He was shown into a small waiting room and began pacing, a television mumbling in the background. Uniformed police officers bustled about.
A woman with a clipboard asked him about next of kin. He wrote down Katrin’s name and address. Then he called her.
‘Oh, hi, Magnus, did Arni find you?’ she asked in English.
‘Yeah, he found me.’
Katrin could tell from the tone of his voice that something was wrong. ‘What’s up?’
‘I’m at the hospital. Arni’s been shot.’
‘Shot? He can’t have been shot. This is Iceland.’
‘Well, he was. In the chest.’
‘Is he OK?’
‘He’s not OK, no. But he is alive. I don’t know yet how bad it is. He’s in surgery now.’
‘Did it have something to do with you?’
‘Yes,’ said Magnus. ‘Yes, it did have something to do with me.’
As he ended the call, he thought about exactly what it had had to do with him. It was his fault that Arni had been nearly killed. It was he who had led a Dominican hit man to Iceland, armed with a gun and primed to fire it.
It should have been him in there on the operating table.
‘Damn, Arni!’ He smashed his fist against the wall. A flash of pain ran through his hand, still sensitive from where it had connected with the punk’s jaw. OK, Arni wasn’t used to being around criminals with guns, but a Boston cop would never have done what he had done. There were lots of options. Drive the car straight at the guy. Drive up to Magnus and put the car between him and the punk. Just honk the horn, roll down the window and yell. All of those would have worked better than sprinting full speed at an armed man.
And, of course, if this was any normal country and Arni had been carrying a gun, he could simply have drawn it and shouted a challenge.
But even if he wasn’t smart, Arni was brave. And if the hit man had just been a split-second slower, Arni’s headlong rush might have worked. But the Dominican had been fast, and Arni had taken a bullet for Magnus.
The Police Commissioner had recruited Magnus to control the spread of big-city violence to Reykjavik. But all he had done was lead it right into the heart of the city, the heart of the police department.
Mind you, he had already come across plenty of unusual deaths in Iceland. Dr Asgrimur, Agnar, Ingileif’s stepfather.
Katrin burst in. ‘How is he?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know. They haven’t said anything yet.’
‘I’ve called Mum and Dad. They are on their way.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Magnus said.
Katrin was a tall woman. She looked him straight in the eye. ‘Did you shoot him?’
‘No.’
‘Well, then you have nothing to be sorry about.’
Magnus gave her a small smile and shrugged. He wasn’t about to take this moment to argue with an Icelandic woman.
A doctor appeared, mid-forties, confident, competent but concerned. ‘Are you next-of-kin?’ she asked Katrin.
‘I’m Arni’s sister, yes.’
‘He’s lost quite a lot of blood. The bullet’s still in there, right next to the heart. We’re going to go in and get it out. It will take a while.’
‘Will he be OK?’
The doctor looked Katrin in the eye much the same way she had just looked at Magnus. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘He’s got a chance. A good chance. Beyond that I can’t say.’
‘OK, don’t waste time here,’ Katrin said. ‘Get on with it.’
Magnus was sure that Iceland had competent doctors. But he was worried that they would have little experience with gunshot wounds. Back home, at Boston Medical Center, they spent much of their Friday and Saturday nights plugging up bullet holes.
He decided not to mention this to Katrin.
There was a commotion outside the waiting room and Baldur strode in. Magnus had seen Baldur angry before, but never this angry.
‘How is he?’ he asked.
‘They’re operating on him now,’ Magnus said. ‘The bullet’s still in there somewhere and they’re trying to fish it out.’
‘Will he make it?’
‘They hope so,’ said Magnus.
‘He’d better,’ said Baldur. ‘Now I’ve got some questions for you.’ He turned to Katrin, disapproval all over his face. Although Katrin wasn’t in full regalia, there was a sprinkling of metal sticking out of her face. ‘Can you excuse us?’
Katrin frowned. Magnus could see she had taken an instant dislike to the policeman, and was not in the mood to be pushed around.
‘Let’s leave her here,’ said Magnus. ‘ She has as much right to be here as we do. More. We can do this outside.’
Baldur glared at Katrin. Katrin glared back. They moved out into the corridor.
‘Do you know why one of my police officers was shot?’ Baldur said, his face only a few inches away from Magnus.
‘Yes.’
‘Well?’
‘I’m a witness in a big police corruption trial in Boston. Some people there want me dead. Dominican drug traffickers. That’s why I came here. Looks like they found me.’
‘And why didn’t you tell me about this?’
‘The Police Commissioner thought that the fewer people who knew, the less chance there would be of a leak.’
‘So he knew about it?’
‘Of course.’ ‘If Arni dies, so help me I’ll…’ Baldur hesitated as he tried to think of a convincing threat.
‘I’ve apologized to Arni’s sister, and I will apologize to you,’ Magnus said. ‘I’m sorry that I led the hit man over here. I’m bad news. I should go.’
‘Yes, you should. Starting now. I want you to leave this hospital, you can’t do anything more here. Go back to the station and make a statement. They’re waiting for you.’
Magnus didn’t have the strength to argue. He badly wanted to stay and see how Arni was doing, but in a way Baldur was right. He was a distraction. He should go.
He put his head into the waiting room. ‘I’ve got to leave now,’ he said to Katrin. ‘Let me know if there’s news, one way or the other.’
‘The bald Gestapo officer sent you home, did he?’
Magnus nodded. ‘He’s a little wound up. Understandably.’
‘Huh.’ Katrin seemed unimpressed. ‘I’ll call you when there’s news.’
Magnus slept badly. No dreams, thank God, but he kept on expecting the phone to ring. It didn’t.
He got up at six and called the hospital. He didn’t want to ring Katrin’s cell phone in case she had managed to snatch some sleep and he woke her. They had completed the operation and extracted the bullet. Arni had lost a lot of blood, but he was alive. They were cautiously optimistic, with the emphasis on cautiously. But Arni was still unconscious.
Magnus walked down the hill to the police station. It was a grey, windy, dull Reykjavik day. Cold, but not very cold.
There were two or three detectives in the Violent Crimes room. He nodded to them and they smiled and nodded back. Although he was prepared to shrug off hostility, he was glad that it didn’t seem to be present.
Vigdis came over with a cup of coffee. ‘I expect you need this.’
‘Thank you,’ Magnus said with a smile. And then: ‘Sorry about Arni.’
‘It wasn’t your fault,’ Vigdis said.
‘Do we know who the shooter is?’
‘No. He has a US passport, but we’re pretty sure it’s a fake. He’s not talking.’
‘He’s a pro. He won’t.’ Magnus had given the detective who had taken his statement the night before all the information he could, including whom to contact in the Boston PD. It had been made very clear that Baldur didn’t want him to interview the Dominican.
‘They might send another one, you know?’ Vigdis said. ‘Another hit man.’
‘It will take them a day or two before they realize things have gone wrong and they get someone else over here. And I’ll be gone soon.’
‘Keep your eyes open,’ said Vigdis. ‘Now you haven’t got Arni around to watch out for you any more.’