Meltwater (17 page)

Ásta agreed.

She had probably scanned in about forty pages of the 120. Fortunately Soffía’s handwriting was in thick black ink and the pages scanned legibly. When it was all in her computer Ásta would figure out the best way to send it to Freeflow. An anonymous CD in the post as Erika had advised wasn’t strictly necessary. Once she read what the journal said, Erika would know it came from Ásta. Maybe the best thing was just to email it to the Freeflow website.

Ásta knew she could trust Erika to treat her own leak carefully. It would make a big impact, in Iceland certainly, if not globally, and in Ásta’s own world. And once the scanned pages from Soffía’s journal were up there on the Freeflow website, no one could take them down.

Eighty more pages to scan. Ásta sighed and began looking for a spare red cartridge.

Magnus got into the rhythm as he powered up and down the open-air swimming pool at Laugardalur. He had twenty minutes before closing time at nine o’clock but it was still light. A thin layer of mist hovered over the geothermally heated pool. Even though he had barely slept the night before, he needed to swim to unwind.

The interview with Franz had been helpful. Vigdís had called a journalist contact of hers at RÚV and given her the tip about Israel. Erika’s reactions on the evening news had more or less confirmed that Franz had been right. Of course it didn’t mean that the Israelis were definitely behind the attack, but the police were trying to track down every Israeli in the country. There couldn’t be that many of them.

There were more Italians. That angle couldn’t be ignored.

However, what they really needed was to find the snowmobilers. The couple in the other jeep by the volcano had come forward, but they hadn’t seen anything. They lived in Reykjavík, the husband was retired and the wife had recently lost her job at a store in the Kringlan Mall. They had never heard of Freeflow. As for the snowmobilers, the Hvolsvöllur police were out asking about them, but no one had seen anything. The murder was all over the news, but no sign of them.

The snowmobilers were definitely at the top of the list of suspects for Nico’s murder.

Refreshed, Magnus jumped out of the pool – no time for a hot tub – showered, changed and drove home. He parked on Njálsgata outside the small cream-coloured house with its lime-green corrugated metal roof where he lived, and pulled out his key. It was getting dark: the lights illuminating the spire of the Hallgrímskirkja at the top of the hill had just been switched on.

He heard light footsteps just behind him. Felt a hand on his ass. A squeeze.

He turned in surprise.

Before he could say anything, familiar lips met his. A familiar kiss.

‘Ingileif!’

‘Hi.’ She smiled. Her blond bangs hung over her eyes; he searched out and found the little nick above her left eyebrow. ‘Are you pleased to see me?’

‘Yes, of course I am.’

‘Good, in that case let me in.’

Magnus unlocked the door. ‘So what are you doing here? Why didn’t you call? I didn’t know you were coming back to Iceland.’

Ingileif put a finger on his lips. ‘Too many questions, Mr Detective.’ She laughed, taking his hand and leading him up the stairs to his room. ‘We’ve got some catching up to do.’

They lay naked on the bed, Ingileif snuggled into Magnus’s chest where she felt most comfortable. Where he felt most comfortable. Where she ought to be.

‘So how’s Hamburg?’ Magnus asked.

‘It’s great. I really like it. There’s a lot going on there. And the gallery is doing really well.’

‘But what about the credit crunch?’

‘Doesn’t seem to apply in Germany. Or rather it did, but they seem to be getting out of it already. They still love Scandinavian design. And the Icelandic stuff gives them something more exotic to put with their blond wood and white walls.’

‘That’s good,’ said Magnus. Of course he didn’t mean it. What he had really wanted her to say was that Germany was a disaster and she wanted to leave at the first opportunity.

She hauled herself up on to an elbow and kissed him quickly. ‘Sorry,’ she said.

Magnus was about to ask her what she was sorry about, but of course she knew what he was thinking, how disappointed he was.

‘What
is
all that stuff on your wall?’

She was staring at the yellow Post-its, the photographs and the notes.

‘That’s my father’s murder,’ Magnus said sheepishly.

‘Magnús, that is seriously weird. I shouldn’t have left you alone like that.’

‘It helps, I think.’

‘Does it help? Or does it just feed your obsession?’

‘Hey, you were the one who kept on telling me to face up to my past.’

‘Weirdo, weirdo, weirdo,’ she giggled.

Magnus untangled himself from Ingileif and sat up, looking at the wall. ‘Ollie’s coming over from the States tomorrow,’ he said. ‘I want to talk about all this with him. Get him to let me investigate it more.’

‘Will I get to meet him finally?’

‘I guess so. Don’t worry, he’ll like you.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because Ollie likes gorgeous women. Even if they are totally insensitive.’

‘Sounds like my kind of guy.’ Ingileif leaned over and kissed Magnus on the cheek. ‘Sorry about the weirdo comment. I always knew you were a little strange. But why do you let your brother dictate what you do?’

‘I went over to Boston a few months ago. Began asking around in Duxbury where my father was killed. But Ollie was unhappy about it, very unhappy. He asked me to lay off.’

‘And you did? Why?’

‘I’ve told you what a tough time we had as kids at Bjarnarhöfn. What my grandfather used to do to him. Since then I feel like I have to look after him, watch out for him. Especially after Dad was killed. If he says he can’t handle me digging into the past, I believe him.’

‘So it’s his weird obsession against yours?’

‘I guess so.’

‘Sounds like you should talk to him tomorrow. Where’s he staying?’

‘Where are you staying?’

‘My bag’s at María’s house. You remember her?’

‘Yeah.’ Ingileif had loads of friends in Reykjavík, none of whom Magnus had got to know. They were beautiful people, beautifully dressed, with beautiful taste, who had all gone to school together. Magnus wasn’t beautiful. They were nice to him, but he didn’t fit in, and he didn’t try. Ingileif didn’t seem to mind. ‘Your bag? What about you?’

