Trap

by Lilja Sigurdardóttir

‘Hold on a second,’ he said. ‘I’m losing track of this. Precisely what are you checking up on in connection with the smelter?’

  ‘Whether or not Agla is helping the smelter’s parent company to swindle the Icelandic State by inventing costs that don’t exist.’

  ‘And exactly which investigation does this come under?’ The special prosecutor squared up the papers on his desk and handed them to María.

  She stared back at him in surprise. ‘Well … Nothing that’s formally in progress. Finnur had asked me to look into this to see if it would be substantial enough for an investigation, and that’s what needs to happen now.’

  ‘Finnur?’ the special prosecutor said, taking off his reading glasses. ‘What did Finnur mean by that? He has no authority to commission new investigations.’

  ‘But I thought this had been done with your knowledge, looking into the intercepted phone calls.’ María felt her smile stiffen on her face.

  The special prosecutor lifted an eyebrow and shrugged. ‘I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about, María,’ he said. ‘I just don’t have a clue.’

  100

  María was just leaving the district court when her phone rang in her pocket.

  She was buttoning her coat up against the bitter cold that was usual out of the sunlight in Reykjavík’s early summer, and, without answering the call, she went over to the clock in the middle of the square to warm herself in the sunshine.

  She had walked to the court from the office to give herself time to think and to work off her annoyance after the conversation with the special prosecutor. She couldn’t understand it. She had worked with Finnur since her first day at the special prosecutor’s office and had never been aware that his methods were anything less than completely above board. But just now, when the prosecutor had called Finnur, putting the phone on speaker so they could both talk to him, he had pretended to have no knowledge of the matter; and neither did the special prosecutor. All the same, right at the outset, Finnur had told her that this was with the special prosecutor’s knowledge.

  Or had he? Suddenly María was unnerved to realise that her memory of the conversation with Finnur was not entirely clear. She was sure he had said we. We can’t justify how we received these recordings, and so on. She had assumed that we had meant himself and the special prosecutor. Now, it seemed more than likely that Finnur had never stated clearly that this oddly unconventional investigation was being carried out with their superior’s knowledge.

  Her phone rang again in her pocket.

  ‘Did you just apply for a warrant to intercept Ingimar Magnússon’s phone?’ Finnur’s deep voice demanded as soon as she answered.

  She leaned against the clock tower’s sunny side. There were so many questions she wanted to ask him. ‘Good to hear from you, Finnur,’ she said. ‘There’s a lot that we need to discuss. And, yes, I’ve just left the district court. I decided to act on my own initiative on this case, considering you stabbed me in the back just now by pretending to know nothing about it.’

  ‘Please tell me you’re joking,’ he said, his voice low, almost a whisper.

  ‘I know we generally never get much out of monitoring a landline, but—’

  Finnur interrupted her and she could hear his voice tremble. ‘You don’t apply for a warrant to tap Ingimar’s calls. You just don’t do that. Go and cancel the application, right now, before all hell breaks loose! Shit, shit, shit!’ He put the phone down.

  101

  The summer sunshine greeted them as they went out through the back door with the bicycles. Tómas looked so adorable in his mushroom-shaped cycle helmet that Sonja couldn’t stop smiling. She loved this time of year – the still evenings, the midnight sunshine and the smell of new grass in the air. Her whole body was sore from the beating she had received, but she would be able to manage a short bike ride.

  Agla was at the stove inside, cooking up something or other. She had said that she needed an hour’s peace and quiet to finish cooking. Sonja had explained that she was still full after the lunchtime soup, and Tómas would be happier with boiled pasta and a squirt of tomato sauce than anything more complex. But Agla had been adamant, so they decided to cycle down to the playground.

  Tómas took a few alarming swerves before he mastered the steering well enough to keep his balance, and Sonja wheeled her bike behind him and around the corner of the building. There stood a large, black jeep with darkened windows.

  ‘I’m inviting you for a drive,’ Rikki the Sponge said as he opened the back door, just as if he were a taxi driver.

