Far North - Michael Ridpath [99]
Terrorism.
His phone rang. ‘Magnús.’
‘Hey, Magnus, you’ve gone all Icelandic.’
‘Ollie! How the hell are you? I got your call yesterday. Sorry I didn’t get back to you.’
‘No problem. How is the land of our ancestors? Still bubbling away?’
‘I guess so. I’ve yet to see my first volcanic eruption. But the hot tubs are nice.’
‘How’s the course going?’
‘OK,’ said Magnus. ‘Although I’m working on a real live case at the moment.’
‘Someone jerked off in the skyr?’
‘Nice.’
‘Sorry. Hey, you know it was Dad’s birthday yesterday?’
‘Huh?’ Magnus sat up. ‘Was it? Yeah, I guess it was.’ He felt a twinge of guilt. He’d forgotten.
‘Yeah. He’d be sixty. I can’t imagine him at sixty, can you?’
‘I can, actually,’ said Magnus, smiling. His father had been in his mid-forties when he died. His fair hair had been turning quietly grey. The smile lines around his eyes had been deepening. ‘Yeah, I can.’
‘I’ve been thinking about him a lot recently.’
‘So have I,’ said Magnus. He took a deep breath. Ollie had a right to know, or as much of a right as Magnus.
Magnus talked for twenty minutes, telling his brother about Sibba and Unnur. And then about their grandfather’s reaction to Ragnar leaving their mother. And then about the deaths of the families of Bjarnarhöfn and Hraun over the years: Benedikt’s father, their great-grandfather Gunnar, Benedikt himself.
‘Christ!’ said Ollie. ‘So you think Grandpa might have had something to do with Dad’s murder?’
‘I don’t know yet. Unnur says definitely not. I need to do some more digging.’
‘Don’t,’ said Ollie.
‘What do you mean, don’t?’
‘I just don’t want you to.’
‘But I have to know! We have to know.’
There was silence on the phone.
‘Ollie?’
‘Magnus.’ Magnus heard his brother’s voice crack. ‘I’m asking you, man. I’m pleading with you. Just don’t go there.’
‘Why not?’
‘Look, you’re obsessed, Magnus. And that was cool when you were asking questions in America. But I can’t handle you dredging up all that shit in Bjarnarhöfn again. That’s buried and it’s buried for a reason.’
‘Ollie?’
‘I’ve spent most of my life, over twenty years, trying to forget that place, and you know what? I’ve just about done it. So as far as I am concerned it should stay forgotten.’
‘But Ollie—’
‘And if you do find stuff out, just don’t tell me about it, OK?’
‘Look, Ollie—’
‘Bye, Magnus.’
Five minutes later, the phone rang again. It was Ingileif, asking him round to her place. She would cook dinner.
‘Are you OK?’ she asked when he got to her flat. ‘Something’s wrong.’
‘Just got a phone call from my brother.’
‘What’s up with him?’
‘I told him what we found out over the weekend. About our father. And grandfather.’
‘And?’
‘And he wants to think about it even less than I do.’
Magnus could see Ingileif about to say something and thinking the better of it. ‘Yes?’ he said.
‘Sorry,’ Ingileif said. ‘I can see it’s a sensitive subject for you. And your brother. I can live with that.’
‘Good.’
Ingileif was frying some fish. ‘I got an offer today,’ she said.
‘What kind of offer?’
‘You remember Svala? From the gallery?’
‘Yes. Didn’t you say she has moved to Hamburg?’
‘That’s right. She’s teamed up with some German guy. They are selling Scandinavian stuff. Their gallery has only been open a couple of months, but she thinks it will do well.’
‘Even in the recession?’
‘Apparently. And Germany isn’t as badly screwed as Iceland is. They are coming out of it there.’
‘Lucky them.’
‘Yes. Anyway, she wants me to join them. As a partner. She’s told this German guy that I am just what they need for the business to take off.’
‘Hmm.’ Ingileif had her back to Magnus. ‘Sounds like a good opportunity. But what about the gallery here?’
‘I’d miss it. But the prospects have to be much better in Germany.’
‘Do you speak any German?’
‘A bit. Enough to get me started. I could pick it up pretty quickly if I’m living there.’
Magnus