Sea of Stone (28 page)

Kolbeinn glanced back at the horse, which was shying in the farmyard.

‘Aníta!’ he said. ‘That’s Grána! Aníta was riding her. She must have fallen! But Aníta
never
falls.’

‘Looks like she has now,’ said Adam.

‘I’ll take the truck,’ said Kolbeinn, running towards the Toyota pickup parked near the gate.

‘I’ll follow you in the police car,’ said Adam. ‘It’s got a first-aid kit.’

He spun his car around and drove back to the yard, where the constable was waiting, standing by his own vehicle, watching what was going on. Adam leaped out of his car.

‘Get in and follow him!’ Adam shouted, pointing to the pickup, which was already nearly at the farm entrance.

He jumped into the police Hyundai and the two men took off after the Toyota, keeping good pace with it even though the ground was rough.

‘That horse was bleeding from its rump,’ said the constable, a man in his forties whose name was Gudjón, Adam remembered. ‘It was in a right state.’

‘Did you see Aníta ride out?’ Adam asked.

‘Yeah. About half an hour ago,’ said Gudjón, wrestling with the wheel as his vehicle nearly rolled. ‘I’d put that seat belt on if I were you.’

Adam did as he was told. Ahead, in a hollow right next to a rock, he could see what could either be a long dark stone or…

‘Is that her?’

‘I think so.’

It was.

Kolbeinn rushed towards his wife and was about to pick her up when Gudjón stopped him.

‘Wait! Let me take a look. Grab the first-aid kit, Adam!’

She was breathing, just. She had a gash on the side of her skull and blood seeping out of her chest.

‘Christ! She’s been shot!’

Adam left the kit with Gudjón and ran back to the police car to radio for an ambulance.

It took twenty minutes for Emil to find an empty room in the Police Commissioner’s office installed with the necessary equipment for a recorded interview. As he was negotiating access to it, he got a call from the pathologist. The doctor had done the complete blood count, and his suspicions were correct. Hallgrímur had leukaemia. Undiagnosed, according to his medical records. The blood count suggested that the disease wasn’t yet in an advanced stage, but it was likely that Hallgrímur would have been showing signs of fatigue.

Emil wasn’t sure whether that discovery had any significance. A terminal illness could cause sufferers to do things they might not have done otherwise, but only if they knew they had got it. He would double-check that Hallgrímur hadn’t mentioned his cancer to anyone. His heart sank at the idea of asking Sylvía that question.

Eventually, he found the room with video-recording equipment, switched it on, and seated Jóhannes. The schoolteacher appeared calmer than he had when Emil had confronted him in the classroom.

Emil had quickly reread the statement that Jóhannes had given him two days before. He was watching for discrepancies.

‘Now, Jóhannes, tell me again what you did on Sunday morning, from when you woke up.’

Jóhannes told him. Slowly, clearly and in detail, like a schoolmaster describing a particularly complicated historical event.
Emil took notes, occasionally asking for more details. The greater the level of detail, the harder it was to lie consistently.

There were patches of vagueness, in particular the conversation with Ollie on the way up to the Snaefells Peninsula.

‘Did you speak to Magnús at all that morning?’

‘No,’ said Jóhannes.

‘Did Ollie?’

‘No.’

‘You sure?’

‘Yes. He would have told me if he had. Or I would have seen him do it. He wasn’t out of my sight the whole trip.’

‘I see,’ said Emil. He changed tack. ‘So, tell me why you suddenly decided to go on a little tourist trip.’

‘We were going to be too early, like I told you before.’

‘How early?’

‘I don’t know. A couple of hours. We decided it would be best to wait until Hallgrímur was up and awake. It was Sunday morning.’

‘But Hallgrímur is a farmer. He doesn’t have a lie-in, surely? Even on a Sunday.’

‘We didn’t know. We thought he did.’

‘Who thought he did?’ Emil asked. ‘You? Or Ollie?’

Jóhannes hesitated. ‘I don’t remember.’

‘Of course you do,’ said Emil.

Jóhannes regained his composure. Shook his head. ‘No, I don’t.’

‘So how did the subject come up? You were driving along. You suddenly say, “It’s too early to see the old man. Let’s go for a walk along the cliffs”?’

‘Something like that.’

‘How like that?’

Jóhannes was silent. Emil waited. Then Jóhannes shook his head again.

‘I can’t remember.’

‘Funny it’s that bit you can’t remember,’ said Emil. ‘You can remember the rest of the trip perfectly well.’

Jóhannes shrugged.