  ‘Sponge!’ Tómas yelled happily, dropping his bike, running to Rikki and throwing his arms around him.

  Sonja felt a sudden surge of nausea, so strong that she felt she was about to faint. There was something about seeing this man lifting up her son and spinning him around that revolted her. Tómas was already clambering into the back of the jeep.

  ‘I won’t get in a car with you, you bastard,’ she hissed at Rikki, loud enough that she didn’t have to get too close, but not so Tómas overheard. ‘Tómas, come on, we’re going for a bike ride, aren’t we?’ she called to him, and Tómas peered out of the car with his eyes flashing in confusion from Sonja and back to Rikki.

  ‘You’re going to a meeting,’ Rikki said and gestured for her to sit in the back.

  Sonja shook her head.

  ‘Sebastian sends his regards,’ Rikki said and stared at her with determination.

  ‘Sebastian?’ Sonja stood for a second and stared at Rikki in amazement. ‘Sebastian sent you?’

  ‘Sebastian sends his regards,’ Rikki repeated, and glanced over at Tómas. ‘And we’ll grab ourselves an ice cream while your mum’s having a meeting.’

  Tómas whooped in excitement and was already announcing the combination of chocolate and vanilla ice cream he had in mind as Sonja took a seat next to him.

  102

  Húni Thór Gunnarsson, read the engraved script on the gilded plate on the letterbox. Sonja read the lettering twice to be sure she had not misread it, and paused on the steps while she made up her mind whether or not to knock. The shiny nameplate, the patterned flowerpots on the steps and the net curtains in the windows gave the impression that an elderly lady lived in this house, and not the man the gutter press liked to refer to as a political star. She had no idea what Húni Thór might want with her, or how he could be linked to Sebastian. Húni had been at school with Adam, and they had met a few times at parties and reunions, but she had clearly made little impression on him as he hadn’t recognised her when they had met outside Thorgeir’s office one time.

  Sonja’s heart sank. Thorgeir. He had to be the link. She had once asked Thorgeir how he knew Húni Thór, and his answer had been that he managed his election funds. But maybe the connection went deeper than that. Could Húni Thór be the connection between them all?

  Sonja knocked lightly, then saw the doorbell and rang that as well. She heard the echo of a series of sentimental notes inside the house – it was as if they came from far-off church bells. They were still echoing when Húni Thór appeared at the door.

  ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Come on in.’ It was a dispassionate but informal greeting, as if they had been acquaintances for a long time, but weren’t close friends.

  She followed him through the hall and wondered for a moment if she should take her shoes off, but decided against it as they were clean and dry, and she wanted to be able to beat a rapid retreat if she needed to. Her body was beaten and bruised, but was still ready to react fast, should the situation require it.

  ‘Sebastian said that you’re up for it,’ Húni Thór said as soon as they reached the living room. Sonja quickly scanned the room around her and could hardly believe the motley array of furniture. The heavily upholstered brown leather sofa, which looked to be a few years old, clashed badly with the antique gold-and-white coffee table and the bright-red retro Westinghouse fridge at one end of the living room clashed jarringly with everything else. Húni Thór loo
ked the type who would want to have everything around him white and minimal. He was a slim man with well-cut hair and a short, neat beard, wearing a suit that looked to be from the more expensive end of the range.

  ‘What the hell do you have to do with Sebastian?’ Sonja asked, genuinely surprised.

  Húni Thór stood in silence and looked at her, as if he was trying to work out if she knew more than she was prepared to admit. He went over to the red fridge, opened the door and took out two beers. Sonja took the beer he handed to her and reflected that she would have to practise drinking beer more often. Everyone seemed to want her to drink it these days.

  ‘It’s best if you know as little as possible.’ He spoke in a low voice, but with a weight to his words that had Sonja’s belly tensing up. ‘All you need to know is that, if you do this, then we’re right behind you.’

