Meltwater

by Michael Ridpath

  She glared at Magnus. ‘That was before I knew about Erika.’

  ‘When did you discover about Nico and Erika?’ Magnus asked.

  ‘When she came to stay with us in Milan. It was only for a couple of days: she had just spent a week in jail in Rome. They were very distant with each other, very formal. Nico is never distant with anyone, and I knew he was enthusiastic about Erika and what she was doing, or at least he claimed to be. There was only one conclusion. They were having an affair.’

  ‘And did you confront him on this?’

  ‘Only after he said he was coming to Reykjavík this week. I told him that I would tell Erika he was a plant. He denied there was anything going on between them, and then begged me not to tell her. He said it might put his life at risk.’

  ‘Did you tell her?’ Baldur asked.

  ‘No,’ said Teresa. She swallowed. ‘No, I believed him. And although I was angry with him, I love him. Love him. I will always love him.’ She stared at Magnus defiantly.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us this when you heard he had been killed?’ Magnus asked.

  ‘He wouldn’t have wanted me to,’ Teresa said. ‘He had grown fond of the image of being an idealistic champion of the truth. You know, I think once he got involved he genuinely did believe in what Freeflow are doing. He would hate people to think of him as someone who sold out to corrupt politicians.’

  ‘But he did,’ said Baldur.

  Teresa nodded. ‘He did.’

  ‘Do you have proof of this?’

  ‘No concrete proof,’ said Teresa. ‘But it’s all on his computer at home, I bet.’

  ‘Will you give us or the Italian authorities permission to analyse your husband’s computer?’ Magnus asked. He wasn’t sure whether they needed it, but in a multiple jurisdiction situation the more boxes that could be ticked the better.

  Teresa nodded.

  ‘Please say “yes” if you agree,’ said Magnus. ‘For the record.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Thank you. If it was someone connected with Tretto who killed Nico, do you have any idea why?’ Magnus asked.

  ‘No,’ Teresa said. ‘Perhaps they are afraid of more revelations.’

  ‘But why kill Nico?’ Magnus asked. ‘If he was on their side?’

  ‘I don’t know!’ Teresa shouted. ‘I’ve told you all I know. Now you have to figure out the rest. That is your job.’

  She had a point.

  Magnus took a deep breath and glanced at Baldur, who nodded. ‘That’s all for now, Teresa. Thank you.’

  ‘Can I have my passport back?’ she asked.

  ‘We’ll keep it for a bit,’ said Baldur.

  ‘But I’m not still a suspect,’ said Teresa. ‘After what I’ve told you.’

  ‘You are an important witness at the very least,’ said Baldur. ‘A very important witness.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  ‘NICE,’ SAID MAGNUS. Baldur and he were returning to their desks. ‘Did you know she was hiding something, or was it just a guess?’

  ‘An educated guess,’ said Baldur. ‘There was too much noise. She was hiding something.’

  ‘So, Nico was a plant,’ said Magnus. ‘I never considered that. But it makes sense as a way to disrupt Freeflow from the inside.’

  ‘But if Nico was working for this man Tretto, why kill him?’ said Baldur.

  ‘That’s the question. Perhaps they never meant to kill Nico, just Erika. Or Nico might have gone native and decided to tell Freeflow what he was up to. We still have a lot to find out.’

  ‘And don’t forget the wife,’ said Baldur. ‘She couldn’t prove that she wasn’t involved.’

  ‘No, you are right,’ said Magnus. ‘And we can’t be sure that it wasn’t the Israelis either.’ What had seemed a breakthrough was actually widening out the possibilities, not narrowing them down. ‘I’ll talk to Matthías. We are going to need serious cooperation from the Italians on this.’

  He called Matthías, an inspector at the International Liaison Bureau in the Police Commissioner’s Office, which acted as the Interpol National Central Bureau for Iceland. Communications within Interpol had to go from National Central Bureau to National Central Bureau: a clumsy system at the best of times. Matthías was a mild-mannered man with a wispy blond beard and glasses and a facility for languages, who prided himself on his speed. Foreign police forces were amazed at how quickly the Icelanders could respond to requests for information. The same could not usually be said for the Italians, although they had been cooperative so far.

