Майкл Ридпат: The Wanderer

She led Magnus into the house and through to a large living room with a wide picture window looking out on to the fog. On the sofa in front of the window sat an old man, his head swathed in a bandage. In an armchair opposite, a bald uniformed police officer whom Magnus thought he had met before was taking notes. A red-haired woman in her thirties hovered behind the old man. She didn’t look happy.

The old man glanced up at Magnus as he entered, deep brown eyes under thick black eyebrows. His face was lined, but despite the wound and his age, he didn’t seem frail at all. He seemed strong. And determined.

A stubborn bastard.

With a bruise forming on his cheek, Magnus noticed.

‘Ah, a detective! I’m sorry, you have wasted your trip. No crime to solve here.’ He had a deep, rich voice that commanded attention.

Magnus ignored him and smiled politely. ‘Inspector Magnús Ragnarsson, of Reykjavík CID. Your name is Tryggvi Thór?’

The man grunted.

The bald constable stood up, and Magnus took his place opposite the victim.

‘I know you will have told my colleagues what happened, but would you mind repeating it for me?’

‘No need,’ said the man. His expression was firm and defiant, but Magnus thought he detected a hint of amusement in the old man’s eyes.

The woman sighed. She had brown eyes, freckles and a wide mouth with thick lips, the corners of which were pointing down. No amusement there. Her nose ended in a little hook, just like the man on the sofa. She was wearing a white top, a green jacket, smart trousers and subtle silver jewellery. Business clothes. She looked good, Magnus thought. She also looked grumpy.

‘I need to go to work,’ she said to Magnus. ‘Can I leave him to you?’

‘Just a moment,’ said Magnus. ‘Are you Tryggvi Thór’s daughter?’ He was guessing, given her age and resemblance.

‘Yes, my name is Sóley. I dropped by to see Dad this morning on my way in from the airport — I flew in from Brussels this morning. I discovered him on the floor just there.’ She pointed to a spot near the desk. There were dark specks on the rug. Blood. ‘He was barely conscious, so I called the ambulance. And you lot.’

There was a surprising tinge of contempt in the woman’s voice as she uttered these last words. Surprising, because in Magnus’s experience the police were usually treated with respect in Iceland, especially by the professional classes.

‘Was the door unlocked?’

‘It’s always unlocked.’

Magnus nodded. ‘Did you see anyone leaving the house? Or watching it?’

‘No.’

‘How about a car?’

‘No, I don’t think so. I don’t know. I wasn’t looking, I can’t remember. I may have passed a car on the road on the way here; it is a road, after all.’ She pursed her lips. ‘I don’t know why you bother asking me these questions. Dad doesn’t want you to investigate whoever attacked him, and even if he did, you wouldn’t do anything.’

Magnus frowned. ‘Why do you say that, Sóley?’

Sóley just shook her head. ‘Can I go now? I really will be late for a meeting.’

‘Can I have your contact details?’ Magnus said. ‘A card, perhaps?’ Sóley looked like the sort of woman who would have a card.

Sure enough she did. Magnus studied it. She worked in the Foreign Ministry, with an impressive title.

‘Thank you. We will contact you later, if necessary.’

The woman stooped towards her father as if to kiss him, seemed to think better of it, and left the house.

‘Hah!’ said Tryggvi Thór. ‘That’s all you will get out of her.’

Magnus ignored the old man. He stood up and wandered around the living room, examining the windows, the desk in the corner, the photo frames on the shelves, the floor. He paused at the desk. A couple of empty plastic folders lay among a mess of papers.

Magnus never could resist a challenge. There was something going on here and he was going to find out what.

He told the two constables to leave him alone with Tryggvi Thór, and after he had seen them out to their patrol car, returned to the sofa and stared at the man. Who stared back. A full minute passed.

‘What did he take?’ Magnus asked eventually.

‘He didn’t take anything.’

‘How do you know? Have you checked?’

The old man didn’t answer.

‘Can you check now?’

‘Maybe later.’

‘You should check your desk. He took something from your desk. It’s a mess; the rest of the house is very tidy — you’re a tidy person. The question is: Did the intruder take valuables? Or papers? Something he could sell? Or information?’

Magnus held those deep brown eyes. Intelligent eyes. He could feel that the old man was restraining the urge to speak to him. Magnus waited.

‘You are not a bad detective,’ Tryggvi Thór said at last. ‘But I don’t have to answer these questions. I said I don’t want you to press charges.’

‘Why doesn’t your daughter like the police?’

More staring. Then a grunt. ‘Would you like some coffee?’

‘Thank you.’

The old man stood up and moved through to the kitchen. He gasped and touched his head. Magnus ignored the urge to offer to help. If the old man was that stubborn he could make the coffee on his own.

Magnus waited on the living-room sofa. Outside, the fog was lifting to reveal a calm sea of slate grey and the gritty black Reykjanes peninsula stretching away to the west. The perfect cone of the small Keilir mountain thrust upwards through the remnants of the mist. A lovely view. A lovely house, in fact.

Tryggvi Thór returned with two mugs of coffee and some cakes. The perfect host.

‘You must be the Kani Cop ?’

Magnus nodded. It was a nickname he had picked up amongst his colleagues on his last stint in Iceland. Kani was slang for American. ‘How have you heard of me?’

‘I have friends in the police. I thought you had left Iceland?’

‘I did. I went back to my old job as a homicide detective in the States.’

‘Where was that?’

Magnus hesitated before answering. Wasn’t he supposed to be the one asking the questions? But, strangely, he was enjoying talking to this man. And maybe he would get something in return.

‘Boston. I was born in Reykjavík but was brought up in America from the age of twelve. I came back to Iceland in 2009. Left three years later.’

‘But you couldn’t stay away?’

‘It’s not that simple.’

‘It never is,’ said the old man. ‘How long have you been back?’

‘Five weeks. I get thrown out of my hotel room tomorrow.’

‘Have you got anywhere to go?’

‘I think so. It’s been a nightmare trying to find somewhere. Things have changed since I was last here: the whole city seems to have been taken over by Airbnb and there is nothing left for anyone else. I think I’ve found a room in Breidholt — I’m waiting to hear.’

They sipped their coffee in silence for a moment.

‘You know I can insist that we investigate this attack,’ said Magnus. ‘Whoever did this is a threat to other people. Your neighbours. I can get in a forensic team to examine your house. Make sure everything is covered in a nice layer of fingerprint dust.’

‘No you couldn’t,’ said Tryggvi Thór.

‘Why not?’

‘Because without my cooperation you would never make the case. The prosecutor wouldn’t take it on. Your boss wouldn’t allow you to waste the time. And the money.’

There was something in that. Magnus’s boss, Detective Superintendent Thelma, prided herself on her efficient use of the department’s limited budget.

Magnus examined the man opposite him. He knew a lot about the internal workings of the Metropolitan Police. ‘So when did you retire from the police department, Tryggvi Thór?’