Sea of Stone Read Free Page B

to show me Hallgrímur.’
    ‘Who is at the farm now? Where’s Hallgrímur’s wife?’
    ‘Sylvía? I haven’t seen her today.’ Aníta looked over towards the cottage. ‘Her car isn’t there. It’s a Sunday – church, maybe? She goes more and more these days. My husband Kolbeinn is offat basketball practice with Krissi, our son. Tóta, my daughter, is probably in the main farmhouse. She’ll have only just got up. That’s everyone who lives here.’
    ‘What about you? What were you doing?’
    ‘I went out for a ride for at least an hour, probably an hour and a half. I went round the far side of the fell, so I couldn’t see the road over the lava field. It’s too misty anyway.’
    Páll glanced at the horse, and more particularly at the horse’s hooves. They had churned up the damp grass just outside the gate to the churchyard. ‘OK, well you and your horse had better move right away from here. Follow a route directly back to my car over there. Then go back to the farmhouse. We’ll speak to you later.’
    Aníta did as she was asked. As Páll and Magnus followed her and the horse, another two police cars screeched to a halt next to Páll’s vehicle. Rúnar, the chief superintendent of the Stykkishólmur area, and two colleagues also in uniform, hurried down towards Páll.
    Rúnar was a bald, bouncy man who looked younger than his forty years. Although chief superintendent was a high rank, and the area he covered from Stykkishólmur was a large one, there were fewer than a dozen policemen reporting to him, including Páll. But there was also a population of only a few thousand for them to police, and the crime rate was low. Local knowledge and peer pressure made sure of that. A murder was virtually unheard of.
    ‘I’m surprised to see you here,’ said Rúnar. ‘I heard you were wrapping up that tourist case on the volcano.’
    ‘I’m here in a personal capacity,’ said Magnus. ‘This is my grandfather’s farm. I was just coming to visit him. And I found him dead.’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ said Rúnar. ‘Show me.’
    Páll left Magnus to show his boss the body, and opened up the boot of his car to dig out some tape. A raven croaked. And a telephone rang; it was coming from Hallgrímur’s cottage.
    Páll dropped the tape, ran inside and picked up the phone in the living room.
    ‘Hello?’ he said, out of breath.
    ‘Afi? Is that Afi?’
    Páll hesitated.
Afi
was the Icelandic word for grandfather, but the question was in English.
    ‘Afi?’ Again.
    ‘No, Hallgrímur isn’t here now,’ Páll replied in English. ‘This is the police. Something has happened to him. Who am I speaking to?’
    Silence.
    ‘Is this his grandson?’
    The line went dead.
    Páll replaced the receiver, frowning. He crossed the field to join Magnus and Rúnar at the church.
    ‘I just took a phone call in the cottage,’ he said.
    ‘Who was it?’ asked Rúnar.
    ‘It was weird,’ Páll said. ‘Someone speaking English who asked for
Afi
. He hung up when I said Hallgrímur wasn’t here.’
    ‘His grandson?’ said Rúnar.
    ‘Must be,’ said Páll. They both turned to Magnus.
    ‘Do you have a brother?’ Rúnar asked him.
    Magnus took a deep breath. ‘Yes, I do. Ollie. He’s lived in America since he was ten. He speaks English; he’s forgotten all his Icelandic. Hallgrímur has other grandchildren, but it must be him.’
    ‘Is he in Iceland now?’
    ‘Yeah. He’s been staying with me for the last few days. Here, I’ll give him a call.’ Magnus pulled out his phone.
    ‘Better not,’ said Rúnar, reaching for his own phone. ‘Páll, your English is better than mine. You call him back. What’s his number, Magnús?’
    ‘OK,’ said Magnus. He dictated some digits. Páll punched in the numbers. It was a US dialling code.
    There was no reply. Páll left a message, in English. ‘Ollie, this is Páll from the police. We have some news about your grandfather. Please call me back on this number.’
    Rúnar turned