Where the Shadows Lie

by Michael Ridpath

‘Look, where are you now?’

  ‘Just outside Hella.’

  ‘OK. You’re right. You do deserve an explanation. And I’ll give you one, a full one.’

  ‘Go on, then.’

  ‘Not over the phone. We need to do this face to face.’

  ‘OK. I’ll be back in Reykjavík this afternoon.’

  ‘No, not here. You remember where Dad used to take us for picnics? The spot he said was his favourite place in Iceland?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘OK, meet me there. In, say, an hour and a half.’

  ‘Why there?’

  ‘I often go there, Inga. It’s where Dad is. I go there to talk to him. And I want him to be there when I talk to you.’

  There was silence on the other end of the phone. Ingileif would know that such sentimentalism was unlike Pétur, but then she also knew how much their father’s death had affected him.

  ‘OK. An hour and a half.’

  ‘See you then. And promise me you won’t say anything to the police. At least until after I’ve had a chance to explain things.’

  ‘I promise.’

  Now he had a signal, Magnus called Baldur.

  ‘I’ve found Hákon’s car,’ he said, before the inspector had a chance to hang up on him.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘On the road to Stöng. There’s no sign of him. And it’s too misty to see very far.’

  ‘Are you there now?’ barked Baldur.

  ‘No. I had to go back down the road a couple of kilometres until I could get a signal to call you.’

  ‘I’ll send a team up to look at it.’

  ‘And to search for him,’ said Magnus.

  ‘That won’t be necessary.’

  ‘Why not? Have you found him?’

  ‘Yes. At the bottom of the Hjálparfoss. A body was discovered there by a power worker half an hour ago. A large man with a beard wearing a clerical collar.’

  Hjálparfoss was a waterfall only a kilometre or so from the turn-off to Stöng. Magnus had seen a sign to it. The powerful river below him, the Fossá, flowed into it.

  ‘He could have jumped,’ said Baldur.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Magnus. ‘I saw tyre tracks next to the Suzuki. He was pushed.’

  ‘Well, don’t go back to the scene,’ said Baldur. ‘I don’t want you taking any further part in this investigation. I’m on my way to Hjálparfoss and you had better not be there when I arrive.’

  Magnus felt the urge to snap back. He had had the hunch that Hákon had driven to Stöng. He had found the car. But he held his tongue.

  ‘Glad I could be of assistance,’ he said, and hung up.

  Well, almost held his tongue.

  It would take Baldur at least an hour, probably more like two to get to Hjálparfoss from Reykjavík, which gave Magnus plenty of time.

  He drove steadily down the track to the main road. The foot of Búrfell emerged eerily out of the mist ahead. The turn-off to Hjálparfoss was a much better track, but still through black heaps of rock and sand. After a few hundred metres, the waterfall itself appeared, two powerful torrents of water divided by a basalt rock, tumbling into a pool. A police car with lights flashing was parked down by the bank of the river below the waterfall, and a small group of three or four people were clustered around something.

  Magnus parked next to the police car and introduced himself. The officers were friendly and stood back to let him take a look at the body.

  It was Hákon, all right. Badly battered by his journey down the river and over the waterfall.

  Magnus looked at the pastor of Hruni’s fingers.

  They were bare.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  MAGNUS DROVE BACK towards Reykjavík. The Thjórsá, which had sparkled the day before, flowed broad and ominously grey down towards the Atlantic Ocean.

  This changed things. This definitely changed things.

  It looked very much as if someone had killed Hákon. It wasn’t Tómas, he was locked up safe and sound. So who was it?

  Steve Jubb and Lawrence Feldman?

  Since he had arrived in Iceland, Magnus had heard about a lot of people who had suffered sudden death over the years. Not just Agnar and now Hákon. But also Dr Ásgrímur. And even Ingileif’s stepfather.

  Too many in such a peaceful country to be a coincidence.

  Another fall. Another drowning.

  Dr Ásgrímur had fallen to his death. That was supposed to be an accident. Agnar had been hit over the head and then drowned. Even Ingileif’s stepfather had fallen into Reykjavík Harbour, hitting his head and drowning.

