‘It’s incredible to think you’re Peter Driscoll’s son,’ said Erla, gazing at Nick over the rim of her coffee mug. They were at her flat in Stúdentagarđar now, not far from Reykjavík Roasters. An eerie sense of emptiness prevailed in the corridors and along the walkways, most of the other students having left for the Easter vacation.

‘I’m having some trouble believing it myself,’ said Nick. ‘But there doesn’t seem to be any doubt about it.’

‘A father you’ve never met. I mean, I don’t see much of mine. He split from my mother when I was just a baby. But never? That’s something else.’

‘Is that Kristjan in the picture behind you?’ Nick felt uncomfortable having the strangeness of his paternity pointed out to him by a woman twenty years his junior and seized on one of the photographs drawing-pinned to a cork board on the kitchen wall as a way of changing the subject.

The photograph showed Erla and a tall, thin, wispily bearded man who looked a few years older than her. Both were swathed in hiking clothes: parkas, scarves, gloves and woolly hats. They were grinning into the camera in some wilderness location of lichened rocks and gushing streams.

‘Yeah,’ said Erla, swivelling round to look at it. ‘That was when we walked the Laugavegur trail last June. Freezing, even at that time of the year. But beautiful.’

‘How long have you known him?’

‘Since a few months before we did that hike. He loves the country. I mean, the land. He has a connection with it. So do I, but not like Kristjan.’ She looked back at Nick. ‘Quartizon are trying to take the land from us. But it doesn’t belong to them. It belongs to us.’

‘Not my father?’

‘Absolutely not your father. But I wouldn’t want to be held responsible for some of the things my father does, so …’ She shrugged.

‘Kristjan and Wada were going after proof of what Quartizon are doing. Proof only Wada would be able to understand. Right?’

Erla nodded. ‘Right.’

‘And she got something, but we don’t know what.’

‘No. Because since that one brief phone call I’ve heard nothing from her.’

‘Have you been to her hotel – or just phoned? I mean, are you sure she’s really never there? She could have instructed the front desk to say she was always out.’

‘I guess she could. But why would she do that? She knows I’m anxious to speak to her.’

‘I don’t know. But maybe we should go there late tonight – or early tomorrow morning – and see if there’s any sign of her. Does that sound like a good idea?’

‘Yeah.’ Erla nodded. ‘It does.’ She looked relieved.

‘And this guy Ragnar. Do you know where he lives?’

‘Yeah. I know.’

‘So, why don’t we drop in on him and see how he explains what happened?’