‘Hell,’ Daníel said.

  ‘Fuck,’ Helena added.

  77

  Helena used the few spare minutes while she waited in the car to call the Selfoss police and ask them to search carefully around the summer house, the barbecue outside and the garden shed, and anywhere else that the poker could have been left. If it didn’t show up anywhere, then there was a good chance that this was the murder weapon. The next step would be to call in divers. It made sense to assume that the murder weapon had been thrown into the sea at the same time as the body. She proudly explained what a poker was used for and sent them pictures of one that Áróra had found online and said had to be similar to the one missing from the hearth in the summer house.

  Now there was nothing for it but to wait. They had half an hour until the ransom was supposed to be handed over, and Helena could feel the anxiety building up inside her. Instinct told her that they weren’t far from a conclusion, from final explanations, and from tying up the loose ends left by all these events. By tonight the various threads of this case would have been identified. There would be the detailed pathology report, maybe something from the Selfoss police, and Flosi could possibly have more to say later on. Plus, there was a chance, of course, that someone would come and fetch the ransom.

  Although Helena knew that it was wrong to hang on to any such expectations in an investigation of this kind, she still hoped that the suggestions Áróra had made about the involvement of the Russian mafia and money laundering had some basis in reality. She hoped that someone would come to fetch the ransom, demonstrating Flosi’s innocence. She had believed him when he had sat opposite her that morning and stated that he had neither abducted nor murdered Guðrún. Despite his record of keeping things to himself, looking into his eyes she had been convinced he was telling the truth.

  She put a finger to her earpiece to make sure it was in place and a moment later she heard the control room’s countdown:

  ‘Ten minutes to handover.’

  There was literally nothing to be seen in the park across the street. The Special Unit were good at this. It had to be at least two hours since they had taken their places, lying in the bushes around the park. She couldn’t understand how they could lie so completely still for so long, and how they could conceal themselves among shrubs that had mostly lost their leaves, which gave her a clear view but made it difficult to hide.

  The control room reported that the drones were in the air, and that Áróra and Flosi were in the car park outside the Kjarvalsstaðir gallery. Helena sat up straighter in her seat, peered out, and within a minute she saw them appear around the corner of the building and head out across the grass. Flosi carried a large sports bag and Áróra walked close to his side, and from a distance Helena could make out that he was shorter by half a head than Áróra. They followed their instructions precisely, walking to the middle of the park by the football ground, where Flosi placed the bag on the grass. For a moment they both glanced around, as if they were expecting someone or something, before turning. She watched their backs as they walked, side by side, back towards Kjarvalsstaðir.

  Now they would have to wait again, and Helena wondered why Miklatún had been chosen for the handover. It was a good place, as it was wide open and easy for the criminals to keep watch. But that worked both ways: it was also easy for the police to monitor such an open space. Her thoughts were interrupted as a man passed her car, heading across the street to the park. He was large and beefy, his head shaved but with a showing of dark stubble. He wore baggy, grey tracksuit trousers, trainers and a red windcheater, its sleeves pulled halfway up his forearms, showing clearly his intricate black tattoos.

  ‘A male in his forties heading into the park. Grey trackie bottoms, red jacket,’ Helena reported, and the control room replied that the Special Unit had their eyes on him. She watched the man as he went past the bushes and turned into the football ground, and for a moment her heart began to hammer as he seemed to head for the park, for the bag. Then he disappeared from sight and the control room reported that the man was heading for the basketball court, where a group had congregated to play. Helena sighed, but her heart was still beating fast when the control room again crackled in her ear.

  ‘Female heading for the park from the Miklabraut underpass.’

  Helena’s hand was on the door handle, ready to sprint into action, even though she knew she wasn’t supposed to go into the park until the Special Unit had done its work and taken control of the scene. She sat tensed as she listened to the description of the woman.

  ‘Middle-aged. Brown coat. Passed the football pitch. Almost at the crossing. Going into the park.’

  Helena left the car and strode across the street. Then she paused, cupping a palm over her ear so she could hear the control room clearly.

  ‘Making for the bag. Maintain positions until she touches it. OK, she has the bag. Go, go, go!’

