The Wanderer: A Magnus Iceland Mystery by Michael Ridpath

Author:Michael Ridpath [Ridpath, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Yarmer
Published: 2018-09-06T05:00:00+00:00

Twenty-Eight

Magnus left the station at six-thirty. His stuff, which he had picked up the previous day from the hotel in Reykjavík, was still in the back of the car. He called Tryggvi Thór to warn him he was coming, and drove out to Álftanes.

‘Ah! It’s the homeless policeman,’ Tryggvi Thór said as he answered the door without a smile. The only sign of his injury was a crease a couple of inches long creeping through his thick steel-grey hair.

‘That’s sadly true,’ said Magnus. ‘Thank you for helping me out. Sorry I never made it here last night, I had to go up to Ólafsvík at short notice.’

Tryggvi Thór grunted. ‘Follow me.’ He led Magnus up the stairs to a small room with a view over the sea. ‘This is yours,’ he said. ‘There’s a bathroom next door. Bring your stuff up.’

He left Magnus alone in the room. Magnus did as he was told, making a couple of trips to the car to carry up his meagre possessions.

The room was cosy and decorated in an old-fashioned Icelandic style. The walls were splattered with small paintings of Mount Hekla and fishing boats, framed embroidered aphorisms and black-and-white photographs of men in suits and women in traditional Icelandic dress. The furniture was old and dark and a forest of little wooden and ceramic ornaments covered every surface. Amongst them, two jaunty Icelandic flags waved at him. A bookcase held a few rows of ancient hardbacks and some yellowing paperbacks. At least there was a decent-sized bed. Magnus recalled that Tryggvi Thór had recently inherited the house from his mother. Clearly he had not touched this room since then.

It was a far cry from the black, white and glass minimalist style beloved of modern Icelanders, including Ingileif. But Magnus rather liked it. It felt like a warm, safe Icelandic nest.

He spent a few minutes unpacking his stuff and putting it away. His encounter with Ingileif had shaken him. It wasn’t just the surprise of seeing her; he had known that was inevitable at some point. She seemed to have lost her warmth and exuberance. Perhaps it was marriage and motherhood or maybe she was just having a bad day. But her face looked worn by more than just one bad day.

He wondered what she thought of him: he too had aged, of course.

He needed to think through the Carlotta case. But first he really ought to go downstairs and spend a couple of minutes being sociable to his host. Although he knew it was the kind of thing Icelanders did, he was still grateful to Tryggvi Thór for getting him out of a hole.

Tryggvi Thór was outside, sitting in one of two wooden Adirondack chairs, staring out over the sea. The sun had escaped the clouds and was simmering the sea in ruffles of yellow and grey. It was cool in the light breeze and thin sunshine, but that didn’t seem to bother Tryggvi Thór.

‘May I join you?’ Magnus asked.

‘If you like.’

Magnus slumped into

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