‘Well … I thought I could sleep here. If that’s OK with you.’ She stroked his thigh.

‘That’s fine with me. How long are you here for?’

‘Just three days. I’ve got to see a load of people tomorrow, but can we meet for lunch?’

‘It’s going to be difficult,’ said Magnus. ‘There’s a big homicide investigation on at the moment.’

‘How exciting! Then we should definitely meet for lunch. You can give me your clues and I can solve it for you just like I solved your last case.’

‘Getting the chief suspect drunk and making him brag about what he’s done is not a recommended technique for the modern detective.’

‘Why not? It should be.’

‘Besides, we are lacking even a chief suspect at the moment.’

‘Well, you can find one in the morning and we can discuss him at lunch. Or her.’

‘I’ll call you if I can make it,’ said Magnus.

‘What about Ollie?’ She kissed him. ‘Where is he going to sleep tomorrow night?’

‘Katrín has a spare room downstairs. He can sleep there.’

‘Good.’

She kissed him again. And moved her hand a bit higher up his thigh.

The man wasn’t used to it getting dark this late in April – after nine o’clock. Spotlights sprang to life, illuminating the church next to him and its phallic spire thrusting up into the night sky. He had the hunting knife he had bought the day he had arrived in Iceland. He had his torch. He would wait.

The traffic died away. Peace settled on the church and the statue. The odd tourist wobbled into the hotel. All seemed to be quiet down in Thórsgata.

At eleven, he pulled on his red jacket and strolled down the street running parallel to Thórsgata, Lokastígur. Back to the car and another couple of hours’ wait.

At a few minutes past one, he put on his gloves, pulled the knife out from under his seat and shoved it into the pocket of his jacket. He walked the long way round, along Baldursgata and then up Lokastígur. The street was dead. It was reasonably well lit by the streetlamps, but there was barely a light on in any of the houses. He paused outside the property he had calculated earlier backed on to the Freeflow house – cream concrete walls, red-painted corrugated metal roof – and slipped into a shadow.

He crept around the side of the house, stepping over a kid’s bike. It was much darker here, and he paused to let his eyes adjust. The rustle of his clothes and the rasp of his breathing were uncomfortably loud in his ears.

The back garden was small, less than ten metres across. There was a fence at the back, about one-sixty high. He crossed the garden and hauled himself over, landing with a gentle thump in the back garden of the yellow Freeflow house.

He looked up. The lights were on in just about every room.

Damn.

The curtains were all drawn. The ground floor was slightly raised, so the window sills were at eye level. His fingers closed around the handle of the knife in his pocket. He crouched down and approached the widest window. There was a tiny gap in the curtains.

Through it he could see the staff of Freeflow hard at work, laptops open, a couple of them wearing headphones. And in the middle of them all was Erika Zinn, staring intently at the black-and-white images on her own computer.

Damn!

He pulled back. His grip loosened on the knife handle. So much for that idea. This was a house that never slept. He would need another plan.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Wednesday 14 April 2010

D
ESPITE THE LACK
of sleep, Magnus felt invigorated as he bounded up the steps of police headquarters at just after seven. He had left Ingileif asleep in his bed. He doubted he would have time to see her at lunch, and didn’t know how or when he would see her that evening, but it would happen and he was looking forward to it.

Shame about Ollie arriving that day. He reminded himself to send Ollie an SMS telling him he couldn’t meet him at the airport. There was work to be done.

Magnus was surprised and gratified to see Árni at his desk already. The young detective’s eyes were shining with excitement. ‘Did you hear about the eruption?’

‘Not Katla?’ Magnus said.

‘No. Eyjafjallajökull. But they think it’s bigger than the Fimmvörduháls volcano.’

‘When did this happen?’

‘The middle of the night some time. They’ve evacuated several hundred people.’

‘Has there been a
jökulhlaup
?’

‘Not yet, but they’re expecting it.’

Southern Iceland bore the scars of frequent flooding over the millennia as the various volcanoes had erupted, melting vast quantities of glacier ice and sending the resultant walls of meltwater rushing to the sea by the fastest route.

‘Damn!’ Magnus swore.

‘What is it?’

‘This is going to really screw up the investigation.’

‘True,’ said Árni. ‘I don’t think we can expect much help from the Hvolsvöllur police in the next few days.’

Magnus called the chief superintendent.

‘Kristján,’ he answered.

‘It’s Magnús. I guess you’ve been busy?’

‘Very busy. We’ve got almost everyone evacuated, all the farmers anyway. But there are still some tourists we need to track down, including a bunch of English schoolgirls. And the Norwegian ambassador is out there somewhere apparently, in a tent.’

‘Any sign of flooding yet?’

‘Not yet. But they say it’s coming.’

‘Can you see the eruption?’

‘Too cloudy. Look, Magnús, I’ve got to go. You’re on your own with the investigation for the next few days.’

‘I understand. One question, though. Any leads on the snowmobilers?’

‘Nothing. No one saw anything. And if anyone saw snowmobiles that day, we have no way of knowing whether they were
those
snowmobiles.’

Damn, again. ‘OK. Is there any way you can join in the conference at eight?’

There was a conference planned first thing that morning to discuss the case, and Kristján and some of his officers had intended to patch themselves in on a speakerphone.

‘No way, Magnús. As I said, you’re on your own.’

‘Of course. Good luck.’

‘Thanks.’

The conference room was full. Magnus, Árni, Vigdís and the other detectives from the Violent Crimes Unit were there, as were Edda from forensics, the computer guy Ossi, Baldur, and a uniformed inspector who was supposed to provide resources to do some of the legwork of the investigation.