Michael Ridpath - 66 Degrees North

Magnus was surprised to feel a surge of relief. On the one hand he desperately wanted to find who had killed his father. On the other, especially after his conversation with Ollie, he was relieved it wasn’t his grandfather. Too much pain.

‘Sergeant Magnús?’ He looked up. A solid woman of about forty was holding a sheaf of old dusty files. Quite thick. ‘You asked for this? The Benedikt Jóhannesson murder, 1985?’

‘That’s right, thanks for bringing them up.’

She gave him a form to sign, and left the files with him.

He knew he should wait, but he couldn’t help leafing through the pile of paper.

As was his habit, he looked for the pathologist’s report first. It was missing, with a note that it had been signed out to an inspector whom Magnus recognized as a fellow lecturer at the police college.

He debated whether to call the inspector, whom he knew vaguely, to ask him for the file, but decided it would raise less attention if he went through Records. He made a quick call; they said they would track the report down and get back to him.

He had just begun to leaf through the rest of the file when his phone rang.

The moment Magnus entered the National Police Commissioner’s office he could tell he was in trouble.

Baldur, Thorkell and the Commissioner himself all looked at him with undisguised hostility.

‘Take a seat, Magnús,’ ordered the Commissioner.

Magnus sat. Outside, over the bay, Mount Esja was bathed in soft morning sunshine. Not a cloud in sight. Inside the Commissioner’s office the mood was distinctly grimmer.

‘I have just had a call from a Chief Superintendent Trevor Watts. He’s with the Counter Terrorism Command of Scotland Yard.’

‘Oh,’ said Magnus.

‘He was curious to know what leads we had regarding Icelanders who had been planning the assassination of Julian Lister. I said we had none. He said that one of my detectives was pursuing that line of inquiry. I said I would get back to him. When I asked Baldur which was the most likely detective Watts was referring to, he suggested you. Was he right?’

‘Yes, Commissioner.’ Magnus reverted to using his superior’s title. Calling him ‘Snorri’, as was the Icelandic convention, no matter how important he was, seemed all wrong.

‘We thought so. Now Baldur informs me that while he did give you permission to investigate possible connections between Gabríel Örn Bergsson, Óskar Gunnarsson and Julian Lister, he made very clear that you were to do it quietly . Is that correct?’

‘Yes it is.’ Magnus glanced at Baldur. To be fair to the man he looked more angry than gloating. Magnus didn’t know a chief who wouldn’t be angry in those circumstances.

‘All right. Now, do you understand that alerting a foreign government to the possibility that this country’s nationals were trying to kill one of its leading politicians does not constitute “quietly”?’

Magnus sighed. ‘Yes, I do. I’m sorry.’

‘What were you thinking?’ Snorri said, the anger rising in his voice.

‘It was just a hunch. Sergeant Piper was about to interview a possible Icelandic suspect in London, and I wanted her to check if the suspect was in France when Lister was shot.’

‘A hunch! You started an international incident over a hunch!’ Snorri’s face was going red. His bright blue eyes, which normally twinkled, glinted. He looked dangerous. ‘And was he in France?’

‘No,’ Magnus admitted. ‘But I did ask Piper not to tell anyone else.’

‘Well at least she had some loyalty,’ Snorri said. ‘She told her superiors.’

‘It’s hardly an international incident, is it?’ Magnus said. ‘There’s no proof, no evidence, no firm line of inquiry.’

‘Exactly!’ Snorri slammed his hand down on the desk. ‘And if you were a real Icelander you would know that this is precisely the last thing we want to raise with the British government. You know about the Icesave negotiations that have been going on all summer. We’re talking about billions of euros of debt that every one of us owes to the British. And what you’ve done is throw a hand grenade into the discussion. How do you think the British will react when they think they are dealing with a bunch of real terrorists? This country has been humiliated enough without this getting out.’

‘I said it was a hunch, but it is a hunch with merit,’ Magnus said. ‘We can’t turn a blind eye to any links just because it is politically difficult. What if there are a bunch of Icelanders who wanted to kill Óskar and Lister? What if they have their eyes on someone else as we speak? We have a duty to check that possibility out.’

‘Don’t lecture me on duty!’ The Commissioner was shouting now. ‘Baldur did the right thing. He told you to keep digging, but do it quietly. You disobeyed him. You are now off the case. I want you back at the college today. And…’ he paused. ‘When this has all settled down I will review whether we need you in this country at all.’

Magnus swallowed. ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘And I’m sorry.’

‘Sorry doesn’t cut it, Magnús.’ The Commissioner glared at him. Magnus took that as an invitation to leave the room.

There was a queue of three people at the bakery when Harpa saw her father come in. Immediately, her heart started racing. What had he discovered? Had Björn really gone to London and France as Frikki’s Polish girlfriend had suggested?

She glanced at him. He smiled reassuringly and stood in the queue. That was a good sign, wasn’t it?

The three customers seemed to take for ever. Then a fourth came in, and Einar let her go in front of him. Fortunately Dísa was serving as well.

Finally Einar reached the counter.

‘Well?’ Harpa asked, her eyes wide.

‘I’ll have a kleina ,’ Einar said, a smile cracking his rocky face.

‘I meant, did you ask about Björn?’

‘I did. And he was out with Gústi on the Kría last Tuesday. And on Sunday he spent the morning with Siggi in Grundarfjördur harbour helping him install his navigation software.’

Harpa smiled broadly as the relief surged through her. ‘Thanks, Dad. There’s no doubt about it is there?’

‘No. I spoke to the harbourmaster and to Gústi. I couldn’t get hold of Siggi, but the harbourmaster sounded confident. Apparently Björn had a visit from the police on Sunday as well.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ said Harpa. ‘Thank you so much, Dad.’

Einar leaned forward so that Dísa couldn’t hear. ‘So no need to go to the police then, eh?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe I still should?’

‘Oh, come on, Harpa. You’ll just get yourself in trouble.’

‘OK,’ she said, nodding.

‘Good girl. See you later.’

‘Nice to see you smiling for once,’ said Dísa after the door closed behind Einar.

‘Yes,’ said Harpa. The relief was making her giddy. How could she ever have suspected Björn?

‘That your Dad?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Because he didn’t pay for his kleina .’

‘Oh, sorry,’ said Harpa. ‘I’ll pay. We were a little distracted.’

‘I could see that.’

Harpa smiled to herself. Her father had come through for her. Again. To the outside world, to some of his crew for instance, she knew he came across as a tough irascible bastard. But she had always known he was a good man. And it was so comforting to know that that toughness and strength was on her side.

He would do anything for her, and for his wife and for little Markús.

But within a few minutes the euphoria wore off, elbowed aside by a nagging worry. Yes, it was good that Björn wasn’t involved in a plot to murder Óskar and Julian Lister, but that didn’t mean that Sindri wasn’t. Harpa was beginning to regret the promise she had made to her father. He was right, it was none of her business, but if Sindri had killed two people he could kill three. She had to let the police know about her suspicions.