Meltwater (Fire and Ice)

called them.’ Viktor had left the house earlier for his office, where he was preparing his arguments in case there was trouble at the airport.
    ‘You could hop out a window at the back,’ said Dúddi. ‘You can cut through the garden of the house behind us. I could drive around to Lokastígur and pick you
up?’
    ‘Good thinking,’ said Erika.
    ‘Hey, Dúddi, shall I take her?’ said Franz. ‘I think the other guys need you here, and when I’m at the airport I can try to figure out flights for the rest of
us.’
    Erika glanced at Dúddi. ‘It might make sense,’ she said. ‘If you don’t mind Franz driving your car.’
    ‘Never had an accident so far,’ said Franz, holding his hands up.
    Dúddi hesitated. ‘Better not,’ he said. ‘You wouldn’t be insured. And however good a driver you are, there’s nothing you can do if some other idiot drives
into you. But you can come with us, if you want to sort out your flights. It probably would be better to do that at the airport.’
    ‘I think I will, actually. The Blue Lagoon sounds cool.’
    ‘Can we rent suits there?’ Erika asks.
    ‘Suits?’ Dúddi frowned. ‘Why do you want a suit?’
    ‘ Swim suits,’ said Franz.
    ‘Oh, yeah. No problem. But don’t wear them in the shower before you go in, otherwise you’ll get yelled at.’
    Dúddi left by the front door and Franz and Erika opened a window at the back of the house. Erika had her backpack: all the luggage she ever took anywhere.
    ‘Bye, Dieter,’ she said, hugging him. ‘And you, Zivah. You’ve done a great job. I know it’s been hard.’ She hugged her too.
    ‘I’m sorry I got scared,’ said Zivah. ‘It’s been a wonderful experience.’ Erika noticed there was a tear in her eye. ‘I believe in what you’re
doing.’
    ‘What we’re doing,’ said Erika. ‘I hope we’ll see you again?’
    Zivah smiled. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘Definitely.’
    With that, Erika hopped over the sill and into the garden, Franz dropping down behind her.
    ‘Árni!’ Magnus turned to the detective. ‘Do you have the manifest for that Icelandair flight that took off from Heathrow on Sunday just after the time
on that café receipt?’
    ‘I do.’ Árni reached for a pile of papers by the side of his desk and extracted a couple of pages. ‘Here it is.’
    Magnus scanned it quickly. ‘I knew it!’ he exclaimed, glaring at Árni. ‘Why the hell didn’t you read this more carefully?’
    ‘I did,’ Árni squeaked.
    ‘Then why didn’t you spot that?’ Magnus slammed the manifest on to the desk and thrust his thumb halfway down the list of names. ‘Tell me what it says.’
    ‘Sébastien Freitag. Belgian,’ Árni read.
    ‘Freitag? Freitag!’ Magnus shouted. ‘Didn’t that ring any bells? Like maybe he was related to François Freitag, otherwise known as Franz, who has been sitting in
the house on Thórsgata for the last week!’
    ‘But Franz Freitag is Swiss.’
    ‘No he’s not, Árni. He might have a Swiss passport, but he speaks French with a Belgian accent. I bet this guy is his brother or something.’
    Árni’s Adam’s apple bobbled. He looked as if he was about to burst into tears. Magnus didn’t care.
    ‘OK, Franz Freitag is Belgian,’ Magnus said. ‘His brother Sébastien was up on the volcano when Nico was killed. He had rented the Suzuki Vitara under a Dutch name
because imitating a Dutchman was easy for him. He attacked Erika when she went out for a run, and he was also in the church where Ásta was found murdered. Perhaps it was Franz who confessed
to Ásta? Maybe she discovered something to do with the Dumont scandal and she asked him about it? We need to figure out the connection between Dumont and the Freitags.’
    Magnus was staring at Árni, but Árni’s brain had turned to jelly.
    ‘There’s an easy way to find that out,’ said Vigdís, turning to her computer. Magnus looked over her shoulder, with Árni hovering too close behind him.
Vigdís called up Google and typed in two words: Dumont and Freitag .
    The first answer was in French. Vigdís clicked on it and brought up an article from the Belgian newspaper La Libre Belgique. Magnus couldn’t read French very well, but he did
understand the word mari , which was next to the name Ernst Freitag, and the deux fils, Sébastien (26) and François (22). Ernst seemed to be a citoyen suisse .
    ‘Come on, you two. We’re going to Thórsgata. Now.’
    The door of the house in Thórsgata was