  Helena ran along the pavement until she found a gap between the bushes that allowed her a view of the park. The Special Unit were rushing towards the woman, and it was as if the undergrowth had got to its feet, each of them dressed in camouflaged jumpsuits with little sprigs of foliage on their helmets that trembled as they ran. The woman took to her heels as soon as she saw them, first holding the bag and then throwing it aside. A moment later she had been overpowered. Helena ran into the park as the control room confirmed no further suspicious activity. She felt the earpiece fall from her ear as she sprinted, dangling over her shoulder on the end of its wire, but she didn’t give herself time to replace it. There was something familiar about the figure lying face down in the grass, hands cuffed behind her back. A masked Special Unit officer knelt with a knee between her shoulder blades so that she was unable to move, but the slim, golden legs that emerged from her skirt kicked in the grass in a vain attempt to break free. As Helena arrived, the officer lifted his knee, and turned the woman onto her side so that her face could be seen. It was smeared with mud and grass, but she was still easily recognisable. Helena groaned.

  ‘Fucking hell, Sirra!’ she said, short of breath after sprinting across the park. ‘Fucking hell.’

  78

  A compromise acceptable to both Sirra and Daníel had finally been reached. For a long time she had seemed to be in shock, adamant that she would only speak to Helena in private and that she didn’t want a lawyer. But eventually Daníel had one called out, who spoke confidentially to Sirra, before she and Helena went to the interview room while Daníel and Oddsteinn the prosecutor watched from behind the one-way window, which was hardly used now that cameras had come into use. Now Sirra was sipping coffee and seemed to have slumped down in her seat, as if the air had been leaking out of her since the dramatic arrest in the park at Miklatún.

  Helena sat opposite her, also holding a paper cup, as if to indicate that this was an informal chat over a coffee. She put her folder and pen on the desk in front of her, started the recording and read out the formalities, then paused before leaning forward, seeking to make eye contact, and sighed, heavily and dramatically.

  ‘What the hell, Sirra?’

  ‘Is that how you start a police interrogation? “What the hell”?’

  Sirra smiled thinly and sipped her coffee.

  ‘You know I’m not big on formality,’ Helena said. ‘And in this case, yes. What the hell, Sigurlaug Sigtryggsdóttir? I don’t know what the hell else to ask.’

  Helena and Daníel had agreed beforehand that she would keep the conversation at a personal level, as that was clearly what Sirra wanted when she had demanded to speak only to Helena.

  ‘No,’ Sirra said. ‘I don’t really know what to say myself. It’s all turned so surreal.’

  ‘You could start by telling me how you came to be arrested by the Special Unit on Miklatún, where you were collecting a bag full of ransom money,’ Helena said.

  Sirra snorted, shaking her head in disgust.

  ‘Ransom money? You mean Flosi’s hidden cash.’

  ‘We know that Flosi kept this money in an offshore account, and he’ll have to explain a few things to the tax authorities,’ Helena said gently. She leaned forward and watched until she had eye contact again. ‘The origin of the money doesn’t change anything concerning your part in all this, Sirra. This is a serious case, so it’ll be better for all concerned if you can speak to me candidly.’

  ‘OK, OK,’ Sirra said in resignation, burying her face in her hands. Then she pouted, exhaled a long breath and shifted in her chair. She looked Helena in the eye and nodded, and now she could again see the familiar, determined, glamorous Sirra.

  ‘Good,’ Helena said. ‘How come you went to Miklatún to collect the bag of money?’

  ‘I was just going along with Guðrún’s wishes,’ Sirra said. ‘It’s never been easy for me to say no to her. It’s just the way she is. Somehow she manages to be enchanting and pulls you along with her. Even into something as crazy as this.’

  Helena remained silent. She decided to use Daníel’s approach, waiting for Sirra to continue, and she didn’t have to wait long. The silence hadn’t reached the point of becoming uncomfortable when Sirra leaned towards her and looked at her with beseeching eyes.

  ‘That’s why I wanted to talk to you,’ Sirra whispered. ‘Because you would understand. I’m so fond of Guðrún. I’m very fond of her.’

