THE APARTMENT BUILDING was on hringbraut, a main road south-west of the centre. It was a big five-storey block with several entrances. There was no answer when they pressed the bell for Ragnar’s apartment. It was six o’clock, the road was busy and people were returning home from work. But not Ragnar. Not yet.

They followed a mother and child in, helping her manoeuvre her buggy through the doorway, then left her waiting for the lift and climbed the stairs to apartment 42 on the top floor.

They knocked, but there was no reply and no sound from within. It seemed he really was out. They sat on the step at the top of the stairs. And waited.

‘You know, don’t you, Nick,’ Erla began carefully, ‘this guy Driscoll – your father – well, he isn’t a good person? You get that, don’t you?’

‘My mother was a good person,’ Nick said thoughtfully. ‘Maybe one out of two isn’t so bad.’

‘Was?’

‘She died a few months ago.’

‘Shit. Sorry.’

‘You could say that’s what set all this going. You could say she set it going. Well, the Caldwell side of things anyway. Which is how I found out Driscoll is my father.’

‘It’s not too late to forget all about him and go home.’

‘I’m not going to do that. I don’t think I could. Forget, I mean. Besides …’ There was a rumble at that moment from the lift shaft. Someone was coming up. ‘If this is Ragnar, it’s already too late.’

And it was.

Ragnar didn’t cut an imposing figure: young, pale and paunchy, with receding hair and a slight unsteadiness that suggested he’d come from work via a bar. He wore a three-piece suit, but no tie, under a light parka. A heavy shoulder bag was dragging him down on one side.

He greeted Erla unsmilingly in Icelandic. She replied in English. ‘This is my friend Nick Miller. Nick, this is Ragnar Reynisson.’

There were no handshakes. Ragnar’s expression suggested he wished he’d stayed in the bar. ‘What do you want?’

‘To talk,’ said Erla. ‘About Kristjan.’

‘I’ve got nothing to say.’

‘Why don’t we step into your apartment?’ Nick said in his most reasonable tone. ‘You can say nothing there in greater comfort.’

Ragnar glared at Erla and said something in Icelandic. She rolled her eyes at Nick. ‘He says we should basically fuck off.’

‘Nice,’ said Nick. He took half a step towards Ragnar, who took a full pace back. ‘Listen, Ragnar. Erla’s put me in the picture. I know you helped Kristjan and Wada get into Quartizon’s computer system on Sunday night. After what happened, I imagine Quartizon would like to be able to identify which member of their staff leaked the access codes. You want me to point them in your direction?’