  Magnus explained that he needed the police in Milan to seize Nico’s home computer right away, with no delays over paperwork that would give someone more time to tamper with the machine before they got to it. If it hadn’t been tampered with already. He also wanted a list of known contract killers in Milan to cross-reference with the manifests of flights into Iceland the previous week. If Baldur was right and Teresa had hired someone to off her husband, it would probably be a local guy.

  Matthías promised to get right on to it, and was optimistic that he could get the Italian police to move that day. Magnus passed on the information about Nico to his team, or those of them who weren’t already out interviewing Italian tourists.

  Should he break the news to Freeflow, or hold it back? Magnus could imagine that Erika would be devastated, especially given what he knew about her affair with Nico. Perhaps she would finally talk to him straight. But somehow he knew she wouldn’t. And the other members of the team would follow their leader.

  Except for one, perhaps.

  He turned to his computer and called up the file named Freeflow Secret Leaks. Nothing new had been left there by his mysterious correspondent. He began to type.

  I have some news for you. It turns out that Nico was a plant. He was an old friend of a man named Giovanni Panunzi who worked for Roberto Tretto. Nico’s wife is pretty sure that Nico was encouraged by Panunzi to infiltrate Freeflow.

  Did you or anyone else at Freeflow suspect that?

  If the people who killed Nico were related to Tretto or Gruppo Cavour in some way, do you have any idea why they might want to kill him? Had he spoken to anyone at Freeflow about his real agenda?

  Any help you can give us is much appreciated. We are on the same side in this.

  Magnus

  PS What’s your name?

  Magnus was frustrated that he would have to wait several hours or perhaps days until whoever had broken into the police system checked it again. He was just about to close the file when he saw text appearing in front of him: i don’t believe it! are you sure? and you can call me apex.

  Magnus began typing: Not one hundred percent sure, but pretty close. And thanks for your help, Apex.

  He waited, staring at the screen.

  After two or three minutes, letters began to appear: i had no idea, and i am quite sure no one else at ff did either. there are things i can check though. i will be back. apex.

  Magnus switched off his computer and prepared to leave for Thórsgata. Just as he was putting on his jacket, his cell phone rang.

  ‘Magnús.’

  ‘Is that Sergeant Magnús Ragnarsson?’ The voice was deep and mellow.

  ‘It is. Who’s speaking?’

  ‘My name is Jóhannes. Jóhannes Benediktsson. My father grew up at Hraun, in Helgafellssveit.’

  Magnus went still. It was almost as though a voice from the dead was calling him. He sat back down in his chair.

  ‘Oh, yes?’

  ‘My father became an author. He was murdered in 1985.’

  ‘I know,’ said Magnus.

  ‘I am planning to write a book about his life. I have just been up to Stykkishólmur to see my aunt Hildur. And a woman named Unnur, whom I think you know.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Magnus. ‘Yes, I do know her.’

  ‘Well, she said that you had been asking about my father, and your grandfather. I have some information you might find interesting. And some questions to ask you. Would you like to me
et?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Magnus. ‘Yes, I would.’

  ‘Lunch today?’

  ‘Um. I’d like to, but I’m in the middle of a case.’

  ‘I’d really like to see you as soon as possible,’ the man said.

  Magnus hesitated. There was no question where his priorities should lie. But. But . . .

  ‘OK. I’ll meet you at lunchtime, but we’ll have to be quick. And somewhere on Hverfisgata.’

  ‘The café in the Culture House. Twelve-thirty?’

  The Culture House was actually down the other end of Hverfisgata from the police station, but it seemed an appropriate place. It was where the best of Iceland’s national saga treasures were exhibited, including Gaukur’s Saga, which had turned up in a case Magnus had been involved in when he had first arrived in Iceland a year before.

  ‘Yes. See you there, twelve-thirty.’

  As he walked out of the station to his car he thought about Ollie. His brother would be really upset if he knew Magnus was asking questions about their father’s death. But, as Magnus had made clear, his need to know was just as great as Ollie’s desire not to know.

  Yet he felt guilty about going behind his brother’s back. Perhaps he should invite him along? After all, there was precious little chance he would actually come.

