He was shown into a small waiting room and began pacing, a television mumbling in the background. Uniformed police officers bustled about.
A woman with a clipboard asked him about next of kin. He wrote down Katrín’s name and address. Then he called her.
‘Oh, hi, Magnus, did Árni find you?’ she asked in English.
‘Yeah, he found me.’
Katrín could tell from the tone of his voice that something was wrong. ‘What’s up?’
‘I’m at the hospital. Árni’s been shot.’
‘Shot? He can’t have been shot. This is Iceland.’
‘Well, he was. In the chest.’
‘Is he OK?’
‘He’s not OK, no. But he
is
alive. I don’t know yet how bad it is. He’s in surgery now.’
‘Did it have something to do with you?’
‘Yes,’ said Magnus. ‘Yes, it did have something to do with me.’
As he ended the call, he thought about exactly what it had had to do with him. It
was
his fault that Árni had been nearly killed. It
was he who had led a Dominican hit man to Iceland, armed with a gun and primed to fire it.
It should have been him in there on the operating table.
‘Damn, Árni!’ He smashed his fist against the wall. A flash of pain ran through his hand, still sensitive from where it had connected with the punk’s jaw. OK, Árni wasn’t used to being around criminals with guns, but a Boston cop would never have done what he had done. There were lots of options. Drive the car straight at the guy. Drive up to Magnus and put the car between him and the punk. Just honk the horn, roll down the window and yell. All of those would have worked better than sprinting full speed at an armed man.
And, of course, if this was any normal country and Árni had been carrying a gun, he could simply have drawn it and shouted a challenge.
But even if he wasn’t smart, Árni was brave. And if the hit man had just been a split-second slower, Árni’s headlong rush might have worked. But the Dominican had been fast, and Árni had taken a bullet for Magnus.
The Police Commissioner had recruited Magnus to control the spread of big-city violence to Reykjavík. But all he had done was lead it right into the heart of the city, the heart of the police department.
Mind you, he had already come across plenty of unusual deaths in Iceland. Dr Ásgrímur, Agnar, Ingileif’s stepfather.
Katrín burst in. ‘How is he?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know. They haven’t said anything yet.’
‘I’ve called Mum and Dad. They are on their way.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Magnus said.
Katrín was a tall woman. She looked him straight in the eye. ‘Did you shoot him?’
‘No.’
‘Well, then you have nothing to be sorry about.’
Magnus gave her a small smile and shrugged. He wasn’t about to take this moment to argue with an Icelandic woman.
A doctor appeared, mid-forties, confident, competent but concerned. ‘Are you next-of-kin?’ she asked Katrín.
‘I’m Árni’s sister, yes.’
‘He’s lost quite a lot of blood. The bullet’s still in there, right next to the heart. We’re going to go in and get it out. It will take a while.’
‘Will he be OK?’
The doctor looked Katrín in the eye much the same way she had just looked at Magnus. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘He’s got a chance. A good chance. Beyond that I can’t say.’
‘OK, don’t waste time here,’ Katrín said. ‘Get on with it.’
Magnus was sure that Iceland had competent doctors. But he was worried that they would have little experience with gunshot wounds. Back home, at Boston Medical Center, they spent much of their Friday and Saturday nights plugging up bullet holes.
He decided not to mention this to Katrín.
There was a commotion outside the waiting room and Baldur strode in. Magnus had seen Baldur angry before, but never this angry.
‘How is he?’ he asked.
‘They’re operating on him now,’ Magnus said. ‘The bullet’s still in there somewhere and they’re trying to fish it out.’
‘Will he make it?’
‘They hope so,’ said Magnus.
‘He’d better,’ said Baldur. ‘Now I’ve got some questions for you.’ He turned to Katrín, disapproval all over his face. Although Katrín wasn’t in full regalia, there was a sprinkling of metal sticking out of her face. ‘Can you excuse us?’
Katrín frowned. Magnus could see she had taken an instant dislike to the policeman, and was not in the mood to be pushed around.
‘Let’s leave her here,’ said Magnus. ‘ She has as much right to be here as we do. More. We can do this outside.’
Baldur glared at Katrín. Katrín glared back. They moved out into the corridor.
‘Do you know why one of my police officers was shot?’ Baldur said, his face only a few inches away from Magnus.
‘Yes.’
‘Well?’
‘I’m a witness in a big police corruption trial in Boston. Some people there want me dead. Dominican drug traffickers. That’s why I came here. Looks like they found me.’
‘And why didn’t you tell me about this?’
‘The Police Commissioner thought that the fewer people who knew, the less chance there would be of a leak.’
‘So
he
knew about it?’
‘Of course.’ ‘If Árni dies, so help me I’ll …’ Baldur hesitated as he tried to think of a convincing threat.
‘I’ve apologized to Árni’s sister, and I will apologize to you,’ Magnus said. ‘I’m sorry that I led the hit man over here. I’m bad news. I should go.’
‘Yes, you should. Starting now. I want you to leave this hospital, you can’t do anything more here. Go back to the station and make a statement. They’re waiting for you.’
Magnus didn’t have the strength to argue. He badly wanted to stay and see how Árni was doing, but in a way Baldur was right. He was a distraction. He should go.
He put his head into the waiting room. ‘I’ve got to leave now,’ he said to Katrín. ‘Let me know if there’s news, one way or the other.’
‘The bald Gestapo officer sent you home, did he?’
Magnus nodded. ‘He’s a little wound up. Understandably.’
‘Huh.’ Katrín seemed unimpressed. ‘I’ll call you when there’s news.’
Magnus slept badly. No dreams, thank God, but he kept on expecting the phone to ring. It didn’t.
