Far North - Michael Ridpath [139]
But then, if Björn was subsequently caught, which he probably would be, he would talk.
No. Ísak would just have to kill Björn as well as Harpa. Either wait until Björn left the hut and surprise him when he returned, or if Björn didn’t leave, creep into the hut after night fell and they were both asleep. If Ísak wasn’t frozen to death by then.
It wasn’t ideal, but he was committed now.
Magnus waited in the car as Páll went into Samkaup, the main supermarket in town. He called Baldur and told him that there was no sign of Björn. He had already passed on Sharon’s message about Ísak’s disappearance.
Baldur was businesslike. Sindri wasn’t talking. Not a word. Wasn’t even bothering with a lawyer. Magnus wasn’t surprised. If there was one more hit still to come, Sindri would be happy to bide his time.
Árni had checked with Ísak’s parents. Ísak had left home at nine o’clock the previous evening in his mother’s car, a small Honda, loaded with camping stuff. She said that the family had been on a number of camping trips to Thórsmörk, a hundred and fifty kilometres to the east of Reykjavík.
They had struck lucky. Calling around campsites, they had discovered that Ísak had been spotted at a site near Hveragerdi, to the south-east of Reykjavík, on the way to Thórsmörk. Although Baldur and Magnus agreed that Ísak wasn’t going on a little holiday jaunt, it was possible that if he was looking for wilderness to hide in, he might choose an area with which he was familiar.
Or he might be in the Snaefells Peninsula with Björn and Harpa.
Magnus suggested that they pull Gulli in. Perhaps somehow he had travelled from Tenerife to London and Paris and then back to Tenerife. Unlikely, but they didn’t want to take any chances: if he was in custody he couldn’t assassinate anyone. Baldur agreed. He had given up condemning Magnus’s wilder ideas. The stakes were too high.
Páll returned to the car. ‘Nothing. Let’s go on.’
Grundarfjördur was a small, compact town and it didn’t take long for Páll to get from place to place. They checked Vínbúd, the state liquor store, and then went on to the petrol station.
The kid behind the counter knew Björn Helgason but hadn’t seen him since he had filled up his red pickup the morning of the day before.
‘That was probably to get down to Reykjavík,’ Magnus said. As an afterthought, just as he was leaving, he paused.
‘You haven’t seen a young guy in here have you? A student, twenty-two years old, neatly dressed, about one seventy-five tall, fair hair, little dimple on his chin? Driving a small blue Honda?’
‘Yes,’ said the kid. ‘A guy like that was in here about an hour ago. Asked me where a mountain pass was with a hut. I told him about the Kerlingin Pass. He’d never even heard of the troll. Can you believe it? These guys from Reykjavík don’t know anything.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
HARPA SAT ON the floor examining the man who, until a couple of hours before, she had loved more than any other. She knew her stare was discomfiting him, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care about him at all.
Because suddenly, for the first time in a year, she felt strong again. The confusion, the mistrust, the guilt, the self-doubt, all those destructive feelings that had swirled around inside her head for a year now, were gone.
She knew what was right and what was wrong. And she knew what she had to do.
Compared to the agonies that she had gone through about her own role in Gabríel Örn’s death, and in the cover-up, what Björn had done was much simpler. He had conspired to murder someone. That was unequivocally wrong. It was her duty to do all she could to right that wrong.
She couldn’t bring Óskar back to life, but maybe, just maybe, she could save whoever the next target was, and then perhaps bring Björn and Sindri and Ísak to justice. And whoever else was their accomplice.
She knew what she had to do and she was determined to do it.
Escape.
When Björn next left the hut, it would take her less than a minute to untie the rope around her ankles. She would have to cope with her wrists tied together,