  ‘And who is we?’ she asked quietly. The fear that had been her almost constant companion was back, returning so strongly that her voice was reduced to a whisper. A frightened soul in a battered body was how she thought of herself at that moment. It didn’t matter how hard she struggled, the net she was caught in would always close in on her.

  ‘Sebastian in America and me on the Europe side,’ Húni Thór said and lifted his beer.

  Sonja lifted hers as well, raised the bottle to her lips but didn’t drink from it. ‘Sebastian said that if I do it, then I’ll be free. Completely.’ Sonja could hear the suspicion in her own words.

  ‘Your games have caused us so much trouble that personally I’d be delighted to be free of you. Adam said it was your pal in customs who pulled his guys at Keflavík. And on top of that, you got your girlfriend to have Adam locked up. It’s actually brilliant on your part, I have to admit.’

  Sonja wondered which question to start with. What was Húni Thór’s real part in all this? What did he mean that Agla had got them to lock Adam up? And how did they know about Bragi?

  ‘Can you guarantee that Adam will leave me in peace?’ she said. This was the most pressing matter: Tómas’s safety – and hers. ‘And can you make sure he lets me have custody of Tómas?’

  ‘No problem,’ Húni Thór said, finishing his beer. ‘Just let us know if you need anything else.’

  Sonja felt faint and her knees became weak. She sat heavily on the leather sofa. This could be the solution. If this man genuinely had the power he hinted at, and could keep his promises, then she could have the solution to all her problems in her hands. Achieving her own freedom was down to her, and her alone. That was a terrifying idea.

  ‘Why do you think I’m capable of doing this?’ she asked, the question for herself as much as for Húni Thór.

  ‘You’re as hard as nails,’ he answered. ‘I know you were the one who killed Mr José. I’ve seen the video. You don’t seem to be frightened of anything.’

  If only you knew, Sonja thought, trying to stop herself trembling as an image flashed before her eyes: Mr José in a pool of blood while the hungry beast roared in the basement.

  ‘I’m not on the video killing him, just helping Nati clear up after someone else did.’

  ‘That’s what you say,’ Húni Thór said with a roguish smile and a wink.

  103

  Tómas felt his cheeks flush as their neighbour pinched one and told him what a sweet little boy he was. He and his mother had knocked on her door to show her Teddy and to make sure it was all right to keep him. Mum had said that it was a rule that you had to ask the neighbours if they minded you keeping an animal in the building.

  ‘Tell me about it,’ the neighbour had told his mother. ‘These beasts become part of the family.’

  Tómas wanted to contribute to the conversation. He wanted to explain that Teddy was practically his brother, so that she wouldn’t be able not to keep him. But there was no need for him to say anything.

  ‘He’s more than welcome as far as I’m concerned,’ she said, so she had to be a good person. She always had something pleasant to say to Tómas whenever they met on the stairs, and sometimes when he was staying she had knocked on the door to bring him something she had baked. Tómas smiled at her as Mum thanked her, and it was as if Teddy was smiling as well, with his tongue lolling out of one side of his mouth. He was such a well-mannered dog that he sat as quietly as a stuffed animal whenever he was told to sit.

  ‘Is he with you permanently now?’ the neighbour whispered to Mum, and Tómas knew that he wasn’t supposed to hear, as they were talking about him and not the dog.

  ‘It looks like it’s going that way,’ Mum said in a low voice. ‘My ex is on remand right now.’

  There had been no need to whisper, as Tómas knew all about it. His mother had explained that Dad had messed up some of the bank’s affairs, so things would be difficult for a while.

  ‘There’s no question about it,’ the neighbour said. ‘Men like him always come unstuck. Tell me about it.’

  Tómas had no idea what he was supposed to tell her about, but he was fully aware that his father had come out of this badly. It wasn’t good to wind up in prison. He felt sympathy deep inside him as he thought of his father locked away in a little room with bars over the windows, but he did what his mother had told him to do when he was sad; quickly think about something else. It was as well not to think too much about it. It was a lot more fun to think about Teddy, who was now trotting up the stairs to the next neighbour’s door. Tómas was so glad to be here, with his dog, and his mother.

