‘The answer to the first question is no,’ Ingimar said. Gunnar recalled that this concerned Ingimar’s willingness to back out of the contract for the road and for another investor to be brought in. ‘In answer to the next four questions, I would tell them not to hesitate. The ownership of the investment funds behind this will never be revealed. When people are as satisfied with something as they will be with this road, they won’t start looking for problems.’

He continued to read from the sheet of paper and then sat back in the chair, arms folded over his broad chest as he looked directly at Gunnar.

‘You can tell your boss,’ he said, ‘that if I’m kicked off the project, then the pension funds will be out as well. It’s all or nothing. I have friends in the right places.’

The last few words were accompanied by a faint smile that for some reason irritated Gunnar. There was something infuriating about this man behind the prison glass, getting on his high horse with Úrsúla. He wasn’t looking forward to bringing her the bad 173news. As he saw it, she would have no choice but to end the South Coast Highway initiative.

‘So you still have strong connections?’ Gunnar said, angry at the sight of the man’s self-satisfied smile. ‘In spite of being a terrorist?’

Ingimar got to his feet.

‘Those who have money will always have friends,’ he said, pressing the button to summon the warder. ‘And those with a lot of money have very good friends.’

73

The astonishment on the man’s face was entirely genuine. Nonni had answered the knock on the door and the man had asked for Úrsúla, so Nonni had called her and disappeared back into the kitchen to finish preparing lasagne. Úrsúla had asked the man if there was something she could help him with and now they stood in the doorway, staring at each other.

The man was middle-aged, with thinning hair and wearing a very thick, orange down jacket.

‘Didn’t you send me a message?’ he asked.

Úrsúla shook her head.

‘Do we know each other?’ she asked, looking the man in the face.

Now he shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. This must be some misunderstanding,’ he said, turning to leave.

But Úrsúla stopped him. ‘Could I see this message that I’m supposed to have sent you?’.

The man looked awkward. ‘Well, you see … actually, no,’ he said. ‘If it wasn’t from you, then, well, it’s embarrassing.’

He went down the steps, but when he placed a foot on the icy pavement, he slipped. He managed to regain his balance without falling, and glanced at Úrsúla and apologised again. 174

‘It’s a misunderstanding,’ he said, plunging his hands deep into his coat pockets.

‘Where did you see this message?’ she called after him. ‘On Facebook, or an email, or what?’

He didn’t stop making his way carefully over the icy pavement, but he half turned to reply, ‘On Tinder.’