  That was it. It was that death that had raised doubts at the back of Magnus’s mind earlier when he was talking to the Commissioner.

  It was a classic MO, a modus operandi, a means of killing for which a murderer showed a preference. Even the smartest killers often stuck to the same familiar method.

  There were only two people who were linked to all these deaths. A brother and a sister. Pétur and Ingileif.

  Magnus dismissed Ingileif. But Pétur?

  He had alibis. He was at high school in Reykjavík when his father had died. But perhaps he had been able to get out that weekend without anyone knowing? Perhaps he was the hidden man that the old farmer had seen? He was supposed to have been in London when his stepfather had been killed, but he could easily have flown back to Reykjavík for a couple of days without anyone knowing. If he had heard of what the man had done to his sister, Birna, he might have been moved to take revenge. Especially if he had killed before.

  But what about Agnar’s murder? Pétur had an alibi for that. He was at his clubs all night, Árni had checked it out.

  Magnus slammed his palm on the steering wheel. Árni! That was what he had been trying to say before he lost consciousness after he was shot. Not ‘Goodbye’ but ‘Alibi’. He was trying to tell Magnus about an alibi. Pétur’s alibi.

  Magnus could imagine what had happened. Árni had been round each of Pétur’s three clubs and had received assurances that Pétur had been seen there at some point on the evening of the murder. He hadn’t cross-checked times, drawn up a precise time-line of exactly where Pétur was and when during that night. It was just the kind of sloppy mistake he would make. But, to be fair to him, it was also the kind of thing he would feel guilty about later.

  Pétur had made sure he was seen in the early part of the evening and then driven up to Lake Thingvellir, arriving after nine-thirty when Steve Jubb had left. Perhaps he waited for an hour or so after he had killed Agnar until it was completely dark, before carrying him down to the lake. That would explain the signs of flies on the body in the summer house. Then, of course, he would still have time to get back to his clubs in the early hours of the morning, while they were still hopping.

  Four deaths. And Pétur was responsible for all of them.

  Magnus accelerated towards Reykjavík. He wanted to call Ingileif. Of course she was Pétur’s sister, her first loyalty was to him. But she wouldn’t shield a murderer. Or would she?

  Magnus called her number. ‘Ingileif? It’s me, Magnús.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I’m on the road to Flúdir.’

  The road from Hella to Flúdir passed the turn-off up the Thjórsá valley not far ahead of Magnus.

  ‘I need to talk to you. I’m pretty close. If you pull over and tell me where you are, I’ll find you.’

  ‘I can’t, Magnús, I have an appointment.’

  ‘It’s important.’

  ‘No, I’m sorry, Magnús.’

  ‘It’s very important!’

  ‘Look, if you want to arrest me, arrest me. Otherwise let me go about my business.’

  Magnus realized he had pushed too hard, but he was none the less surprised by her evasiveness.

  ‘Ingileif, where’s Pétur?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Suddenly the voice was quieter, less belligerent. She was lying.

  ‘Where are you going?�
� Magnus asked.

  Silence.

  ‘Are you going to meet him?’

  Ingileif hung up.

  A police car screamed by, lights flashing, speeding upstream to reinforce the officers gawping at the pastor’s body.

  Magnus remembered the way Ingileif had suddenly stiffened on that very same road the day before. As though she had seen something. Perhaps the driver of a passing car? Pétur?

  If she had seen him, then the information that Hákon’s car had been found would make her think. Think along the same lines that Magnus had just been following. Like Magnus she would want to talk to Pétur. She was going to meet him now.

  In Flúdir. If she was telling the truth about that.

  Magnus called Ingileif back. As expected, she didn’t pick up the phone. But he left her a message that Hákon’s body had been found downstream from his car. If she was meeting her brother, that was something she needed to know.

  He carried on driving. It was still a few kilometres to the junction where he could turn left for Reykjavík or right for Flúdir. But first he needed to tell Baldur about Pétur.

  He called his cell phone. No reply. The bastard wasn’t picking him up.

  He tried Vigdís. She, at least, would listen to him.

