Far North - Michael Ridpath [116]
Björn slipped a CD into his player and turned the music up. Nirvana. He wanted to keep small talk with Harpa to a minimum.
After fifteen minutes, she yawned. ‘God, I feel sleepy. How far are we going?’
As far as it takes, Björn thought. ‘Probably another half hour.’
‘Why won’t you tell me where we are going?’
‘You’ll see.’
Ten minutes later, Harpa was leaning against the side of the door of the pickup. Five more minutes and she was asleep.
Magnus sat at the back of the class, listening to the lecturer, a police superintendent, talk about fraud and the Penal Code. Magnus was wearing the uniform of a sergeant in the Boston Police Department. Everyone at the National Police College wore uniform, lecturers and students, unless they were civilians, of course. The superintendent in charge of the college had thought it appropriate for Magnus to wear a BPD uniform rather than that of a police cadet, so Magnus had brought one back with him after his brief trip to the States for a few days back in May to pack up his life and move it to Iceland. Hadn’t taken long.
He knew he should focus; the last thing he wanted to do was to fail his exam and have to retake. Except now it looked like he would be on a plane back to the States before he even had a chance to take the damn exam.
Part of him wanted to forget about Harpa and Björn and Sindri. If Snorri didn’t want to listen to him that was his problem.
Except Magnus couldn’t think like that. If he was right, and he was damn sure he was right, then the people who had shot Julian Lister and killed Óskar and probably Gabríel Örn would go free. And worse, there was a chance some other poor bastard, with a family, perhaps with kids, would end up dead, probably in the next few days.
The phone vibrated next to his hip. Magnus surreptitiously slipped it out of his pocket to check it. He felt like a schoolboy. Vigdís.
It was strictly forbidden to take cell phone calls in class, or to leave the class to take them. Magnus quietly headed for the door.
The superintendent paused. ‘Magnús?’
‘I’ll be back in a moment,’ Magnus said with a smile. He was out in the corridor before the lecturer could reprimand him.
‘Yeah, Vigdís, what is it?’
‘We’ve identified the kid who was being treated for tear gas. Fridrik Eiríksson, known as “Frikki”. He used to be an assistant chef at the Hotel 101. Got laid off back in December. We’ve got an address in Breidholt. Shall we pick him up?’
Magnus appreciated Vigdís asking him. ‘Yes. But check with Baldur first. And let me know how the interview goes.’
‘Speak to you later,’ said Vigdís.
Magnus smiled apologetically as he took his seat in the classroom.
He was in his car heading back home when he got a text from Vigdís. Frikki was out somewhere with his girlfriend, his mother didn’t know where. They would let Magnus know when they picked him up.
*
He bent down to look at the magnified image on the screen of the camera resting on its tripod. The long lens was pointing out across the Tjörnin, the large lake in the centre of Reykjavík and a hub for international bird travel in the North Atlantic. In its pale blue waters, reflecting the pale blue sky, swans, geese, many species of duck, terns, coots and a host of other birds, paddled, glided and swooped, busy, busy, busy.
There was a particularly noisy cluster down at the far end of the lake, behind the parliament building and the futuristic glass, steel and chrome box that was the City Hall. This was where locals and tourists gathered to feed the birds. Beyond that, the murmur of the crowd gathering in the Austurvöllur square for the Icesave public meeting drifted towards him.
But despite the appearance he was eager to give, he wasn’t watching the waterfowl. He was examining one of the large white houses on the far shore of the Tjörnin.