Meltwater (Fire and Ice)

that.’
    ‘I’m a policeman,’ said Magnus. ‘That counts as a motive, not a duty. It was murder all right.’
    ‘Hm,’ Jóhannes grunted.
    ‘There’s something else you might find interesting,’ Magnus said. ‘Our own father was murdered eleven years after yours. In 1996.’
    Magnus felt Ollie’s shoulders tighten next to him. He knew his brother wouldn’t like what he was about to say.
    ‘I’m sorry about that,’ said Jóhannes.
    ‘It was in the States. We were at the beach in a place called Duxbury for the summer. Everyone was out. Somebody rang the doorbell, my father answered, he let the man in, and then he was
stabbed once in the back and twice more in the chest.’
    ‘But that’s what happened to my father!’ Jóhannes said.
    ‘Exactly. Even down to the stab wounds.’
    ‘Do you think there’s a connection?’ Jóhannes asked.
    ‘I’m a cop. I have to think there’s a connection.’
    Jóhannes paused. ‘Could it be Hallgrímur?’ he asked. ‘Was there any tension between him and your father?’
    ‘There was plenty of tension,’ said Magnus. ‘Our mother drank. A lot. Our father had an affair with another woman – Unnur, in fact – and Mom found out about it.
They split up. Dad went to America and Mom stayed in Iceland. Ollie and I stayed with Hallgrímur at the farm at Bjarnarhöfn. It was no fun.’
    Beside Magnus, Ollie snorted. It was true – ‘no fun’ was an understatement.
    ‘After four years of hell, Dad came to fetch us and take us over to America with him. Then, eight years later, he was murdered.’
    ‘It sounds as if Hallgrímur had plenty of reason to hate your father.’
    ‘Yes. Although according to Unnur, he was actually glad to see him leave Iceland and our mother.’
    ‘The question remains, could Hallgrímur have murdered your father and my father?’ Jóhannes asked.
    ‘I don’t think so,’ said Magnus.
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘He has never left Iceland, never even been issued with a passport. He certainly never went to America in 1996. And he is left-handed.’
    ‘And the stab wounds were inflicted by someone who was right-handed?’
    ‘You got it.’
    ‘Interesting,’ said Jóhannes. ‘Do you know anything about the police investigation into my father’s murder? I’ve read press reports, of course.’
    ‘Yes, I read the file last year. It was very thorough. The investigating officer was Inspector Snorri Gudmundsson who is now the National Police Commissioner. But they didn’t find
any real suspects.’
    ‘Apart from me.’
    ‘Yes, I remember reading about you,’ said Magnus. ‘You discovered the body, didn’t you?’
    ‘That’s right.’
    ‘You were never a real suspect. No one was ever a real suspect.’
    ‘But what about the similarities with your own father’s murder?’ Jóhannes asked.
    ‘That was something I spotted last year when I read the file.’
    ‘And what did they say about that?’
    Magnus lowered his eyes. ‘Nothing. I didn’t tell them.’
    ‘You didn’t tell them! Why not?’
    ‘I . . .’ Magnus glanced at Ollie. ‘We. We didn’t want to reopen the case.’
    ‘What do you mean, you didn’t want to reopen the case!’ Jóhannes’s voice was raised in anger, and a number of other diners were staring at him. ‘This is an
unsolved murder we are talking about. Two unsolved murders. You have to reopen the case. It’s your duty as a police officer.’
    ‘You’re right,’ said Magnus. And he was right. He was glad that Ollie was there to listen to this. ‘You are absolutely right. And it’s something I will
do.’
    ‘When? This afternoon, I hope.’
    ‘Soon. There’s another murder investigation going on at the moment. The Italian man killed on the Fimmvörduháls volcano. You have probably seen it on the news.’
    Jóhannes jabbed a finger at Magnus. ‘If you don’t reopen this investigation immediately, I will talk to the Commissioner myself.’
    Magnus glanced at Ollie, whose scowl had deepened. ‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘Now, I have to go. Can you give me your number so I can let you know what I find out? We should stay
in touch.’
    Jóhannes tore a page out of a notebook and ripped it in two. He scribbled an address and phone number on each half and pushed the pieces of paper across the table to Magnus and his
brother. ‘I look forward to hearing from you soon.’
    ‘Where have you been, Magnús? Ragga’s been waiting for you.’ Árni looked frazzled.
    ‘Ragga?’
    ‘The