‘Never mind,’ said Emil. ‘I’m sure Ollie will tell me when I ask him later on today.’

For a moment, doubt flickered in Jóhannes’s eyes, and then it was gone. ‘I’m sure.’

‘And why did you suddenly decide to call Hallgrímur?’

‘To tell him we were on our way. And before you ask me, I’ve no idea why Ollie panicked when the police answered the phone.’

‘Why not?’

‘Why not what?’

‘Why don’t you have any idea? I mean, didn’t you ask Ollie?’

‘Yes. He said he didn’t like talking to the police.’

‘His exact words?’ said Emil, making a show of writing it down.

Jóhannes folded his arms. ‘I think I’ve said enough.’

‘I don’t think you have,’ said Emil. ‘I have plenty more to ask you.’

‘I want to speak to a lawyer.’

‘But why do you want to do that? I thought you said you knew nothing about Hallgrímur’s murder?’

‘Because you clearly don’t know anything either. And I don’t want to create any misunderstandings. Implicate myself or Ollie in error.’

The inspector tried a few more questions but Jóhannes wouldn’t budge. A pity, but Emil had got what he wanted: a detailed statement with which to confuse Ollie. Unless by some miracle Jóhannes was indeed telling the truth and nothing but the truth, Emil was confident Ollie would slip up.

Emil left Jóhannes in the interview room and went off in search of a constable to take the schoolmaster over to the cells in police headquarters and to arrange a lawyer. Unsurprisingly, it was proving impossible to keep the whole Reykjavík Metropolitan Police away from the investigation.

He was talking with the custody sergeant when his phone rang.

‘It’s Adam.’

‘What is it?’ Emil was alerted by the urgency in his subordinate’s voice. He sounded breathless.

‘It’s Aníta. She’s been shot. She was riding by the Berserkjahraun. She’s alive but badly injured. A bullet in the chest and she hit her head when she fell off.’

‘Any idea who shot her?’

‘No. I saw a vehicle in the lava field earlier, which seems to have gone. It wasn’t Kolbeinn because he was working in the field when I arrived just after it had happened. But Ollie wasn’t at his hotel when we went to pick him up.’

‘Where is he, then?’

‘We don’t know,’ said Adam. ‘Páll is looking for him in Stykkishólmur.’

‘Well, go find him!’ Emil took a deep breath. ‘I’m on my way up there. Keep me posted.’

Who could have shot her? Ollie was an obvious suspect. But Jóhannes wasn’t. And neither was Magnus, safely tucked up in his cell two hundred kilometres away at Litla-Hraun.

Damn! Emil just didn’t have the resources to do the job properly. He’d need more help from somewhere. Time to swallow his pride.

He picked up the phone on his desk. ‘I need to see the Commissioner,’ he told the woman who answered. ‘Right now.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

A
DAM WAS TRYING
hard to keep a clear head. He had left Kolbeinn and Gudjón with Aníta and driven back to the farm in Kolbeinn’s pickup and then out on the track through the lava field. The vehicle he had seen earlier was no longer there. At least he didn’t think it was. It was difficult to be sure because it had been parked in a hollow in the lava, which was only visible from a certain angle. So he drove all the way back to the main Grundarfjördur road, and then found a small track back into the Berserkjahraun.

That must be the road. There was definitely no sign of a vehicle of any kind there.

He tried to remember what make the car was. He couldn’t, other than that it was some kind of dark-coloured four-wheel-drive. Or was it silver? Damn it, he was a police officer, how could he be vague about the colour of a vehicle he had seen less than twenty minutes before?

He decided not to drive down the track for fear of messing up tyre marks or other forensic evidence, so turned back to the farm. Edda was waiting for him, with another technician.

‘What can I do?’ she asked.

‘How many people have you got here?’

‘Three. I’ve sent Sigga up to where Aníta was shot.’

‘OK,’ said Adam. Usually the forensics people didn’t show up to a crime scene until well after everything had calmed down, but in this case, he may as well make use of them.

‘On my way here, I thought I saw a vehicle parked in the lava
field to the south of where Aníta was shot. I’ve just been back up there and it’s gone. But seal off the track and see if you can find any evidence.’

‘OK. Where exactly was it?’

Adam described the location and how to get there. ‘And be careful. If you see anyone, don’t tackle them, OK?’

As Adam said this, he realized that Edda had considerably more experience and seniority than he did. But after a moment’s hesitation she smiled.

‘OK. Have you told Emil?’

‘Yes. He’s coming right up.’

