motion carried two to one. The bus station it is.”
B ADDÓ LEAFED THROUGH the phone book. There were a few Haraldur Samúelssons there, but only one outside Reykjavík. Using a mobile phone with a pay-as-you-go SIM card bought that morning at a petrol station, he dialed the mobile number next to Haraldur Samúelsson’s phone book listing and waited. There was no answer and the number switched tovoicemail and a pleasant avuncular voice. Baddó closed the connection.
Next he tried the landline and was rewarded with yet another voicemail, this time a pleasant female voice informing him that there was nobody home right now, and inviting him to leave a message for Halli or Svava.
So he’s married, Baddó thought with delight, hoping that the repeated ducking had concentrated Magnús’s mind enough to remember the name right. It was just as well, because when he called the hotel at four, an irritable woman had simply told him that Magnús had called in sick. He thought of using his usual trick of hinting at something official without saying outright that he was a police officer, but instead he thanked her politely and left it at that.
Wheels. I need to get some wheels, he thought. He had borrowed María’s car that morning to pay Magnús’s flat a visit, but he wouldn’t be able to do that often as it could be traced back to him. Besides, María needed the car to get to her lousy minimum-wage job that just about paid the rent.
He took the bus, an unlikely passenger among the few elderly and very young people making their way home on a cold evening. It was just as well that Magnús’s girlfriend only lived in Kópavogur. His guess was right. Outside her parents’ house a shabby Golf had been badly parked between a Volvo and a bright yellow Toyota.
Baddó wondered how long he might have to wait. Waiting wasn’t a problem after what must have added up to several years of solitary confinement; he generally preferred his own company. What could be a problem was to be observed waiting, especially if the weather turned even colder. As it happened, there was no need to wait for long. Baddó stood motionless in a bus shelter across the road for almost an hour watching the house. A corpulent man in a sheepskin coat emerged and kicked the tire of the badly parked Golf beforereversing the Volvo out into the street and driving away. Another half an hour and a light in one room clicked off. Then another, over the front door, clicked on before the door opened a crack.
Baddó left the shelter and was across the road in a few steps, squatting on the Golf’s passenger side out of sight as he listened intently to two people arguing on the steps.
“Come on, Sara. We’re adults now, aren’t we?”
“You heard what my dad said. I’m sorry, Maggi.”
Baddó wondered if Magnús had told his girlfriend about his uncomfortable experience that morning and waited.
“I’ve had a fucking shit day. Now you’re chucking me out and I don’t want to go home.”
Baddó frowned in the shadows. Maybe he had told her.
“Oh, don’t be so stupid, Maggi. I’ll come and stay at your place over the weekend, but I’m not staying if you haven’t cleared up all that stuff in the hall.”
“
Æi
. It’s not that simple. Look, I have to leave and find somewhere else. The landlord wants me out already.”
Baddó heard Sara sniff dismissively. “Don’t be so silly. He can’t throw you out if you have a rental contract. He must know that.”
“Yeah. It’s not that easy …” Magnús said plaintively.
“Call me tomorrow, will you? At work, not at home. I don’t want to upset them any more. Come on. You’d best be gone before my dad comes back,” Baddó heard her say and imagined her standing behind a half-closed door, ready to shut it.
“Oh, all right,” Magnús finally said in a sulky tone that made Baddó want to laugh. The door closed with a click and he could hear footsteps descending the flight of steps down from the
B ADDÓ LEAFED THROUGH the phone book. There were a few Haraldur Samúelssons there, but only one outside Reykjavík. Using a mobile phone with a pay-as-you-go SIM card bought that morning at a petrol station, he dialed the mobile number next to Haraldur Samúelsson’s phone book listing and waited. There was no answer and the number switched tovoicemail and a pleasant avuncular voice. Baddó closed the connection.
Next he tried the landline and was rewarded with yet another voicemail, this time a pleasant female voice informing him that there was nobody home right now, and inviting him to leave a message for Halli or Svava.
So he’s married, Baddó thought with delight, hoping that the repeated ducking had concentrated Magnús’s mind enough to remember the name right. It was just as well, because when he called the hotel at four, an irritable woman had simply told him that Magnús had called in sick. He thought of using his usual trick of hinting at something official without saying outright that he was a police officer, but instead he thanked her politely and left it at that.
Wheels. I need to get some wheels, he thought. He had borrowed María’s car that morning to pay Magnús’s flat a visit, but he wouldn’t be able to do that often as it could be traced back to him. Besides, María needed the car to get to her lousy minimum-wage job that just about paid the rent.
He took the bus, an unlikely passenger among the few elderly and very young people making their way home on a cold evening. It was just as well that Magnús’s girlfriend only lived in Kópavogur. His guess was right. Outside her parents’ house a shabby Golf had been badly parked between a Volvo and a bright yellow Toyota.
Baddó wondered how long he might have to wait. Waiting wasn’t a problem after what must have added up to several years of solitary confinement; he generally preferred his own company. What could be a problem was to be observed waiting, especially if the weather turned even colder. As it happened, there was no need to wait for long. Baddó stood motionless in a bus shelter across the road for almost an hour watching the house. A corpulent man in a sheepskin coat emerged and kicked the tire of the badly parked Golf beforereversing the Volvo out into the street and driving away. Another half an hour and a light in one room clicked off. Then another, over the front door, clicked on before the door opened a crack.
Baddó left the shelter and was across the road in a few steps, squatting on the Golf’s passenger side out of sight as he listened intently to two people arguing on the steps.
“Come on, Sara. We’re adults now, aren’t we?”
“You heard what my dad said. I’m sorry, Maggi.”
Baddó wondered if Magnús had told his girlfriend about his uncomfortable experience that morning and waited.
“I’ve had a fucking shit day. Now you’re chucking me out and I don’t want to go home.”
Baddó frowned in the shadows. Maybe he had told her.
“Oh, don’t be so stupid, Maggi. I’ll come and stay at your place over the weekend, but I’m not staying if you haven’t cleared up all that stuff in the hall.”
“
Æi
. It’s not that simple. Look, I have to leave and find somewhere else. The landlord wants me out already.”
Baddó heard Sara sniff dismissively. “Don’t be so silly. He can’t throw you out if you have a rental contract. He must know that.”
“Yeah. It’s not that easy …” Magnús said plaintively.
“Call me tomorrow, will you? At work, not at home. I don’t want to upset them any more. Come on. You’d best be gone before my dad comes back,” Baddó heard her say and imagined her standing behind a half-closed door, ready to shut it.
“Oh, all right,” Magnús finally said in a sulky tone that made Baddó want to laugh. The door closed with a click and he could hear footsteps descending the flight of steps down from the
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