lot of politicians and now we have another lot who are just as bad.’
‘Did you see your brother that day?’
‘Yes. I had no work on, it’s hard getting work these days. I let him in the flat. We had lunch together. I gave him a key and he went off to the demo.’
‘And you?’
‘I stayed in my flat. Watched TV. Then I met my girlfriend. I was out all night, didn’t get back till the following morning.’
Vigdis jotted it all down. ‘And then you saw Bjorn?’
‘Yes. And Harpa. She had spent the night with him. I saw her as she was leaving.’
‘Had you ever seen Harpa before?’
‘No. Never. But I’ve seen her since, of course. Not often, but Bjorn and she are pretty much an item these days.’
‘And what about Bjorn? What did he do?’
‘Went back to Grundarfjordur that morning, I think. I went out, looking for work. I don’t remember whether I actually found anything. Probably didn’t. But I told all this to the police at the time.’
Vigdis nodded. He had. And what he had told her just now tallied pretty closely with Arni’s notes.
‘Did Bjorn say anything about the demonstration that morning?’
‘Yes, he did. He told me all about it.’
‘Did he seem preoccupied? Worried?’
Gulli frowned and shook his head. ‘Nah. I don’t know. I didn’t notice anything, and if I did I can’t remember. Now can I get my lads back to work?’
Vigdis could tell she wouldn’t get much of use out of Gulli without a thorough interview at the police station, and probably not even then. The main thing was to confirm his story about his holiday.
‘Thank you for your help, Gulli, and for giving me so much of your valuable time,’ she said, with exaggerated politeness.
She hurried back to the station to call Iceland Express and check Gulli’s flights. On the street outside she passed a traffic warden, and told her about the front wheel of Gulli’s van. Got to keep the thoroughfares clear.
Magnus tramped along the cycle path by the shore of the bay. The Benedikt Johannesson files were stuffed in a briefcase at his side. A gentle breeze coming in from the water tingled his cheeks. The sky was a soft pale blue, and the giant rampart of rock that was Mount Esja glowed softly. There was a smattering of snow along the ridge of its summit, the first of the year.
Magnus needed the air. After leaving the Commissioner’s office, he had gone straight back across the road to police headquarters. He explained to Vigdis what had happened, and extracted a promise from her to keep him informed of what she and Arni turned up. The news that Magnus had been taken off the case seemed to make her even more determined to break it. Magnus was impressed.
As long as they kept their heads down, he thought there was a good chance that she and Arni would make progress. If Baldur didn’t stop them.
Magnus was angry: angry at the Commissioner, angry at Sharon Piper, and what was worse for his emotional equilibrium, angry at himself.
He kept walking as he pulled out his phone and called her.
‘Piper.’
‘It’s Magnus.’
‘No news on Virginie Rogeon, I’m afraid. Her husband still hasn’t checked in with his employer.’
‘Damn! I really needed something firm to tie Isak into this case.’
‘We’ll get there.’
‘It might be too late.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The National Police Commissioner here got a call from your anti-terrorist unit.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yes, oh.’
‘Was he upset?’
‘You could say that. I’m off the case.’
‘You’re what? Oh, Magnus, I’m sorry. Did he give you a bollocking?’
‘I don’t know what a bollocking is, exactly, but he was pretty pissed. Sharon, why did you do that when I specifically asked you not to? I
‘Oh, come on, Magnus, think about it. I had to do it. If there was any chance at all that you were on to something, I’d look like a right idiot if I hadn’t told people back here. Don’t worry, they’re not taking it too seriously, or else there would be a plane load of them on the way to Reykjavik. They are focusing on the Dutch angle.’
‘Dutch angle?’
‘Yes. A farmer saw a guy the day before the shooting. He was nosing around in the woods from where the shots were fired. The farmer thought he had gone for a pee. They found a hole in the earth big enough to contain a rifle; they assume the man must have been burying it. The man’s motorbike had Dutch number plates.’
‘Did he give a description?’
‘Not much. Just that the guy was wearing a light blue jacket.’
‘What have the Dutch got against your Chancellor?’ Magnus asked.
‘There is a Muslim community in Holland. Although it could just as easily be someone passing through.’
‘Al-Qaeda?’
‘That’s their favourite theory so far. Although Al-Qaeda tends to prefer blowing people up to shooting them.’
‘Interesting.’
‘I am
‘Don’t give me that bullshit, Sharon! I trusted you and you screwed me. It’s that simple.’
‘I did what I thought I had to do.’
‘Yeah, right. Well, keep me in the loop. And talk to Vigdis; she’s still on the case at our end. Especially if you do get a firm ID on Isak. I’m thinking maybe he was preparing the ground in London for someone else. The guy who pulled the trigger.’
‘I see what you mean,’ said Sharon. ‘I’ll bear it in mind. Sorry, Magnus.’
‘Yeah.’ Magnus hung up.
Sharon’s contrition took some of the sting off Magnus’s anger. He liked her. What was that word she had used? Bollocking? He’d never heard that one before.
For some reason what rankled most about the Commissioner’s ‘bollocking’ was the crack about Magnus not being a real Icelander. That was because it was partially true. But he knew that even if he had spent his whole life in the country he would still have alerted Sharon to the possibility that Isak might have been in Normandy. He would always put finding the truth before political niceties, whether he was in Boston or in Iceland.
That was just the way he was.
What was the Commissioner thinking of anyway? Magnus hated it when his bosses talked about the ‘bigger picture’, the ‘political angle’. Justice wasn’t like that. The law wasn’t like that. If someone broke the law, especially if that someone had murdered someone else, then it was Magnus’s duty to bring him to justice. Not just Magnus’s duty, everyone else’s.
Simple. Once politics took precedence over the law, things fell apart. He’d seen it in Boston and now he was watching it in Iceland.
He wondered whether the Commissioner would follow through on his threat to send him back to America. Perhaps that would be a good thing. Perhaps the Commissioner was right, Magnus wasn’t a true Icelander at all. This wasn’t where he belonged: he belonged on the streets of Boston, processing the dead bodies with holes in them.
He could go back to Boston, and Ingileif could go to Germany. That would be good for her. But it would be a shame. He still didn’t know what kind of relationship he had with her. Her explanation that it was because of him that she wanted to stay in Iceland surprised him. And pleased him.