  He took out his phone.

  ‘Hey, Magnus. What’s up?’

  ‘Where are you?’ Magnus asked.

  ‘In bed,’ Ollie said. ‘I’m on vacation.’

  ‘I take it you are not alone?’

  ‘Hey, I’m having fun.’

  ‘That’s good to know, Ollie. Listen, I’ve just had a call from a guy named Jóhannes. He’s Benedikt’s son and he says he has some interesting information about his father’s death.’

  ‘Benedikt?’

  ‘You know. The author who died the same way as Dad. I told you about him.’

  ‘Oh, yeah.’

  ‘Anyway, I’m meeting him for lunch at the Culture House on Hverfisgata at twelve-thirty. Do you want to come?’

  ‘Jesus Christ, Magnus, I thought you promised me you wouldn’t ask any more questions?’

  ‘No, Ollie, I told you I would. I’m just giving you the option of being there as well, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, I think I’ll pass.’

  The line went dead as Ollie hung up.

  The house on Thórsgata was beginning to smell, Magnus noticed as he walked in. All the occupants were up and awake and working at their terminals, apart from Ásta who had answered the door. She looked agitated when she saw him, but she offered him some coffee. Magnus accepted, and took his cup to where Erika was sitting at one end of a dining table, laptop open. Her face was pale and she had a dressing across her cheek.

  She glanced up at him. ‘Hi,’ she said.

  ‘You look exhausted,’ Magnus said.

  ‘I am,’ said Erika. ‘But we’re nearly there.’

  ‘When are you planning to go live?’

  Rather than answer she just raised an eyebrow.

  ‘State secret?’ said Magnus.

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘Well, I need to know the answer,’ Magnus said, suppressing his irritation. ‘Because until you go live you are particularly at risk from anyone trying to stop you.’

  Erika sighed and gave him a weak smile. ‘Yes, of course. Sorry. The current plan is to finish up by midday Sunday, and launch the video at a press conference on Monday.’

  ‘Volcano permitting.’

  ‘The ash won’t last that long, will it?’ Erika asked. ‘Doesn’t it get blown away?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ said Magnus. He sipped his coffee.

  ‘Thanks for yesterday, by the way. I should never have left the house.’

  ‘No, you shouldn’t,’ Magnus agreed. ‘We’ve doubled the police presence outside.’

  ‘Two guys sitting in a car eating doughnuts instead of one?’

  ‘That kind of thing,’ said Magnus with a grin. ‘Just stay indoors. No more runs, OK?’

  ‘I was meaning to ask you, how can we get hold of a handgun or two? For our own protection.

  ‘Hah!’ said Magnus. ‘No chance of that. I don’t even have one.’

  ‘I wondered why you didn’t pull out your gun yesterday.’

  ‘I’ve got to admit I haven’t figured out this country,’ said Magnus. ‘The rural police seem armed to the teeth, ready to repel any amphibious invasion by polar bears. But in town, the idea that a cop should carry a gun gives them the heebie-jeebies. They think their streets will turn into war zones overnight.’

  ‘What, like Baltimore or Detroit? They may have a point.’

  ‘They don’t have a point. If I’d had a firearm with me yesterday, the guy who attacked you would never have gotten away.’

  ‘True. So we need to rely on the cops outside with their doughnuts?’

  ‘Kleinur. They are like doughnuts but smaller.’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘Look,’ said Magnus. ‘We know that this guy doesn’t have a firearm himself. I tell you what. You are all looking a bit pale. You need exercise.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ said Erika.

  ‘You should try softball. I can bring you over a couple of baseball bats. And a ball of course.’

  ‘Do you really think that will make a difference?’

  ‘I’ve worked the homicide beat in Boston, and I can tell you a baseball bat applied with maximum force to a skull makes a big difference.’

  Erika smiled. ‘Thanks.’ She leaned back. ‘Any luck with the guy who is after me?’

  ‘No,’ said Magnus. ‘But we’re looking hard. We think he might have been on the same plane as Nico coming into Iceland on Sunday. Nico didn’t mention bumping into anyone he recognized, did he?’

