Far North - Michael Ridpath [104]
‘OK, it’s possibly Ísak,’ said Magnus.
‘Probably,’ said Árni. ‘But look just a couple of feet behind him. There’s the kid with the spiky hair. He’s taken his shirt off and he’s waving it around his head.’
‘Are you sure he’s with them?’ Magnus asked. ‘And not just walking along near them.’
‘Not absolutely sure. He pauses here and shouts something to someone. The others get away from him, which is why we didn’t notice they were together before. But then he turns back, realizes that they are moving off, and jogs after them.’
‘Show me that again,’ said Magnus.
It wasn’t conclusive. Indeed, without the earlier footage of the kid talking to Sindri and walking off with him, it wouldn’t arouse suspicions at all.
‘OK, so who is this kid?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Árni.
‘I don’t recognize him from those anarchist files,’ said Magnus. ‘Do you, Vigdís?’
‘No. But I can go back and look again.’
‘We might have more luck with the nurse. Get the best still you can from that, Árni, and go off to the National Hospital. See if you can track her down. Maybe she got the kid’s name.’ Magnus smiled. ‘Well done, Árni. Good work.’
As Vigdís returned to her desk, Magnus thought of something. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be in New York?’
‘I cancelled,’ said Vigdís.
‘Why?’ Magnus asked.
‘This.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. There was no need to follow me on my wild goose chase.’
‘This is no wild goose chase.’
‘What about the poor guy in New York?’
Vigdís shrugged. ‘That’s what you get for dating a cop.’
Magnus went back to his desk, feeling guilty. Vigdís could have gone on her vacation, they would have coped. But he was pleased that she didn’t seem to think it was all a wild goose chase. And they were making progress. If they could find another conspirator, everything would begin to slip into place, although the kid looked a little too immature to be an international assassin.
The more he thought about it, the more Magnus was convinced there was another conspirator. The other alibis were just too convenient. Supposing Ísak was the man the French woman had seen in Kensington, asking for Óskar’s precise address. He must have been preparing the ground. Ísak lived in London, he knew the city, he could do the necessary reconnaissance, perhaps watch Óskar, confirm his habits, his routine, perhaps get hold of the gun and the getaway motorbike. Get everything ready for someone else. Someone who flew in from Iceland just to do the job.
The man who actually pulled the trigger. The assassin.
And who the hell was that? The kid with the spiky hair? Or someone else.
Magnus remembered Björn’s brother, Gulli.
‘Árni! Before you go!’
Árni paused on his way out. ‘Yes?’ Vigdís looked up from her files.
‘Do you remember much about Björn’s brother Gulli from when you interviewed him?’
‘No,’ said Árni. ‘Just that everything he said about Björn and Harpa staying with him that night seemed to stack up. Why?’
‘I tried to see him on Saturday. He wasn’t in. A neighbour said he was away on holiday and had been for a while.’
‘You think he might have gone to London?’ Vigdís asked.
‘Or Normandy?’ said Árni.
‘Or both,’ said Magnus.
‘Do you want me to see if he is back?’ said Vigdís.
‘Yes.’ He checked his notebook and gave Vigdís the phone number from Gulli’s van. ‘And if he is back, find out where he has been. If he isn’t, have a word with all his neighbours. See if any of them have a better idea of where he went.’
Magnus scanned his computer. There was an e-mail from Boston. His buddy in the Homicide Unit had been in touch with the USCIS and the State Department. There was no trace of an Icelandic citizen named Hallgrímur Gunnarsson entering the United States in June or July 1996.
Magnus was surprised to feel a surge of relief. On the one hand he desperately wanted to find who had killed his father. On the other, especially after his conversation with Ollie, he was relieved it wasn’t his grandfather. Too