Emil as they walked back towards Emil’s car. ‘Always was. So you think it might not be suicide?’
‘The blood spatter, or lack of it, worries me, and so does the entry wound. But Baldur has a point. How could someone get to this soft sand and murder Villi without leaving a trace?’
‘Could they have brushed away their tracks?’ Emil said.
‘Difficult to do. Especially difficult to do without Edda noticing,’ said Magnus. ‘She’s good.’
He stared at the lake. Behind it rose the steep sides of the mountains that ran along the spine of the Snaefells Peninsula. Stone, moss, streams and, higher up, snow. Hallgrímur had taken him and Ollie fishing here a few times when they were boys. Ollie had hated it, and in truth Magnus didn’t enjoy it much. They had caught a few trout, though.
But they hadn’t driven down this track. They had parked around the corner somewhere, out of sight of where they now were.
‘Come on,’ said Magnus. He led Emil at a brisk pace down to the side of the lake at a point further to the west of the crime scene. Rain began to fall, just a few drops. Emil panted to keep up with Magnus.
‘See how shallow it is here?’ Magnus said. And indeed the sand slid gently down under the water. ‘It would be very easy to wade a few feet out in the lake, pulling a body behind you.’
‘I see what you mean,’ said Emil. ‘But from where?’
‘Here, I’ll show you,’ Magnus said. Further along the shore the frozen lava jutted out into the lake like the tower of a medieval walled city. There was only a narrow strip of sand a couple of metres wide at that point. Magnus led Hallgrímur round the rock and there, out of sight of Villi’s Peugeot and the rest of the crime scene, was a small beach at the end of a very rough track.
‘Careful,’ said Magnus. ‘Follow my footsteps.’ There were two sets of fresh tyre tracks. And where the tracks halted, footprints. A mess of footprints, leading down to the lake edge. Magnus moved carefully towards the point where the footprints stopped, examining the sand. He noticed a small brown stain. And another. And a shred of something pink that was probably brain tissue.
The rain was coming down harder now. In a couple of minutes most of the evidence would be gone.
Magnus turned and ran back around the lava battlement. ‘Edda! Get your camera!’ he shouted. ‘Quick!’
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
MAGNUS AND EMIL stood back and watched Baldur direct operations. To be fair to the inspector, he was quick to appreciate what Magnus’s discovery meant. Someone else had driven down to the lake, met Villi there, shot him with the rifle from close range, and dragged his body around the lava promontory to stage a suicide, returning the same way. He had then driven Villi’s car round to where he had dumped the body and left the vehicle on hard rock, where no footprints would show. It had almost worked.
In the meantime there was evidence to be preserved from the rain. The bloodstains, the footprints and, in particular, the two sets of tyre marks: Villi’s and those from the murderer’s vehicle.
Vigdís paused by Magnus and Emil. ‘Well done,’ she said. ‘Did you know it wasn’t suicide before you got here?’
‘I didn’t know,’ Magnus said. ‘Villi could have chosen suicide as the easy way out. On the other hand, this kind
of thing can be staged.’
‘By whom?’ Vigdís asked. ‘And why?’
‘To tidy things up,’ Emil said. ‘If we had bought the suicide, Villi might have been blamed for everything. Hallgrímur, Ragnar, Benedikt. The real killer would have got away with it.’
‘If that’s right, it suggests that Villi didn’t murder those people,’ Magnus said. ‘Or at least not all of them.’
‘And it’s likely that whoever shot him also shot Aníta,’ Vigdís added. ‘By the way, it can’t be Kolbeinn. I got a call from Árni in Reykjavík who says Kolbeinn is at the National Hospital with his wife. And Aníta said something interesting. Something about a postcard she had discovered under Sylvía’s bed at the farm. From Villi. She thinks it might be important.’
‘Important enough to be shot for?’ Emil asked.
‘You could go and see,’ said Vigdís.
Magnus glanced at Emil. ‘I don’t think anyone would miss us here,’ he said.
It took them ten minutes to get to the farm. Tóta let them in, surprised to see her cousin Magnus.
‘Have you heard anything about Mum?’ she asked.
‘She’s conscious,’ Magnus said. ‘She spoke to a policeman earlier this morning.’
‘That’s good,’ said Tóta, but the worry didn’t leave her face.
Neither Emil nor Magnus told Tóta about her uncle Villi. There would be time enough for that.
‘Can you show us Amma’s room?’ Magnus asked.
‘She was sharing with me in my room, but she’s not here any more. She’s gone to stay with Uncle Ingvar.’
‘Can we take a look?’
Tóta showed them her room. Magnus checked under the bed. ‘Did she leave a box here?’ he asked.
‘No. I know the one you mean, though. She took it with her.’
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