  There was a strong emphasis on very.

  ‘Ah, I get it.’ Helena hadn’t meant to speak, but the words unexpectedly escaped her. ‘Are you saying that you and Guðrún have been in a relationship—?’

  Helena didn’t finish before Sirra interrupted.

  ‘God, no,’ she said. ‘Guðrún isn’t that way inclined. She loves Flosi. Not that he deserves it. No, this is just me and, ach … it’s awkward. Look, almost two years ago Guðrún and I had a weekend break in Copenhagen just before Christmas, you know, some shopping and a little hygge, just for us.’

  Sirra fell silent and Helena nodded, as if acknowledging that she understood exactly what Sirra meant by a pre-Christmas hygge-break in Copenhagen, even though she had never been on such a trip herself.

  ‘And I’d had too much to drink and tried to kiss her, and that was just … yeah. Guðrún said thanks, but no thanks, and she was so sweet about it. I wanted the ground to swallow me up, but she seemed to find it so exciting. It was like I had become something for her to work on, Project Sirra Out of the Closet. She set me up with a Tinder profile and encouraged me to meet women. Every time we met she’d take the phone off me and swipe a few. You included. Guðrún chose you.’

  ‘Oh.’ Helena glanced instinctively at the window and wondered what Sirra’s lawyer was thinking. Daníel would hopefully explain the situation without any fuss. ‘So Guðrún encouraged you to come to terms with yourself?’ she asked.

  Sirra nodded.

  ‘Exactly. And you know how much of a step that is, what goes on inside you. How everything looks so different and how you start to understand things differently, from a whole new angle.’

  Helena smiled. This was all very familiar. Although she had been young when she had discovered that she was a lesbian, the process was the same as Sirra had been through, the whole metamorphosis, breaking free of the cocoon.

  ‘I’ll always be deeply grateful to Guðrún for her support, for the friendship she showed me exactly when I needed it most.’ Sirra lifted the paper cup and drank the rest of her coffee. It had to be cold, but her expression didn’t show it. ‘So it was difficult for me to say no when Guðrún asked me for help,’ she added. ‘Even though I didn’t like the sound of it.’

  79

  Daníel sat beside Sigurlaug’s lawyer and watched as he took constant notes on his pad. He would explain later about the connection between Helena and Sigurlaug, or Sirra, as she called her – and why he had given way, allowing Helena to carry out the questioning despite there being a personal connection.

  Helena did it well. She had had to make an effort to break through Sigurlaug’s defences, and then she had used his technique, been amiable and her voice warm, maintaining a calm silence and leaving Sigurlaug to fill the gaps.

  ‘I was angry with Flosi on her behalf. He’s such a fool not to realise what a diamond Guðrún is,’ Sigurlaug said, her voice echoing and sounding slightly nasal through the loudspeaker. ‘And I understood very well her fear that Flosi was up to the same tricks again, and that this time the divorce would be tougher as there’s no child involved, plus the pre-nup terms and all that stuff. But all the same, I should never have agreed.’

  ‘What was the plan for handing over the money?’ Helena asked.

  ‘I was supposed to fetch the money, and at the same time she would turn up back at home,’ Sigurlaug said, glancing at the clock on the wall. ‘So she should be turning up at their house more or less right now. So you can go there and arrest her as well.’

  Daníel felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. Helena looked up and he felt that they were looking into each other’s eyes through the mirrored glass. Sigurlaug didn’t know that Guðrún was dead.

  ‘Do you know where Guðrún has been? Where has she been staying over the last few days?’ Helena asked, and Daníel admired how she managed to keep her cool.

  ‘She spent the first night at my place, and then I drove her up to her summer house. She was going to stay there until today, and she was going to get a taxi home,’ Sigurlaug said.

  ‘Wasn’t she concerned that Flosi would go to the summer house looking for her?’

  ‘I don’t think they’ve used the summer house for years. They weren’t interested in it. Sara Sól has used it occasionally in the summertime, but that’s all. Flosi wasn’t supposed to figure out that Guðrún was behind all this. At least, not until the ransom had been paid. I’m not sure if I understand it correctly, but my sense is that Flosi is involved in some dirty business, so this kidnapping was supposed to look like it had something to do with that, and he’d pay up without a word.’

