Authors: Michael Ridpath
But the Icelanders had wanted someone for more than just a few months. The National Police Commissioner had made Magnus commit to staying in Iceland for two years, and so Magnus had spent six months at the police college learning the law. Magnus felt he owed the Commissioner, not least because Magnus’s presence in Iceland had lured the Dominicans with
their guns to Reykjavík, with the result that the Commissioner had nearly lost one of his own officers.
So, nine months down, fifteen to go.
That was one of the reasons for returning to Boston. To put in some face time. Keep up with the department’s news. Make sure they hadn’t forgotten about him. Headcount was a big issue these days; Magnus wanted to know they were still counting his head.
Magnus was uncertain what he felt about returning to the States. As an adolescent, and then as an adult, he had felt proud of his Icelandic heritage. He had kept up his language skills, read the sagas and returned with his father once a year to go hiking in the wilderness. He had always felt special among the other Americans. Different.
But when he had returned to Iceland, things had not been as easy as he expected. His Icelandic was very good, but not perfect. The people were reserved and he felt like an outsider, if only because he wasn’t part of the intricate web of connections of family, school, university and job, which bound all Icelanders together. He found himself withdrawing from the others. He liked his colleagues, especially Vigdís and the hapless Árni, but he didn’t socialize with them. For six months there had been Ingileif, but then she had left for a job in Germany.
The plane was on its final approach now, only a few feet above the cold grey sea.
Ingileif. Magnus smiled to himself. He missed Ingileif. Impulsive, unpredictable, insatiable. Gone.
But the real problem was the one there had always been; the unsolved murder. Magnus was twenty when he had been told that his father had been killed, stabbed in the hallway of the house by the shore he was renting for the summer. For a year or so Magnus had thrown himself into his own personal investigation, determined that if the police couldn’t find his father’s killer, he would. But he hadn’t. No matter how many other crimes he solved in the Greater Boston Area, or indeed in Iceland, he hadn’t.
But in Iceland he had turned up some interesting new lines of inquiry. Lines that his brother Ollie had insisted that he drop.
The airplane juddered as its wheels hit the tarmac.
That was the other reason for coming to Boston. To get Ollie to change his mind.
It was a Sunday night, so O’Rourke’s wasn’t too crowded.
‘Cheers, Stu,’ Magnus said as he raised his glass of Sam Adams.
‘Skol!’ Detective Stuart Riordan grinned as he raised his own glass. He was a short guy of about Magnus’s age, with a neat beard and highly toned muscles. Magnus and he used to work out together in the police gym, but Magnus never quite pushed himself as hard as Stu.
‘I’m impressed,’ said Magnus. ‘But it’s actually “Skál”.’
‘Whatever. How’s the beer over there?’
‘Not as good as this,’ said Magnus. Truthfully, it wasn’t just the Sam Adams he missed; it was the couple of beers after a shift. In Iceland they thought you were an alcoholic if you had a beer on a Tuesday, but didn’t care if you drank a couple of gallons on a Friday night.
‘Meet any hot Eskimo babes?’
‘Don’t you mean cool Eskimo babes?’ Magnus said. Stu liked to talk about babes, even though he was happily and monogamously married to a woman called Donna. Maybe because he was happily and monogamously married to Donna.
‘I guess.’
‘They don’t have Eskimos in Iceland. I’ve told you that a dozen times, moron. They have Viking babes. They’ve had three Miss Worlds.’
‘OK, so any hot Viking babes?’
Magnus thought of Ingileif. She counted. He smiled.
‘Hey,’ said Stu. ‘Colby’s history, then?’
Magnus nodded. Colby was the woman Magnus had gone out with for a couple of years in Boston. Until she had taken offence at being shot at in the North End.
‘That’s good,’ said Stu. ‘She was bad for you, man. She was stuck way up her own ass.’
‘Yep,’ said Magnus. ‘She was.’ Colby was a lawyer and wanted Magnus to be a lawyer. She didn’t think much of Magnus’s police buddies, or of his police buddies’ wives or girlfriends. ‘I think you’d like the Viking. You should come visit some time.’
‘All those icebergs? No way. It’s cold enough here.’
Magnus didn’t push it. Stu had never left the United States, and now he and Donna had a kid they were in the week-at-the-shore vacation routine of their parents. Stu was actually a smart guy: there was nothing he didn’t know about the American Civil War, and he and Magnus had talked for hours about the minutiae of American politics while hanging out in cars waiting. But he knew very little about the world outside the United States, nor did he care.
