He sighed. ‘I’m very glad I met you, Ingileif,’ he said. He bent down, kissed her quickly on the cheek and turned into the gathering gloom.
Arni sat in his car, parked illegally just outside Eymundsson’s Bookshop in Austurstraeti, and called the station. Magnus had left for the evening. Then he called Magnus’s mobile number. No reply – the phone was switched off. So then he called his sister’s house.
‘Oh, hi Arni,’ Katrin said.
‘Have you seen Magnus?’
‘Not this evening. But he might be in. Let me check.’ Arni tapped his fingers on the dashboard while his sister looked in Magnus’s room. ‘No, he’s not here.’
‘Any idea where he might be?’
‘How the hell should I know?’ Katrin protested.
‘Please, Katrin. Where does he go in the evening, do you know?’
‘Not really. Wait, I think he goes to the Grand Rokk sometimes.’
‘Thanks.’ Arni hung up and drove rapidly up to the Grand Rokk. He was there in two minutes.
He had to speak to Magnus. He had checked. He had made a mistake. He knew who had killed Agnar.
He stopped the car in the street right outside the bar and ran in. He flashed his badge at the barman and asked if he had seen Magnus. He had. The big man had left fifteen minutes before.
Arni jumped back into his car and headed up the hill towards the Hallgrimskirkja. He stopped at a junction. A man crossed in front of him wearing a baggy hooded sweatshirt. The man was fairly tall, slim, with brown skin, walking determinedly. Arni knew him from somewhere.
He was the guy in the arrivals hall at Keflavik Airport. The American who had been met by the Lithuanian drug dealer.
It was a quiet road. The Hispanic guy had increased his pace to a brisk walk. He lifted up his hood.
As Arni crossed the junction heading uphill, he glimpsed Magnus shambling slowly further along the street, head down, deep in thought. Arni was tired. It took him a couple of seconds to realize what was happening. He braked, slammed the car into reverse, and sped backwards down the hill. He crashed into a parked car, threw open the door and jumped out.
‘Magnus!’ he shouted.
Magnus spun around when he heard the sound of smashing metal. So did the Hispanic guy.
The guy was only twenty metres away, maximum. He was gripping something in the front pocket of his sweatshirt.
Arni charged.
He saw the Hispanic’s eyes widen. He saw him pull the gun out of his pocket. Raise it.
Arni launched himself into mid air just as the gun went off.
Magnus saw Arni leap out of his vehicle, heard him shout, saw him run towards the tall figure in the grey hoodie.
He rushed forward just as Arni bowled the man over. He heard the sound of a gunshot, muffled by Arni’s body. The man rolled away from Arni, and turned towards Magnus. Raised his gun from a prone position.
Magnus was about twenty feet away. No chance of reaching the man before he pulled the trigger.
There was a gap between two houses on his left. He jinked and dived through. Another gunshot and a ricochet of a bullet off metal siding.
Magnus found himself in a back yard, other back yards ahead and to one side. He turned right and leapt at a six-foot-high fence. Swung his body over just as another shot rang out.
But Magnus didn’t want to run away from this guy.
He wanted to nail him.
A floodlight burst into life, dazzling Magnus. This yard backed on to a more prosperous looking house. Magnus searched for somewhere to hide.
Before it had erupted, Magnus had noticed that the floodlight was a couple of feet forward from the fence bordering the next yard along. He ran directly towards it, reached the fence and crouched down. He was in deep shadow. No chance of the man seeing him through the dazzling light.
The man appeared on top of the fence and dropped down. He paused to listen. Silence.
Magnus was breathing hard. He swallowed, trying to control it, to make sure he didn’t make a sound.
The man stood stock still, peering around the garden. Magnus had realized he had made a mistake. The guy had heard the silence. Heard the lack of running footsteps.
He knew Magnus was in the yard.
Magnus’s plan had been to catch the guy as he ran through the yard, grabbing him from behind. That plan wasn’t going to work.
For a second the man looked straight at Magnus. Magnus stayed motionless, praying that his theory about the light would hold. It did.
Cautiously the man examined a shrub. Then another. Then he stood still again, listening.
The floodlight was motion-activated. No motion, no light. It went out.
Magnus knew he had a second or two before the man’s eyes adjusted to the darkness. He also knew that if he ran straight, the man would shoot at the sound and he would take a bullet. So he ran a couple of paces forward and jinked to the left, a fullback slicing through the defence.
A shot rang out, the flame from the barrel illuminating the man’s face for a fraction of a second.
The man moved his gun to the right, pointed it straight at Magnus, aiming high.
So Magnus dived low, a football tackle directly at the man’s knees. Another shot, just a little too high, and the man went down.
Magnus wriggled and lunged for the hand holding the gun. He grabbed the barrel, and twisted it up and towards the man. Another shot and the sound of broken glass from the house. A satisfying snap and a cry as a thumb broke, jammed in the trigger guard. The man’s free hand reached over Magnus’s face grappling for his eyes. Magnus bucked and wrenched the gun away, rolling back and on to his feet.
He jabbed the gun into the man’s face.
He wanted to pull the trigger; he wanted so badly to pull the trigger. But he knew it would lead to all kinds of problems.
‘Get up!’ he shouted in English. ‘Stand up, or I’ll blow your head off!’
The man slowly raised himself to his feet, his eyes on Magnus, breathing heavily.
‘Get your hands up! Move over here!’
Magnus could hear shouting in the house. ‘Call the police,’ he yelled in Icelandic.
He pushed the man along the side of the house and out on to the street, and shoved him against the wall, his face pressed against the corrugated metal. Now he had a problem. He wanted to tend to Arni, but he couldn’t risk leaving the man uncovered.
He considered once again blowing the guy’s brains out. He was tempted.
Bad idea.
‘Turn around,’ he said, and as the guy turned towards him, he transferred the gun to his left hand and whacked the man with a blow to the jaw with his right.
The pain shot through Magnus’s hand, but the man crumpled. Out cold.
Magnus knelt down beside Arni. He was still alive, his eyelids were fluttering and his breath was coming in short gasps. There was a hole in his chest, there was blood. But there wasn’t that horrible wheezing sound of a sucking chest wound.
‘It’s OK, Arni. You’ll be fine. Hang in there, buddy. You’re not hit too bad.’
Arni’s lips began to move.
‘Shh,’ said Magnus. ‘Quiet now. We’ll get an ambulance here in no time.’
Someone had called the police, he could hear the sirens coming closer.
But Arni’s lips continued to move. ‘Magnus. Listen,’ he whispered, in English.
Magnus moved his head close to Arni’s face, but he couldn’t quite make out what Arni was trying to say, just the last word, which was something like ‘Bye’.
‘Hey, no need to say goodbye now, Arni, you’re gonna make it, you’re the Terminator, remember?’
Arni moved his head from side to side and tried to speak again. It was too much for him. The eyes closed. The lips stopped moving.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Magnus jumped into the police car that led the ambulance to the National Hospital, lights flashing, sirens blaring. It took less than five minutes. He was elbowed away by paramedics pushing Arni through corridors and double hospital doors. The last Magnus saw of his partner was his feet speeding towards the operating room at the stern of the gurney.