Harpa stared away from him, out of the car window, at the new little houses on the outskirts of Stykkisholmur. ‘Yes,’ she said, barely audibly. ‘He went fly-fishing. Twice.’
‘Does he go hunting as well as fly-fishing?’
She nodded, still not meeting his eye. ‘He used to go reindeer hunting in the highlands when he was a bit younger and he could afford it.’
Reindeer were not indigenous to Iceland, but they had been introduced in the eighteenth century and now roamed wild over parts of the interior. Where they were hunted. With rifles.
‘Does he have a gun at home?’ Magnus asked.
Harpa nodded. ‘I’m sure he has a licence.’
Magnus called Baldur back and told him. The Viking Squad was a good precaution.
‘I can’t believe Dad is doing this,’ Harpa said. ‘I mean, I know he hates the bankers. He lost all his savings in Odinsbanki. And he likes to bear grudges. But the worst thing is I think he did it for me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He thought the bankers had ruined my life. Gabriel Orn. Oskar. He should have blamed me for suggesting that he put his savings into Odinsbanki shares, but he seems to have blamed them for deceiving me.’
‘But that’s true, isn’t it?’ Magnus said. ‘They did.’
‘Yes, but I didn’t ask him to do it, did I?’ Tears were running down her cheeks now. ‘Bjorn must have suggested it. Dad and Bjorn. I knew they liked each other; they used to meet up at the Kaffivagninn sometimes. But I had no idea what they were talking about. None.’
Magnus tried to give her a comforting smile. He did feel sorry for her. The two people she loved most in the world had turned out to be murderers. And she had had no warning.
She tried to smile back. ‘You know,’ she said, wiping her cheeks, ‘from what Bjorn was saying, I’m not sure my father, or whoever, is going to shoot someone.’
‘What do you mean?’ Magnus asked.
‘Bjorn was vague about the timing. Yet he was expecting a text when everything was ready. What did he mean by “ready”?’
‘I get you,’ said Magnus. He followed Harpa’s idea through. It could be that there was someone else. Unlikely but possible. Or Einar could have found a spot where he was watching a target and waiting for the ideal time to shoot. In which case, why would he go back home?
What threat was there that would apply while a killer was safe and sound in his own living room?
Poison? No. A bomb?
A bomb.
If there was a bomb primed and ready somewhere in Reykjavik they really were in trouble. They had no clue which of the Outvaders was the intended victim.
Magnus had an idea. He called Pall, but no reply. Which meant he must still be by the hut, out of reception. With the help of one of the uniformed constables he got hold of him on the police radio.
‘Pall, where are you?’
‘Securing the scene.’
That made sense. The hillside was the scene of a murder, after all.
‘Can you check the hut? See if there’s a notebook or anything.’
‘Shouldn’t I wait for forensics?’
‘No, do it now. We know who killed Bjorn. We need to know who the next target is.’
Pall hesitated. ‘OK.’
‘Let me know what you find.’
The car pulled into the car park outside the police station on the edge of Stykkisholmur. Magnus let the others go ahead and waited in the car for the call back. Four minutes, maybe five. He was feeling nauseous. It was a sensation he remembered from football games in high school. The after-effects of concussion.
His phone rang.
‘OK. I checked the hut. There are no notes anywhere.’
‘Nothing? Not a laptop?’
‘No. There’s a book, that’s all. Looks like he was reading it.’
Magnus was disappointed. ‘OK. What’s the book?’
‘
‘That figures,’ said Magnus. He sighed. ‘All right, Pall. Can you do one more thing? Einar might have sent Bjorn a text, in which case he probably hasn’t received it yet. Can you get his phone and go back up the pass until you get reception?’
‘Roger.’
Magnus had read it when he was about eighteen. He probably hadn’t appreciated it then, he should reread it.
His phone rang. It was Arni, not Pall.
‘What’s up? Have they got Einar yet?’ Magnus asked.
‘Not yet. They’re waiting for the Viking Squad.’
‘How long will that take?’
‘Don’t know,’ said Arni. ‘I’ve been ordered back to headquarters. Did you find Bjorn?’
‘I did. I’ll explain later,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to go now, I’m expecting a call.’ He cut Arni off.
Pall came back on the radio.
‘Got the text. It was from Einar. One word. “Ready.”’
‘Thanks,’ said Magnus. He got out of the police car, his brain racing. So Einar was ready. But ready for who? Who the hell was the next victim?
Wait a moment.
Who was he? The son of the local landowner Bjartur had worked for? Something like that. Magnus strained to remember. The boy had been named after the first settler of Iceland by his mother, who was a nationalist and a bit of an intellectual snob.
Sindri was talking about the character in Halldor Laxness’s book, not the man who had landed in Reykjavik a thousand years ago.
OK, so which of the Outvaders was he? Magnus couldn’t remember much about Laxness’s Ingolfur Arnarson, except that he became rich.
He needed to find out quickly. Who would know?
Ingileif. It was one of her favourite books.
He took a deep breath and dialled her number.
She answered quickly. ‘Hi, Magnus.’ Her voice was flat. Not pleased to hear from him.
‘Ingolfur Arnarson,’ Magnus said. ‘I know who he is. Or at least which character. He’s the man in
‘Oh, yes,’ said Ingileif. ‘That makes sense, I suppose.’
‘I don’t remember the book well. How can we figure out which one of the businessmen he represents?’
‘Well, I’m not sure he represents any of them,’ Ingileif said.
‘What do you mean? He must do. He was very rich, wasn’t he? Didn’t he buy a new car or something? The first in the region?’
‘Yes, he was rich. But he was involved with the Cooperative movement. That’s where he got all his influence. Hardly a greedy capitalist, in fact the merchants were his rivals. He put them out of business. Then he went off to Reykjavik.’ There was silence on the phone.
‘Ingileif?’
‘Oh, my God. I know who they mean!’
‘Who?’