  Erika shook her head. ‘No. I’m pretty sure he didn’t.’

  Magnus paused, sipping his coffee, letting the mood turn serious.

  Erika picked it up. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’ve got some bad news about Nico.’

  ‘He’s dead. How can there be worse news?’

  ‘He’s a plant. Or he was. He was working for Roberto Tretto. The politician in the Gruppo Cavour scandal.’

  What little colour there was in Erika’s face drained away. ‘No,’ she said, her face crumpling in anguish. She shook her head. ‘No. That can’t be true.’

  ‘Teresa told us this morning. About a year ago he was approached by a friend from college who works for Tretto. Until then he had shown no interest in Freeflow. Afterward he became obsessed.’

  ‘I can’t believe it. Teresa’s lying.’

  ‘I don’t think she is,’ said Magnus. He had considered holding back the information about Nico from Erika, but she was a victim not a suspect, and he needed to provoke leads any way he could. ‘There was no indication at all that he worked for Tretto?’

  Erika shook her head. ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘Or that he was planning to tell you something? Something important?’

  ‘No. None.’

  ‘You see, we don’t know why, if he was working for Tretto, Tretto would want him killed. Or whichever crime boss in Italy is in this with Tretto – I assume the minister keeps his distance from those details.’

  ‘I see that. But to be honest, Magnus, I can’t think straight at the moment,’ Erika said. ‘It’s a lot to take in.’ Colour returned to her cheeks under the bandage. Anger. ‘If it’s true . . . the bastard! He deceived me. He totally deceived me.’

  ‘Totally,’ Magnus said. ‘I’ll talk to you this afternoon. When you have had a chance to digest this.’

  He left Erika staring blankly at her computer screen, and the rest of the Freeflow team staring at her.

  Magnus was just getting into his car on Thórsgata when his phone rang.

  ‘Magnús.’

  ‘Hi, it’s me.’

  Magnus smiled as he recognized Ingileif’s voice. ‘Oh, hi.’

  ‘Where are you?
’

  ‘Just by the Hallgrímskirkja,’ Magnus said. ‘Thórsgata.’

  ‘Well, I’m just outside the gallery in Skólavördustígur. Do you want a quick coffee?’

  Magnus winced. ‘I’d love to. But I’m not sure I’ve got time.’

  ‘Oh, come on. We can’t just meet in the middle of the night, like a pair of vampires.’

  ‘Or trolls.’

  ‘You be the troll, I’ll be the vampire.’

  ‘Romantic,’ Magnus said. ‘All right. I’ll be there in five minutes. Mokka?’

  ‘See you there.’

  Mokka was just down the hill from the gallery Ingileif used to own with a group of five other artists. It was a cosy place with leather benches, wood-panelled walls and a smell of waffles. It was the first Italian-style coffee house in Reykjavík, notable for the paintings on the walls, which changed monthly. Many of the artists were friends of Ingileif.

  She was waiting for him, reading an Icelandic style magazine. Her face lit up when she saw him: it made Magnus’s day.

  She kissed him quickly on the lips. ‘You know if you’d only let me solve your cases for you, you’d have plenty of time for cups of coffee during the day,’ she said. ‘In fact, I was wondering . . . You’ve had a tiring morning, you look as if you need a lie-down.’ Her eyes were twinkling.

  ‘Do you mean what I think you mean?’ Magnus said.

  ‘Of course I do.’

  Magnus grinned. ‘I’d love to, but I’ve got an appointment at lunchtime.’

  ‘It wouldn’t take long,’ Ingileif said. ‘You never take long.’

  ‘That’s not true!’

  Ingileif smiled. ‘OK. So where are you having lunch?’

  ‘At the Culture House.’

  ‘Oh. Well, say hello to my favourite saga. Who with?’

  ‘Jóhannes Benediktsson.’

  ‘Not Benedikt Jóhannesson’s son?’

  ‘The very same. He called me out of the blue this morning. He wants to share information about his father’s death.’

  ‘Fascinating. Ollie won’t like that, though, will he?’

  ‘No, he won’t.’ Magnus sipped his coffee and eyed the pastries under the counter. ‘Have you heard anything about your flight tomorrow?’