Far North - Michael Ridpath [149]
Magnus had an idea. He called Páll, but no reply. Which meant he must still be by the hut, out of reception. With the help of one of the uniformed constables he got hold of him on the police radio.
‘Páll, where are you?’
‘Securing the scene.’
That made sense. The hillside was the scene of a murder, after all.
‘Can you check the hut? See if there’s a notebook or anything.’
‘Shouldn’t I wait for forensics?’
‘No, do it now. We know who killed Björn. We need to know who the next target is.’
Páll hesitated. ‘OK.’
‘Let me know what you find.’
The car pulled into the car park outside the police station on the edge of Stykkishólmur. Magnus let the others go ahead and waited in the car for the call back. Four minutes, maybe five. He was feeling nauseous. It was a sensation he remembered from football games in high school. The after-effects of concussion.
His phone rang.
‘OK. I checked the hut. There are no notes anywhere.’
‘Nothing? Not a laptop?’
‘No. There’s a book, that’s all. Looks like he was reading it.’
Magnus was disappointed. ‘OK. What’s the book?’
‘Independent People by Halldór Laxness.’
‘That figures,’ said Magnus. He sighed. ‘All right, Páll. Can you do one more thing? Einar might have sent Björn a text, in which case he probably hasn’t received it yet. Can you get his phone and go back up the pass until you get reception?’
‘Roger.’
Independent People. Magnus remembered the painting of Bjartur in Sindri’s apartment. Sindri had obviously encouraged Björn to read the book too. It was a shame that such a good book could be used to justify such twisted ideas.
Magnus had read it when he was about eighteen. He probably hadn’t appreciated it then, he should reread it.
His phone rang. It was Árni, not Páll.
‘What’s up? Have they got Einar yet?’ Magnus asked.
‘Not yet. They’re waiting for the Viking Squad.’
‘How long will that take?’
‘Don’t know,’ said Árni. ‘I’ve been ordered back to headquarters. Did you find Björn?’
‘I did. I’ll explain later,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to go now, I’m expecting a call.’ He cut Árni off.
Páll came back on the radio.
‘Got the text. It was from Einar. One word. “Ready.”’
‘Thanks,’ said Magnus. He got out of the police car, his brain racing. So Einar was ready. But ready for who? Who the hell was the next victim?
Wait a moment.
Independent People. Wasn’t one of the characters in the book called Ingólfur Arnarson? Yes, that was right.
Who was he? The son of the local landowner Bjartur had worked for? Something like that. Magnus strained to remember. The boy had been named after the first settler of Iceland by his mother, who was a nationalist and a bit of an intellectual snob.
Sindri was talking about the character in Halldór Laxness’s book, not the man who had landed in Reykjavík a thousand years ago.
OK, so which of the Outvaders was he? Magnus couldn’t remember much about Laxness’s Ingólfur Arnarson, except that he became rich.
He needed to find out quickly. Who would know?
Ingileif. It was one of her favourite books.
He took a deep breath and dialled her number.
She answered quickly. ‘Hi, Magnús.’ Her voice was flat. Not pleased to hear from him.
‘Ingólfur Arnarson,’ Magnus said. ‘I know who he is. Or at least which character. He’s the man in Independent People. The landowner’s son.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Ingileif. ‘That makes sense, I suppose.’
‘I don’t remember the book well. How can we figure out which one of the businessmen he represents?’
‘Well, I’m not sure he represents any of them,’ Ingileif said.
‘What do you mean? He must do. He was very rich, wasn’t he? Didn’t he buy a new car or something? The first in the region?’
‘Yes, he was rich. But he was involved with the Cooperative movement. That’s where he got all his influence. Hardly a greedy capitalist, in fact the merchants were his rivals. He put them out of business. Then he went off to Reykjavík.’ There was silence on the phone.
‘Ingileif?’
‘Oh, my God. I know who they mean!’
‘Who?’
‘In Reykjavík Ingólfur Arnarson became a director of the National Bank, and then its governor. And then Prime