He slammed down his mug for emphasis, as if adding an invisible exclamation mark. The coffee he’d made for his guests was far too strong, but perhaps strong coffee was exactly what was needed to put heart into them.
‘You’re talking about robbing a bank!’
‘You make it sound bad, but I’ve looked into every angle. Listen, I go to that branch all the time: it’s a long way from the nearest police station, they don’t have a security guard, and lots of big businesses have accounts there, which means large sums are paid in regularly. We’ll find a quiet time, early in the morning, not right at the beginning of the month, and it’ll be a piece of cake, guys – a piece of cake.’
‘And just how do you two see it happening? Because there’s absolutely no way I’m taking part; no chance you’re going to fool me into joining you. I’m not spending the rest of my life in jail.’
‘I reckon we’ll need a gun; I can provide one. My family owns a shotgun. I don’t think anyone knows I’m aware of its existence. Afterwards, I’ll just quietly put it back. It’s kept in an outhouse at our summer cabin – it belongs to my uncle, but he gave up shooting years ago. The whole plan’s completely foolproof.’
‘OK, I’ll take the gun and stand behind you. You do the talking. I bet it’ll go like clockwork.’
‘Why are you two talking like this? You are pulling my leg, aren’t you?’
‘It’s so much money – it would take us years to earn that much. All it would require is guts and half a morning’s work, then we’d be set up for life; no more money worries ever, and…’
‘For God’s sake, money doesn’t matter, not in the great scheme of things.’
‘We’re not doing it just for the money. We’re doing it to prove to ourselves that we can. To feel that we’re – oh, I don’t know – that we’re alive. You only live once.’
2012
Thursday, 1 November
Maybe she got lost in one of her own books.
Magnús’s bad joke rankled with Helgi.
There were times when he actively disliked his boss, though he tried to conceal the fact. They had little in common and their paths were unlikely to have crossed if fate hadn’t willed it that they should work together. Helgi was prepared to bet that Magnús hadn’t read a single book by Elín S. Jónsdóttir, though it would be hard to find another Icelander who hadn’t. Then again, Magnús probably read nothing but police reports. And for that reason, this investigation, whether it turned out to be a criminal case or not, would be in better hands with Helgi.
He had taken two books with him from the shop, before locking the door behind him.
One was Agatha Christie’sPeril at End House, mainly to prevent anyone else from buying it, unlikely though thatwas. He couldn’t bear the thought of such a rare treasure ending up in the wrong hands. No one else would appreciate it like he did.
The second title, found after a short search, was a copy of Elín S. Jónsdóttir’s debut novel; first edition, first printing. As such, it was a rarity, though first editions didn’t go for nearly as much in Iceland as rare books did abroad.
Helgi was intending to dip into the book, maybe read the first few chapters, during the short flight back to Reykjavík, using the time to try and get a sense of the author. It was his belief that all books provided an insight into their author’s psyche. After all, it stood to reason that authors must reveal something of themselves in their pages, either deliberately or unconsciously, though no doubt you often had to read between the lines to discover it. Of course, he wasn’t expecting this particular book to provide any great revelation about the author’s disappearance, but reading it would at least give him a sense of purpose and be better than sitting idle.
He dropped by the house to pack and say goodbye to his mother, explaining that duty called. She didn’t seem upset; if anything, she seemed pleased at having a chance to stand on her own two feet after the operation. As a precaution, though, Helgi left her a key to the new flat he was renting in Reykjavík. He felt it was right for his mother to have a key, just in case something happened; once his mother, always his mother. Come to think of it, she probably still had a key to the old flat too, where Bergthóra was now living on her own.
It crossed his mind that he might have gone northmore for himself than for his mother, to savour the smell of the books in the old shop, and – who knows? – perhaps to spend a few days without Aníta to get a bit of distance in which to work out what he felt about this new relationship.
He had been hesitant to make the leap, given how badly things had turned out with Bergthóra, and he had to keep reminding himself that the two women couldn’t be more different. That there was nobody else like Bergthóra.
2012
Thursday, 1 November
‘Where are you, Helgi? Where the hell are you?’
Aníta was muttering under her breath, biting back the urge to scream. It would be so unprofessional to do so here in her office at the Directorate of Health and risk being overheard by her colleagues.
She had shut the door, but she was still shaking.
She had been trying repeatedly to call Helgi, but his phone seemed to be permanently switched off. Although he was in the north, spending the week with his mother, they usually managed to speak at least once a day. When she’d heard from him that morning he’d sounded in a good mood. She had almost been able to hear him smiling at the other end as he eagerly reported that they’d already had their first snowfall in Akureyri.
She sent him yet another message.
They hadn’t known each other long, only a few months, yet she knew it wasn’t like him to be uncontactable likethis. It wasn’t that she was worried about him; she was just in such a state that she was desperate to talk to him. The unexpected visit had left her feeling badly shaken.