‘He’s going to need more resources,’ Edda said. ‘A
lot
more resources. Give me a call if you need one of us back here.’

With that, she left.

Adam scanned the horizon anxiously for flashing blue lights. He thought he could see the white of an ambulance on the road in the far distance. He resisted the urge to call Gudjón to check whether Aníta was still alive.

What should he do next? His brain was scrambled. Slow down. Think. Rúnar the chief superintendent would be there in a few minutes; he would know what to do. Adam hoped he would bring Björn, the detective from Akureyri. He could use some support.

‘Hey, you!’

He turned to see Sylvía bustling over towards him. This wasn’t going to be fun.

‘Hey, you! Are you a policeman?’ Sylvía’s eyes were concerned and frightened.

‘Yes.’

‘What’s happened? Tell me what’s happened. Is Aníta all right?’

‘She’s been shot,’ Adam said. He tried to keep his tone soft, but he couldn’t keep the panic out of his voice.

‘Shot? What with?’

Sylvía’s brown eyes were focused. She was definitely understanding what Adam was saying.

‘A rifle, we think.’

‘Who shot her? Is she all right?’

‘We don’t know who shot her. And she is alive. An ambulance will be here soon.’

‘Oh, no!’ Sylvía shook her head. ‘Poor Aníta. Poor Aníta.’ She turned back to the house, her head still shaking.

The news seemed to have shocked Sylvía into clarity. Adam considered taking advantage of her mental state to ask again about the fire. But Emil had been quite explicit that they should wait for proper interview conditions before questioning her further, so he decided to leave it.

Besides, a car was approaching the farm, a small Peugeot. Adam recognized Villi, one of Hallgrímur’s sons.

He flagged him down.

Villi lowered his window. ‘What’s happened?’

‘I’m afraid Aníta has been shot.’

‘No! Is she OK?’

‘I think so,’ said Adam. ‘Kolbeinn is with her. She’s out by the lava field.’

‘I saw the police car out there. I wondered what it was. I must go to her.’

‘I’d like to ask you a couple of questions first,’ Adam said.

‘Later.’ Villi opened the door.

‘No, now,’ said Adam firmly. ‘I mean right now.’

Villi sighed with impatience. ‘OK.’ He stood next to his car, looking down on the young detective.

‘Where have you just come from?’ Adam asked.

‘Swine Lake.’

‘Swine Lake? Where’s that?’

‘Just over the other side of the main road at the other end of the Berserkjahraun.’

‘What were you doing there?’

‘Going for a hike.’

‘A hike? Did anyone see you?’

‘What is this?’

‘It’s an interview following an attempted murder. Now just answer the question.’

Villi frowned. Shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t see anyone. I don’t know.’

‘Do you know where Ollie is?’

‘My nephew Ollie?’

‘Yes.’

Villi shook his head. ‘No idea.’

‘You didn’t see him at Swine Lake or in the lava field?’

‘No,’ said Villi. ‘Why, do you think
he
shot Aníta?’

‘It’s too early to say who shot her. Do you mind if I take a look in your car?’

‘Do I have a choice?’

Adam peered into the front, opened the rear doors and checked the back seat and then popped the boot. No rifle, but he would get Edda to do a thorough analysis.

‘Now please wait in the house,’ Adam said. ‘Don’t leave the farm until we have had a chance to question you properly.’

‘This is stupid,’ muttered Villi, with a worried glance over to where Aníta lay. But he got back into his car and parked it outside the farmhouse.

Adam was glad to see two sets of flashing lights approaching – a police car and, about a kilometre behind, an ambulance.

‘Hey, Constable!’

Sylvía was hurrying towards him. She seemed agitated.

It was all Adam could do not to tell her to get lost. ‘Yes, Sylvía, what is it?’

‘I have just unlocked the gun cupboard,’ she said. ‘Kolbeinn’s rifle is missing.’

Ingileif stared out of the aeroplane window at the old American radar installations that lurked at the perimeter of Keflavík Airport. The view swung as the aeroplane lined itself up on the runway. The engines whined and the aircraft began to roll.

Ingileif felt tense but excited. Things were definitely going her way. Keflavík was a zoo, but two delayed planes for Boston were leaving in quick succession. The Icelandair reservation system
was a tangle of cancellations, re-booking and overbooking. It was up to the people on the spot to ensure that the planes were filled fairly. One of the supervisors was a good friend of Ingileif’s from her hometown of Flúdir, who had found her a seat without actually having to bump someone with a guaranteed reservation.