‘Hey, Magnus! How the hell are you?’
Magnus looked up to see two more of his former colleagues approaching the table. Artie, a black detective, dapper even on a Sunday night, and Craig, an older guy with a comfortable roll over the waistband of his jeans.
‘I’m doing great,’ said Magnus. He stood up. There was a lot of hugging and back-slapping. Magnus liked it. He had always felt himself a little aloof from his colleagues in Boston, but the camaraderie and warmth made a pleasant change from Iceland. These guys were genuinely pleased to see him.
It was strange; he felt a different person here, speaking English. Different from the Icelandic cop, speaking Icelandic in Reykjavík. It was as if his personality changed in subtle ways, depending on which language he was using, even though he was just the same guy underneath.
‘Hey, I’m sorry to hear about Jason, Stu,’ said Artie, with a sympathetic frown.
‘Yeah,’ said Stu. ‘He was engaged, too. Gonna get married in June. I was on the invitation list.’
The bonhomie was gone. ‘Jason Hershel?’ said Magnus,
remembering a tall young guy with a buzz cut who had joined Homicide a month before Magnus had left for Reykjavík.
‘Yeah, that’s the guy,’ said Stu. ‘A good kid.’
‘What happened?’ asked Magnus.
‘You tell him,’ Stu said to Craig.
Craig sighed. ‘There had been a shooting in the D Street Projects. Turf war. Stu and Jason were just door-to-door canvassing. Jason knocked on the door, the punk let him in, panicked and shot him.’
‘He wasn’t even a suspect,’ said Stu.
‘Is he…’ Magnus asked.
Stu took a deep breath. ‘Yeah. Shot twice in the chest. Died in the ambulance on the way to hospital.’
‘Did you get the punk?’
‘Shot him as he ran down the stairwell,’ said Stu. ‘Didn’t kill him, unfortunately. The fucker is already out of hospital. One of those times that makes you wish Massachusetts had the death penalty.’
Stu stared at Magnus. It was a discussion they had had on and off over the years. Stu for, Magnus against.
‘Yeah,’ said Magnus simply.
‘What can I get you guys?’ A waitress in a Bruins T-shirt hovered.
‘Four beers,’ Stu said. ‘And I think we need some chasers, don’t we, guys?’
‘Hey, good to see you, Magnus.’ Deputy Superintendent Williams leaned back in his chair. ‘They finally threw you out of Iceland?’
‘Not quite yet,’ said Magnus, taking the seat in front of Williams’s desk.
‘I’m surprised. I got a couple of calls from their Police Commissioner over the last year. Sounded like he couldn’t wait for me to take you off of his hands.’
‘There were some awkward situations.’
Williams laughed, wrinkles spreading themselves over his worn black face. ‘Yeah. There always were awkward situations with you. But he called back later and said he wanted to keep you.’
‘I’m signed up for two years,’ said Magnus. ‘How’s Soto?’
‘Pedro Soto’s still in Cedar Junction, and will be for a long time. The Dominicans up in Lawrence have gone quiet, at least for now. But it turns out Soto has a little brother with big ambitions, so that might change.’
‘Figures.’ You took one out and two more popped up in their place. That was the problem with the war on drugs. ‘They didn’t touch Colby, did they?’
‘No. She hid out in the woods somewhere for a month. Smart girl. She should be safe now. But you may want to watch your back while you’re over here. Soto’s kid brother could be into revenge. It’s not the same urgency as when they wanted to stop you testifying, but you never know.’
You never knew. Revenge was as powerful a motive on the streets of Boston as it had been in the farms of the Snaefells Peninsula a thousand years ago.
Or perhaps today.
‘You want to come back early?’ Williams said.
‘Is there room for me? I hear things are tight.’
‘You’re a good detective. We need more like you, so yeah, there’s room for you. Do you want me to haul your ass back here?’
Magnus hesitated. It had felt good to walk back into the homicide unit, say hi to his buddies, watch the guys working the phones, listen to the banter. He felt more at home here than he realized.
Yet he had given his word to Snorri. Did that matter much these days?
Yes, it probably did.
‘Think about it,’ Williams said, watching his confusion. ‘How long you in Boston?’
‘Just a couple days.’
