‘Where is this man you dreamed?’
‘He was tied to some kind of construction, and there’s seaweed floating
all around him.’
‘Yes, but whereabouts in the country?’
‘I don’t know that.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘There was black tape covering the lower half of his face so I couldn’t
recognise him, but I felt I ought to know him.’
She closes her eyes.
‘His hair is dark grey and there’s fear and horror in his eyes,’ she
continues, as if in a trance. ‘This man knows he is about to die, knows there’s
nothing he can do, knows he’s caught in death’s grip.’
Phew!
I know from my own experience the dreadful feeling of helplessness when
every escape route is closed. When there’s no way home.
She leans forward and stares at me.
‘But you can save him.’
‘How so?’
‘By finding the man before it’s too late.’
The crap this fake medium dares to come out with!
‘And how am I supposed to track down this damp dreamboat of yours?’
‘Don’t you make a habit of solving cases that everyone else gives up
on?’
‘Yes, sure. But you haven’t told me anything concrete. Such as the name
of this man you ought to recognise.’
‘I don’t have a name, unfortunately.’
‘And you don’t know whereabouts in the country he is?’
‘No. But I know if nobody does anything, he’s going to die.’
‘And I know that I have to spend my time in the real world. Your crazy
dreams are no business of mine.’
‘There’s nothing crazy about this.’
‘If you’re so certain about this vision or whatever you’ve imagined,
then go back to the police. Nonsense like this is their department.’
‘They threw me out.’
‘I’m going to do the same.’
Dýrleif looks at me for a moment without speaking, her eyes mournful.
‘Why won’t anyone believe me?’ she asks at last.
‘Go home and put in a request for a new, clearer vision,’ I tell her
coldly. ‘A name and a phone number would help. Then you can call your dreamboat
guy.’
She sighs, gets to her feet and slowly leaves the meeting room.
I accompany her out into the corridor. I open the door of the red town
house that’s both my office and my home.
‘If you won’t take any notice of me, then he’s condemned to die,’ she
says, looking beseechingly at me.
I shrug.
‘I was sure you’d listen to me,’ Dýrleif adds. ‘It was your mother who
gave me your name.’
Yeah, right!
‘Did she email you?’
‘Our connection is on another, much higher plane,’ she replies.
‘Yes, a plane of sick imagination.’
I shut the door with a bang. Straight back to the office, slamming the
door behind me.
That fucking freak!
I don’t have it in me to sit in front of the computer again. Instead, I
slip on my russet-brown leather jacket. I look in on Lísa Björk.
‘Taking a walk to clear my head,’ I tell her.
There’s a gloom over Reykjavík. I don’t let it affect me. I follow my
nose along the damp pavement down to Laugavegur.
There’s a fresh breeze that plays around my face. It cools my mood.
I suppose I shouldn’t have let my temper get the better of me over this
two-bit medium who makes a living deceiving those who are already in enough
pain.
Murder Tide by Stella Blómkvist
(Corylus Books) Out Now
The ruthless businessman left to
drown by the risking tide at the dock by Reykjavik's Grotta lighthouse had
never been short of enemies. The police have their suspect, and he calls in
Stella Blómkvist to fight his corner as he furiously protests his innocence.
Yet this angry fisherman had more reason than many to bear the dead man a
grudge. It's a busy summer for razor-tongued, no-nonsense lawyer Stella. A
young woman looking for a long-lost parent finds more than she bargained for.
An old adversary calls from prison, looking for Stella to broker a dangerous
deal with the police to put one of the city's untouchable crime lords behind
bars at long last. Is the mysterious medium right, warning that deep waters are
waiting for Stella as well?
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