  104

  María marched up the steps outside Finnur’s house. She had tried to call a couple of times, after she had gone in confusion into the district court building to withdraw the warrant application to intercept Ingmar’s calls, but he wasn’t picking up. Several times the previous evening she had got up from her seat in front of the television to try to call him, but with no success. The only thing for it was to curl up at Maggi’s side and to try to forget what a lousy day it had been.

  It had actually been the lousiest of all lousy days, and today hadn’t started well either. Finnur hadn’t turned up at work and the special prosecutor looked at her strangely when she had gone to him that morning and asked again and again if he was sure he didn’t recall discussing her investigation with Finnur. ‘Are you all right, María?’ he had asked, but she didn’t reply as she was far from certain herself that everything was all right.

  She didn’t wait for Finnur to answer, but took hold of the handle and opened the door halfway.

  ‘Hello?’ she called, and at the same moment Finnur appeared in the hallway. He was dressed in an overcoat, with a scarf around his neck and wearing white trainers with his suit, making him a strange spectacle. A suitcase stood by the door.

  ‘Have you been abroad?’ María asked, relieved that there might be a simple explanation for why he had not answered her calls.

  ‘No, I’m going abroad,’ Finnur replied shortly. ‘A long-overdue break. A very long-overdue break.’

  ‘We need to talk,’ María said.

  Finnur groaned. ‘No. What we do not need to do is talk,’ he said. ‘In fact, it’s extremely inconvenient that you’re here.’

  María looked him up and down. He showed no signs of irritation, or that he was playing some kind of game with her. Her impression was that he was terrified.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said and plucked a set of car keys from a hook.

  María stepped over the doorstep and shut the door behind her. ‘I feel that I have a right to know what’s going on,’ she said.

  Finnur sighed deeply, loosening the scarf around his neck. ‘I thought it was clear that this was just between you and me, and you wouldn’t discuss it with anyone but me,’ he said. ‘So you get the special prosecutor mixed up in this, and then go to the district court to get an intercept warrant?’

  ‘My understanding was that you gave me this job so I could develop it into a formal investigation. And that was the step I was taking,’ María insisted.


  ‘Those of us who work on criminal investigations start with suspicions or clues and go on from there,’ Finnur said. ‘And the aim is always to get your suspicions confirmed or disproved. We all admit that most of the time we want the investigation to confirm what we suspect. That’s what makes it fun, gives us a buzz; it’s the driving force behind what we do. But sometimes, my dear María, just occasionally, it’s a very, very bad thing when what you suspect turns out to be right. And this is one of those occasions.’

  ‘I don’t understand what this is all about, Finnur.’ María was fighting to keep her voice under control, preventing it from rising or cracking under the stress. ‘Why did you give me this assignment if this was something I actually wasn’t supposed to investigate?’

  ‘Because you always hope to stumble across something that will hold water, something that can’t be doubted. But it has to be done secretly, without anyone finding out. That’s because the only people you can lay a finger on in this country are losers wearing leather – typical crooks. The real criminals, the big wheels, are protected. And that’s something you should be starting to figure out.’

  Finnur picked up his suitcase, squeezed past María, and opened the door. María stepped outside and Finnur came after her. He shut the door so the lock clicked and set off quickly down the steps.

  ‘Who is this Ingimar Magnússon, and what’s he up to?’ she called after him.

  Finnur turned and pointed an index finger at her, like a strict teacher. ‘You need to forget all this and give your attention to something else. Forget it all. Immediately.’

  105

  Agla was already at the restaurant by the Nauthólsvík thermal beach and had ordered a chicken salad and made a start on it when María arrived, somewhat later than she had said she would.

  ‘No,’ she said brusquely as Agla was about to hand her a menu as she took a seat. ‘I’m not here to eat with you.’