  ‘So Guðrún didn’t imagine that Flosi would bring the police into all this?’

  ‘No,’ Sigurlaug said. ‘She was convinced that he wouldn’t contact the police because he had secrets of his own. Looking back, I think she’s just been devastated that Flosi found a new woman. She’s heartbroken. When she found out that his bit on the side is pregnant, she was convinced that Flosi would abandon her, leaving her with peanuts, and go and marry the one with the bun in the oven. He’s old-fashioned like that.’

  ‘How did she find out that Flosi has a mistress and that she’s pregnant?’ Helena asked.

  ‘She’s had the feeling that something has been going on. She said there was the scent of another woman on his clothes, that kind of thing. Then Flosi forgot to shut his computer properly and she opened it to see a pregnancy scan on the screen, from Bergrós.’

  Helena nodded, and Daníel approved. The narrative was flowing, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before Sigurlaug would continue. He was right. She raised the paper cup to her lips, but didn’t drink, and put it aside before continuing.

  ‘He and Guðrún tried for a baby when they first got together and it was constant heartbreak for them both that it didn’t work out. Then along comes a pretty little thing and gets knocked up right away. I think Guðrún was right about what would happen, although she obviously shouldn’t have tried to extort money from him.’

  ‘Do you know what Guðrún had in mind for that money?’ Helena asked.

  ‘She was going to use it to get back on her feet after the divorce. Maybe open a little flower shop. I had offered to help her financially with it, but she felt that Flosi should foot the bill. She felt she had a right to walk away with something after twelve years together. So I agreed to help her with the letters and the practical stuff, to keep the money in my account, drive her to the summer house and all that. And to fetch the ransom, of course.’

  Daníel sent Helena a message that this was the moment to tell her about Guðrún. Helena checked the tablet and acknowledged with a quick nod.

  ‘When did you last hear from Guðrún?’ she asked.

  Sigurlaug paused to think.

  ‘We decided to be in touch as little as possible, but she sent me a message on Thursday evening, using the pay-as-you-go phone she bought at the airport when we went to New York.’

  ‘And what was that message about?’

  ‘Nothing special. Just good night, and some girlfriend stuff. Thanks for all your help, that kind of thing. It seemed a bit weird that she didn’t pick up when I tried to call her around midday on Saturday – or maybe not. We had decided to stay safe and talk as little as we could. And then I was busy all weekend, with a course for a big company.’

  Sigurlaug suddenly stiffened, looked around the room, her eyes stopping on the glass of the window and resting there for a moment. Her gaze returned to Helena.

  ‘Is Guðrún all right?’ she asked hesitantly.

  ‘Sirra,’ Helena said, holding her gaze. ‘The body of a woman was found in the sea near Thorlákshöfn on Saturday. Not far from the summer house. The body turned out to be Guðrún. She has been murdered. I’m so sorry.’

  Sigurlaug stared at Helena in disbelief, shaking her head as if refusing to accept it. She opened her mouth several times, unable to speak. When she finally found her voice, it was hoarse and choked, and Daníel felt a pang of sympathy. This was the part of the job he hated; the sorrow, the defencelessness, the suffering mixed with guilt.

  ‘Dead?’ Sigurlaug whispered. ‘Guðrún is dead?’

  80

  It was inconsiderately late in the evening to start the mower, but Daníel didn’t expect that either Lady Gúgúlú or his neighbours in the upstairs flat would complain if he were to do it now. He switched on the lights over the decking, which illuminated enough of the lawn for him to mow it. This was the last time the grass would be cut before spring, and he wouldn’t have bothered if that wretched patch of weeds hadn’t become tidier than the rest of the garden. He laughed to himself as he thought it over: the garden was split into his part and the part that wasn’t his, or so it had turned out. Back in the summer he had given up trying to cut that corner by the rocks, both because he simply wasn’t able to, for whatever reason, and also because of the entreaties of Lady Gúgúlú, who had a particular love of what she called wild flowers, although chickweed was what most people would have called it.