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‘Do you have any evidence, Haraldur?’ There was anxiety in his voice, which Magnus didn’t quite understand.
    Haraldur turned his attention back to Magnus. ‘Rós was a good friend of my grandmother, Sigga. You could say that she was her disciple. My grandmother could …’ he hesitated. ‘She could see things. And Rós believed that she herself had picked up the knowledge of how to do this. I used to visit my grandmother quite often before she died, and I got to know Rós well. She grew up in Dalvík. Her father was a mechanic, he owned his own garage. She used to help him out: she knows a lot about engines. And braking systems.’
    ‘I see,’ said Magnus. ‘So she would know how to sabotage the equipment?’
    ‘Precisely.’
    ‘Interesting.’ But not quite enough, Magnus thought. ‘So she had a motive – to protect the homes of the hidden people – and she had the capability. But do you have any proof that it was she who sabotaged the equipment?’
    ‘Proof? No,’ said the postman shaking his head. He hesitated, and then looked straight at Magnus. His deep blue eyes bore right into the detective, unsettling him. Magnus had been stared at by all kinds of nasties in the past: murderers, rapists, gang leaders. But none was quite like this little village postman. ‘I know she did it.’
    ‘Did she tell you she had done it? Did you see her do it? Did anyone else tell you she had done it?’
    Haraldur sucked in his breath and stood up. ‘No. No, none of those things. I ought to go back to my round now.’
    He paused at the door of the service station, and then turned slowly back to Magnus. ‘But I also know she didn’t murder Gústi. That’s why I wasn’t sure whether to tell you about the machinery. I didn’t want to lead you down the wrong path.’ With that he was gone.
    Magnus turned to Tómas. ‘What was all that about? You said he was reliable. He’s a nutter like the rest of them.’
    Tómas rubbed his chin. He was almost squirming in his chair. ‘The information that Rós’s father was a mechanic is interesting, isn’t it? I knew she came from Dalvík, but I didn’t know that. Haraldur’s theory makes perfect sense.
    ‘It does,’ Magnus had to admit. ‘And I really like the idea that the machines were broken by a real person. But what else is going on here? How can Haraldur be so sure? Perhaps he has a grudge against Rós?’
    ‘Haraldur doesn’t go in for grudges,’ said Tómas.
    ‘Why are you looking so uncomfortable?’ Magnus said. ‘What’s going on here, Tómas?’
    Tómas sipped some of his coffee and stared into his cup.
    ‘Tómas?’
    The constable took a deep breath and faced Magnus. ‘Haraldur has a lot of credibility in this town. He doesn’t talk much, but when he does talk, people listen.’
    ‘He does have a kind of authority about him,’ Magnus said.
    ‘It’s not just that. Rós makes a lot of noise about what she learned from Sigga, and about the hidden people, and the dead people she can talk to. You get none of that from Haraldur. But people say he has inherited his grandmother’s skills.’
    Magnus rolled his eyes. ‘Here we go. Not you, too, Tómas.’
    ‘There are many things. For example, a couple of years ago a lot of people in town started to invest in the stock market. Haraldur knew the kreppa was coming: he suggested to people quietly that they should sell their bank shares. The people who believed him are OK, those that didn’t lost a lot of money.’
    ‘So he can read the stock market. He should get a job on Wall Street. Get a grip, Tómas, we’re investigating a possible murder here.’
    ‘OK. OK,’ said Tómas. ‘I’m sorry. But you have to admit that the idea that Rós sabotaged the machinery herself is interesting.’
    ‘You’re right. I like that. Tell me what happened.’
    ‘It was during the summer, July. There was a big construction company involved, a joint venture between Icelandic and Danish firms: they used