The Polar Bear Killing (8 page)

‘We’ve come to ask you for your rifle,’ Magnus said slowly. ‘So our scientists can examine it. See if it was the weapon that fired the bullet that killed Halldór. Can you fetch it for me?’

Egill didn’t move. He stared at the bullet. Then looked up at Vigdís and Magnus. He sat back in his chair.

‘You know I told you about that polar bear in Grímsey? The man the bear saved was one of my ancestors.’

‘It may be wrong to shoot polar bears,’ Magnus said quietly, ‘but it’s very wrong to shoot people.’

‘That policeman risked Anna’s life just so he could get the credit for killing a bear,’ Egill said, his eyes suddenly on fire. ‘So he shot the bear through the eye, but that was just because the bear was moving slowly.’ He leaned forward. ‘If the bear had charged – and it could easily have charged – then it would have been almost impossible to hit it with that accuracy. If he had hit the bear in the chest or the neck with a .22, Anna would be dead now. So I
couldn’t understand why everyone was treating the man like a hero when he had almost killed a child.’

‘How did you get him up to the henge?’ Magnus asked.

‘I spoke to him on the telephone. I told him what I had seen. Said I needed to talk to him and suggested we meet at the henge by one of the stone gates there. I made him think I was going to blackmail him. I waited a short distance away from the henge and shot him. Through the eye. He was standing still.’

‘You had your dog with you, didn’t you?’ said Vigdís. ‘We saw the tracks from its three paws in the mud on the way up the hill.’

‘Yes, he comes everywhere with me,’ said Egill. ‘Couldn’t leave him behind.’

‘I think you had better show us where you keep your rifle,’ Magnus said.

Egill nodded. He bent down and scratched the ears of the dog at his feet. The animal rolled on to his side, so that the rear right stump where his leg had once been was visible. His tail thumped the kitchen floor.

‘Sorry, Bjartur, old fellow. I’m going to have to leave you now. Perhaps Anna will look after you.’

For the first time, a tear appeared in the old man’s eye.

M
agnus stood under the newly hewn arch of the Arctic Henge and looked down at the little town of Raufarhöfn waking up.

A series of clouds were gathering over the Melrakkaslétta plain, preparing an assault on the stone circle. It was chilly this early in the morning.

Only a few feet away from him, Halldór had stood and waited for a bullet to thud into his brain, fired from the rifle of a mad old man. Halldór may have been wrong to shoot the polar bear. He was definitely wrong to risk the little girl’s life. But Magnus hated cop killers. Always.

He saw a police Skoda drive the short distance out of town and park at the foot of the low hill on which the henge stood. A lone man got out and began to jog up the hill. Ólafur.

He paused about a hundred metres away. ‘Magnús!’ he yelled.

Magnus stepped forward. ‘Yes!’

‘Come down here!’

‘I want to show you something!’

‘I said, come to me!’

Magnus shrugged and trotted down the hill slope. Ólafur looked wary, glancing from side to side.

‘You know Halldór was killed coming to a meeting like this right here?’ he said.

Magnus held up his hands. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry. I didn’t think of that. But I do want to show you something.’

‘Why didn’t you report to me when you got in last night?’ Ólafur was not happy.

‘It was late and I had had a long journey,’ said Magnus. ‘Come and look at this.’ He led Ólafur around the hill to where the dogs’ footprints were.

‘It’s a dog,’ said Ólafur.

‘A three-legged dog,’ said Magnus.

‘So?’

‘So, Egill, the neighbour of the little girl Anna who saw Halldór shoot the polar bear, has a three-legged dog.’

Ólafur stood up and looked up the hill to the henge. The rocks from where the shooter may have fired at the police constable were not far away.

‘So?’

‘So I think you should take a photograph of these tracks before that rain cloud gets here,’ Magnus said, pointing towards the Melrakkaslétta.

Ólafur grunted and then pulled out his phone and took photographs.

‘You know we have a suspect?’ he said. ‘Halldór’s daughter. We are just waiting for ballistics confirmation from Reykjavík.’

‘Which will say that the bullet was not fired from Halldór’s rifle.’

Ólafur frowned. ‘How do you know?’

‘Because it was fired from Egill’s gun – the farmer who owns the dog. He confessed about half an hour ago.’

Anger flashed across Ólafur’s face. ‘Where is Vigdís?’

‘She is waiting at Egill’s farm with him. Waiting for you to go and arrest him.’

Ólafur frowned. ‘Why hasn’t she arrested him? Why haven’t you?’

‘Me?’ Magnus smiled. ‘Oh, I think I arrived too late to have any effect on the case. Vigdís is a very good detective, as you know. Between the two of you, you cracked it.’