He got up at six and called the hospital. He didn’t want to ring
Katrín’s cell phone in case she had managed to snatch some sleep and he woke her. They had completed the operation and extracted the bullet. Árni had lost a lot of blood, but he was alive. They were cautiously optimistic, with the emphasis on cautiously. But Árni was still unconscious.
Magnus walked down the hill to the police station. It was a grey, windy, dull Reykjavík day. Cold, but not very cold.
There were two or three detectives in the Violent Crimes room. He nodded to them and they smiled and nodded back. Although he was prepared to shrug off hostility, he was glad that it didn’t seem to be present.
Vigdís came over with a cup of coffee. ‘I expect you need this.’
‘Thank you,’ Magnus said with a smile. And then: ‘Sorry about Árni.’
‘It wasn’t your fault,’ Vigdís said.
‘Do we know who the shooter is?’
‘No. He has a US passport, but we’re pretty sure it’s a fake. He’s not talking.’
‘He’s a pro. He won’t.’ Magnus had given the detective who had taken his statement the night before all the information he could, including whom to contact in the Boston PD. It had been made very clear that Baldur didn’t want him to interview the Dominican.
‘They might send another one, you know?’ Vigdís said. ‘Another hit man.’
‘It will take them a day or two before they realize things have gone wrong and they get someone else over here. And I’ll be gone soon.’
‘Keep your eyes open,’ said Vigdís. ‘Now you haven’t got Árni around to watch out for you any more.’
Magnus smiled. ‘I will.’ Vigdís was right. He was probably OK for twenty-four hours, but he ought to think of a place to lie low until he flew back to the States.
‘If you need any help with anything, just ask, OK?’
‘OK. Thanks.’
As Vigdís left, Magnus turned to his computer. He needed to tell the FBI and Williams what had happened himself. But before he began to type there was an incoming e-mail, direct, not via the FBI.
Hey Magnus
,
There’s something I really ought to tell you. A guy broke into my apartment a couple of nights ago and shoved a gun in my mouth. He wanted to know where you were. I kinda told him about the Reykjavík police domain name on your e-mail address.
I feel real bad about this. I haven’t told the department, but I figured you needed to know so you could keep a look out for trouble.
Johnny Yeoh
Anger flared in Magnus. He hit the reply key and began typing, but after a couple of words he stopped. He couldn’t really blame Johnny. The gun was real, the threat was real, if Johnny hadn’t told the man what he wanted to know he risked getting his head blown off.
Although he could have warned Magnus sooner.
Magnus was really most angry with himself. He shouldn’t have breached the simple protocols that the FBI had set up. There was a reason they didn’t want him sending e-mails directly to anyone in the States. Turned out it was a very good reason.
He deleted the half-written e-mail and replaced it with a simple ‘thanks for letting me know’. Johnny Yeoh would be in big trouble anyway, not for talking to the gangster, but for not reporting the fact that he had immediately. And all that would come out in good time.
Magnus composed an e-mail to Williams describing what had happened the night before, omitting for the moment the information that Johnny Yeoh had pointed the Dominicans to Iceland.
He was aware of a figure sitting in Árni’s chair opposite him. Snorri Gudmundsson, the National Police Commissioner of Iceland. The Big Salmon himself.
He had expected a summons to the Commissioner’s office at some point. He hadn’t expected a visit.
‘How are you doing, Magnús?’ the Commissioner asked.
‘Hard to put into words,’ said Magnus. ‘I feel bad about Árni.’
‘Don’t,’ said the Commissioner. ‘I knew that your life was under threat. I knew that there was a chance that they would come looking for you. I didn’t think that one of my officers would get shot, but I was wrong, and that’s my responsibility, not yours.’ The Commissioner sighed. ‘Thank God he’s going to live.’
‘Are they sure?’ Magnus asked.
‘Not a hundred per cent, but it’s looking better by the hour.’
‘He’s a brave man,’ Magnus said. ‘A very brave man.’
‘He is.’
‘Look, Snorri, I meant to tell you. I heard from my chief the other day. The trial in Boston has been moved up to next week. I’ll have to fly over and testify.’
‘That’s good.’
‘I guess I won’t be coming back.’ ‘I guess you will.’ The Commissioner’s bright blue eyes twinkled.
Magnus raised his eyebrows in surprise.
‘We discussed this when you arrived. I want you here for two years.’
‘Yes, but after all that’s happened …’
‘We got a result in the Agnar case. We know who the murderer is, all we have to do now is find him. From what I’ve heard, you were important in solving the case.’
‘What you’ve heard? Not from Baldur, surely?’
‘No. From Thorkell.’
‘He can’t be very pleased about his nephew getting shot up.’
‘He’s not. But he doesn’t blame you. And if he blames me, he’s not saying.’
‘What about Baldur? I’m sure he would love it if I went back to the States and never came back.’
‘You leave Baldur to me.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Magnus. He had assumed that he would be done with Iceland within a matter of days. And he had assumed he would be very happy with that state of affairs.
‘You’re coming back,’ said the Commissioner, getting to his feet. ‘You have a moral obligation. That’s important to me, and I think that’s important to you.’
As Magnus watched the Commissioner leave the room, two thoughts were uppermost in his mind.
The first, the most insistent, was whether he should indeed stay in Iceland.
The second, lower key, nagging, was that he wasn’t as sure as the Commissioner that the case was solved.
Ten minutes later, Baldur prowled into the room.
‘What are you doing here?’ he growled when he saw Magnus.
‘It’s where I work. At least for now.’
‘We don’t need spectators here. Have you made your statement?’
‘Last night.’
‘Then go home and stay home where we can get hold of you if we need you to add to it.’
‘Have you found the Reverend Hákon?’ Magnus asked.
‘Not yet. But we will. He can’t get out of the country.’