‘Well, give me a call before you head back. Maybe we can work something out.’
As he walked out of the police headquarters into Schroeder Plaza, Magnus’s cheeks were bitten by the cold air and kissed by the gentle January sun. The sky was a brilliant winter blue, a blue that you never saw in Iceland. The piles of snow on the sidewalks were just beginning to fray at the edges. Magnus’s eyes were dazzled by the sun bouncing off the brilliant white. He should have brought his shades.
There was no getting around it: the weather in Iceland was crap. When he had left Reykjavík, it was raining. And at this time of the morning it would still be dark.
His head was pounding. They had drunk way too much for a Sunday night. Magnus had paced himself, but Stu had knocked back chaser after chaser. Magnus was staying with him and Donna at their little house in Braintree. She had not been impressed when they had shown up at midnight. Magnus had helped Donna put Stu to bed.
‘It’s just since Jason was shot,’ Donna had said. ‘He’s not normally like this. He blames himself.’
I bet he does, thought Magnus. Good cops blamed themselves when bad things happened. You couldn’t help it.
Magnus had slept badly; he knew he would. It wasn’t just the drink. He had shot and killed two men in his police career, neither of them innocent, both of them armed. In his waking moments, Magnus wished he had shot them more quickly. But when he was asleep… When he was asleep they died again in agonizing, tedious slow motion.
He knew a little drug store in the Back Bay, near where he and Colby used to live. It was only a mile away. Magnus jumped into his rented car and drove over there, parking right outside. He recognized the clerk, but she didn’t recognize him as he bought some Tylenol. Rather than get right back into his car, he thought he’d take a short walk.
He found himself strolling over to his old apartment building. Well, not his, Colby’s. A cop could never afford to live in the
Back Bay, but Colby could, with her job as a legal counsel at a successful medical instrument company on Route 128. OK, so it wasn’t his, but he had lived there for a year. He stood on the sidewalk, remembering.
There had been good memories.
‘Magnus?’
He turned at the familiar voice. There she was, wearing her favourite coat and pulling a small suitcase behind her.
Colby.
‘I thought you’d be at work?’
She smiled and laughed. ‘Well, that’s nice. Wanted to make sure you missed me?’
Magnus winced. ‘You weren’t real happy with me last time we spoke.’
‘You mean after I’d gotten shot at and you wanted to kidnap me and take me to Iceland?’
‘Er, yes.’
‘And then a psycho broke into this apartment and threatened me?’
‘Yes. And that.’
‘And I had to take off into the woods in Maine to make sure the psycho and his friends couldn’t find me?’
‘Well, there’s that as well.’ As well as the fact Magnus had refused to marry her. For most people, that would come down the list a bit, but nor for Colby.
Colby laughed. ‘You’re right. I was furious. I’m still furious. But I’m also cold. Shall we grab a coffee at Starbucks? I’ll just drop this case in the lobby.’
Magnus noticed she hadn’t invited him into her apartment. Their apartment. Her apartment. He was tempted to just say no, to walk away, but she seemed better disposed towards him than he expected. Also, he’d noticed a large sapphire ring on her left hand.
‘Sure,’ he said.
The Back Bay was crawling with Starbucks, and they went to the closest, just a block away. ‘So why aren’t you at work?’ Magnus asked as they were standing in the line. ‘Playing hooky?’
‘I was supposed to be flying to Atlanta today, but the meeting just got cancelled, so I thought I’d drop my stuff back home before going back to the office. They won’t miss me for an hour or so. How about you? Have you moved back to Boston?’
‘Just here for a couple of days. Now I’m one of Reykjavík’s finest.’
Colby laughed. ‘You must be so proud.’
For a moment Magnus bristled, but Colby’s brown eyes were shining.
‘I am,’ he said. And in some ways that was true.
They took their lattes over to a table. Colby asked him about life in Iceland. To Magnus’s surprise, she seemed genuinely interested. He had tried to take her there with him on several occasions, but she had refused, citing the bad weather. But it was clear she had been listening more attentively than he gave her credit for. She was a smart woman.
She was also attractive. He had forgotten how attractive she was, especially when, like now, she was so animated, talking, smiling, teasing.
The coffee was long finished when Magnus pushed his mug to one side. ‘I’d better be going. And you have a job to get to.’
‘It’s been great to see you,’ Colby said. ‘It would be a shame not to see you again before you go back. Are you around tonight?’