Far North - Michael Ridpath [143]
‘What’s so funny?’ the bald one snapped.
Sindri didn’t answer, but let the smile fade from his lips. No need to provoke them.
‘Where’s Harpa?’
Not telling you, buddy.
‘And Ísak?’ asked the black woman. ‘Where is Ísak? Are they together?’
Not telling you that either.
But Sindri answered the question in his own head. Ísak was looking for Harpa with the intention of killing her.
That didn’t fit into Sindri’s self-image of a hero of the people. He should have stopped Ísak somehow, called Björn and warned him. Harpa’s death would be a waste. And Björn was right, she was entirely innocent.
Sindri could look anyone in the eye and tell him he was proud of what they had done to Óskar Gunnarsson, or Julian Lister, or what they would do to Ingólfur Arnarson. Even Gabríel Örn’s death could be justified.
But not Harpa. Killing Harpa would be wrong. And he would be implicated in that as well, with some justice. It wasn’t the law that worried him, he knew he was a murderer anyway according to the law, but it was the people. He couldn’t justify Harpa’s death to the people. Or to himself.
‘What is it, Sindri?’ the bald one said. ‘You look worried. We know Björn is with Harpa. Is Ísak with them? Or is he somewhere else?’
Sindri took a deep breath.
‘Tell us,’ said the bald one, gently. He and the woman leaned back, patiently.
Sindri thought about it. Then thought about it some more. Then he spoke.
Páll could drive fast, Magnus would give him that. He had the lights flashing, although there were only a few sheep and a couple of horses to admire them. They seemed interested, though.
There was a good chance they would be the first to the Kerlingin Pass. The small complement of police based at Stykkishólmur were spread far and wide, some of them manning roadblocks into and out of the peninsula.
Páll belted through the Berserkjahraun, past the new road up over to Borgarnes, and turned right up the old Kerlingin Pass track. Over to their left towards Helgafell on the way to Stykkishólmur Magnus could see the flashing blue light of another police car on its way.
‘I don’t suppose you happen to have a rifle in the back of this car?’ Magnus asked.
‘No, of course not,’ Páll said. ‘You know Icelandic policemen don’t carry guns.’
‘What if Björn is armed?’
‘Why should he be? He’s only a fisherman. And I know for a fact he doesn’t have a gun licence.’
‘These guys had guns in London. And Normandy.’
‘He won’t have a gun.’
‘But he could have a knife,’ Magnus said.
Páll didn’t answer for a moment. ‘He will probably have a knife,’ he admitted.
‘Oh, great.’ The car was bucking like a demented stallion as it leapt over the potholes in the track.
‘What do you use for shooting the polar bears, then?’ Magnus asked. Three times in the previous couple of years polar bears had made the long journey to Iceland on drifting icebergs, only to be blasted as soon as they hit dry land by trigger-happy policemen.
‘That’s different,’ said the constable. ‘Jesus!’ He fought to retain control as his car nearly went spinning over the edge.
Magnus decided to let Páll concentrate on the road.
His phone rang.
‘Magnús, it’s Baldur. Have you found Ísak yet?’
‘We’re on our way to the pass.’
‘Sindri just talked. He says Ísak is planning to kill Harpa. Keep her quiet.’
‘Does Björn know about that?’
‘No. And Sindri says he won’t like that idea at all.’
‘Interesting. Did he say who Ingólfur Arnarson is? Or the assassin?’
‘No. Nothing.’
‘Did you get hold of Björn’s brother?’
‘Yeah, we brought him in to the station as well. He just looked surprised. And he’s been painting the shop on Laugavegur since eight this morning. Not exactly preparing an assassination attempt.’
The car plunged into fog. Baldur was beginning to break up as the reception deteriorated. ‘Tell me when you locate Ísak,’ he said and rang off.
The car followed the track around bare volcanic rock and soon they were descending. It was impossible to make out the Kerlingin troll, although Magnus knew it was above them somewhere.