  ‘Vigdís, where are you?’

  ‘At police headquarters.’

  ‘I need you to go arrest Pétur Ásgrímsson.’

  ‘Why?’

  Magnus explained. Vigdís listened, asking one or two pertinent questions. ‘Makes sense to me,’ she said. ‘Have you told Baldur?’

  ‘He won’t take my call.’

  ‘I’ll speak to him.’

  Magnus’s phone rang again a minute later.

  ‘He won’t do it.’ It was Vigdís’s voice.

  ‘Won’t do what?’

  ‘Authorize me to arrest Pétur.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘He says it’s too early to leap to conclusions. He hasn’t even seen the body yet. There have been too many early arrests made in this investigation.’

  ‘It’s only because I suggested it,’ Magnus said bitterly.

  ‘I can’t comment on that,’ said Vigdís. ‘But I do know I can’t arrest Pétur if my chief told me not to.’

  ‘No, of course not, Vigdís. I’m putting you in a difficult situation.’

  ‘You are.’

  ‘The thing is, I think he’s going to meet his sister. I think she’s on to him. I’m worried that if they do meet, he might try to keep her quiet. Permanently.’

  ‘Aren’t you jumping to a few too many conclusions there?’

  Magnus frowned. He was concerned about Ingileif. Vigdís might be right, perhaps he was stretching to a conclusion too far, but after what had happened to Colby, Ingileif’s safety worried him. Worried him big time.

  ‘Maybe,’ he admitted. ‘But I’d rather jump to too many than too few.’

  ‘Look. I’ll see if I can find Pétur at his clubs or at his house. Then I’ll follow him if he goes anywhere. OK?’

  Magnus knew Baldur would be very unhappy when he found out what Vigdís was doing. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I appreciate it.’

  Magnus approached the junction. With Vigdís looking for Pétur in Reykjavík, Magnus could afford to concentrate on Ingileif.

  He turned right for Flúdir.

  Pétur could barely see Lake Thingvellir in the gloom ahead of him. It was just over a week since he had last been there. A week in which plenty had happened. A week in which he had lost control.

  Everything had been ruined that day seventeen years ago when his father had died in the snowstorm in the hills above Thjórsárdalur. Since then, his entire life had been spent trying to limit the damage.

  He had tried removing himself: from the whole Gaukur saga thing; from his family; from Iceland. That had worked to some extent, although he could never remove his father’s death from his heart, his soul. He thought about it every day. For seventeen years he had thought about it every single fucking day.

  But the misery had reached some kind of equilibrium, until Inga had opened up the question of the saga again. Pétur had tried to tell her not to sell it. He should have been more persuasive, much more persuasive. Inga’s and Agnar’s assurances that it would be possible to keep the sale secret had never had credibility.

  It was all Inga’s fault.

  He was nervous about meeting her now. He would explain everything, explain it so she could understand. He knew she looked up to him as a reliable big brother. That was precisely why she had been so angry with him when he had abandoned her and her mother and the rest of the family. Perhaps that would mean that she would understand why he had killed Sigursteinn. That man had deserved to die because of what he had done to Birna.

  Agnar would be harder to explain. As would Hákon. But Pétur had had no choice. There was no other way. Inga was smart, she would understand that.

  He was losing control. He had covered his tracks well with Agnar. Not so well with Hákon. And with Inga?

  He hoped to God that she understood. That she would keep quiet. Because if she didn’t. What then?

  Pétur fumbled in his pocket for the ring. He felt a sudden urge to examine it. He pulled over to the side of the road and killed the engine.

  Silence. To his right was the lake, a deep grey. Cloud obscured the island in the middle of the lake, let alone the mountains on the other side. In the distance he heard the sound of a car, growing louder, passing with a whoosh of air and then diminishing.

  Silence again.

  He examined the ring. Hákon had kept it in very good shape. It didn’t look a thousand years old, but then gold didn’t necessarily. He peered at the inside rim. He could make out the shapes of runes. What was it they were supposed to say? Andvaranautur. The Ring of Andvari.