Ólafur’s frown deepened. He examined Magnus with suspicion. ‘What do you want?’

‘Vigdís told me that as she was sitting looking at the sea, she was joined by Martin Fiedler. Apparently you were running by
and you thought you saw them kissing!’ Magnus gave a dry laugh. ‘She doesn’t know him; they don’t even speak the same language! But I’m sure you were mistaken. You were moving; it was a bit of a distance away.’

‘I know what I saw,’ Ólafur said.

‘I don’t think you do,’ said Magnus. ‘Look, Ólafur. I have worked with Vigdís for several years. She is a very good detective. She doesn’t deserve to have her career ruined. It would be humiliating for you if people thought I had turned up here and solved the case in a couple of hours before I had even spoken to you. I have no wish to humiliate you, Ólafur.’

Ólafur looked at the dog prints in the mud. ‘How did the forensics people miss that?’

‘I was looking for signs of a three-legged dog,’ Magnus said. ‘Kids like Gudrún don’t shoot their fathers, however angry they are with them. But crazy old men with a soft spot for little girls and polar bears? Maybe. He seemed the most likely of all the people Vigdís told me about.’

Ólafur sighed. ‘All right.’ He stared out towards the cliff at the mouth of the harbour. ‘I
wa
s running fast. It had been a long day and Vigdís was far away. I must have been mistaken. I’ll tell Baldur that.’

‘Good,’ said Magnus. He checked his watch. ‘You may just have time to get to Egill’s farm and arrest him before your morning meeting.’

‘Hey, aren’t you going the wrong way?’

Vigdís and Magnus were in her car, leaving Raufarhöfn, with Magnus driving. Magnus had left his vehicle behind for one of the Akureyri officers to drive back to their station. Magnus had turned left rather than right out of the hotel car park. South.

‘I thought we would go the long way round,’ he said. ‘It’s more scenic.’

‘You’re nuts,’ Vigdís said. ‘It took me nine hours to get here around the ring road to the north. It’ll take days the other way via Höfn and Vík.’

‘Relax, Vigdís,’ Magnus said. ‘I didn’t tell anyone in Reykjavík what time we were leaving. Did you? And it’s beautiful scenery this way.’

‘We’re not going to some saga site, are we? You want to stop off and see where Njáll got burned or something?’

‘Maybe,’ said Magnus. ‘Or that iceberg lagoon.’

Vigdís frowned. ‘If you hadn’t just saved my arse, I’d demand that you stop and let me out.’

‘You’re welcome,’ said Magnus. ‘It’s always a pleasure to help you.’

‘Huh!’

They drove out of town and rounded a bend.

‘Ah, a hitchhiker,’ said Magnus. ‘Let’s stop.’

‘Let’s not,’ said Vigdís.

‘The poor guy is stranded in the middle of nowhere.’ Magnus slowed.

‘Oh, Christ! It’s Martin! Martin Fiedler. Speed up, Magnus! We can’t take him.’

‘Why not?’ said Magnus, pulling up next to the German, who was standing with his thumb out, looking cold.

‘It’s going to be humiliating, him in the car with you and me.’

The car came to a halt. Magnus got out of the driver’s seat and took the keys with him. He shook Martin’s hand and gave him the keys.

‘Look after the car, will you? And Vigdís.’

‘I will,’ said Martin with a grin.

Vigdís rolled down the window. ‘What the hell are you doing, Magnús?’

‘I’ll walk back to Raufarhöfn and drop the other car in Akureyri.’ He took a well-thumbed Icelandic–English dictionary out of his pocket and tossed it into Vigdís’s lap. ‘Here. You may need this.’

Vigdís stared at the dictionary, and then at Martin climbing into the seat next to her. ‘You planned this, Magnús!’

‘Have a good trip!’ Magnus said. ‘I’ll tell Baldur I gave you four days’ leave after all the overtime you worked on the case.’

Vigdís shook her head. And then she smiled.

Martin put the car into gear and drove off, towards the south. The long, slow way around the island.

This is based on a much shorter story under the same title that appeared in
Deadly Pleasures
(edited by Martin Edwards), an anthology of short stories by members of the Crime Writers’ Association.

Michael Ridpath spent eight years as a bond trader in the City before giving up his job to write full-time. He lives in north London with his wife and three children.

Also by Michael Ridpath

FIRE & ICE SERIES

Where the Shadows Lie
66º North
Sea of Stone
Meltwater

NOVELLAS

The Polar Bear Killing

Published in e-book in Great Britain in 2015 by Corvus, an imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd.

Copyright © Michael Ridpath, 2015

The moral right of Michael Ridpath to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities, is entirely coincidental.

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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

E-book ISBN: 978 178239 759 5

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