  The ring. It was the ring that had destroyed his family. Once Högni had found it, they were doomed.

  It had obsessed his father and caused his death. It had briefly obsessed Pétur before he had tried to put it behind him. It had obsessed Agnar and the foreign Lord of the Rings fans, and it had obsessed Hákon. No possessed Hákon.

  Only his grandfather, Högni, had had the courage to put the ring back where it belonged. Out of reach of men.

  Pétur had spent his whole life struggling against the power of the ring. He should face facts. He had lost. The ring had won.

  Pétur slipped the ring on his finger.

  If Inga refused to keep quiet, she would have to die. That was all there was to it.

  Pétur checked his watch. An hour to go. He put his BMW in gear and headed on to the rendezvous with his sister.

  Magnus drove fast to Flúdir. The driveway in front of Ingileif’s house was empty. He jumped out of his car and rang the doorbell. Nothing. He stood back and examined the windows. No signs of life. It was a gloomy day, and if there was anyone inside they would have needed at least one light on.

  Damn! Where the hell was she?

  He looked around, searching for inspiration. An old man in dungarees and a flat cap was pottering about in the next door garden.

  Magnus hailed him. ‘Good morning!’

  ‘Good afternoon,’ the man corrected him.

  ‘Have you seen Ingileif?’ Magnus was quite sure that in a village the size of Flúdir, the man would know who Ingileif was, even if she hadn’t lived there herself for years.

  ‘You just missed her.’

  ‘How long ago?’

  The man stood up straight. Stretched. Took his cap off, displaying spiky grey hair. Examined Magnus. Put his cap back on. Scratched his chin. He wasn’t necessarily that old, but from his face, Magnus could tell he had spent decades outside in the cold and rain. And he wasn’t rightly sure whether to help this stranger.

  ‘How long ago did she leave?’ Magnus repeated.

  ‘I heard you. I’m not deaf.’

  Magnus forced a smile. ‘I’m a friend of hers. It’s urgent I find her.’

  ‘About ten minutes ago,’
the man replied eventually. ‘She didn’t stay long.’

  ‘Which way did she go?’

  ‘Couldn’t say for sure.’

  ‘What kind of car does she drive?’ Magnus asked. He had no clue himself.

  ‘Seems to me,’ the man said. ‘If you are her friend, you would know that.’

  Magnus fought to control his impatience. ‘This might sound melodramatic, but I believe she’s in danger. I really need to find her.’

  The man just grunted and turned back to his yard.

  Magnus leaped over the fence, grabbed the old man’s arm and twisted it behind his back. ‘Tell me what kind of car she drives or I’ll break it!’

  The man grunted in pain. ‘I won’t tell you anything. Dr Ásgrímur was a good friend of mine, and I’m not going to help anyone harm his daughter.’

  ‘Goddamn Icelanders!’ Magnus muttered in English and threw the man to the ground. Stubborn bastards the lot of them.

  He climbed back in his car. Where to? If she had driven back to meet Pétur in Reykjavík Magnus should have spotted her – he had kept an eye out for her among the drivers he had met coming the other way. There wasn’t much to the north of Flúdir. But to the east was Hruni. Perhaps she had gone there. Either to meet Pétur, or to look for the ring.

  The turn-off to Hruni was just to the south of the village. He sped the three kilometres in two minutes. As he expected there was a police car in the car park in front of the church, with a single officer reading a book in the front seat.

  The book was Crime and Punishment. The policeman had nearly finished.

  He recognized Magnus and greeted him.

  ‘Have you seen Ingileif Ásgrímsdóttir?’ Magnus asked. ‘Blonde woman, late twenties?’

  ‘No. And I’ve been here since eight this morning.’

  ‘Damn!’

  ‘Did you hear they think they’ve found Hákon’s body?’ the constable said.

  ‘Yeah, I’ve seen it, at the bottom of Hjálparfoss. He’s dead, there’s not much doubt about that. But I’m worried about Ingileif. I think whoever killed the pastor is after her.’

  ‘I’ll radio in if I see her.’

  ‘Can you call me on my cell?’ Magnus said, giving the constable his number.