‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because nobody asked me.’ She looked straight at Vigdis with her bright blue eyes. ‘Well, I told you my story. Do you believe me?’
‘Yes,’ said Vigdis. ‘Yes, I do.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Magnus took a last look around Room 208, trying to place himself in the shoes of Steve Jubb. Where would he hide something as small as a ring?
He couldn’t think of anywhere. He had been over every inch of the room, and he was leaving quite a mess. He didn’t care. Relations between the Reykjavik Metropolitan Police and the management of the Hotel Borg had taken a bit of a dive over the last couple of hours. The management had been upset at Magnus’s insistence that the current occupant of the room, a German businessman, should be turfed out an hour before he was ready to check out. So had the businessman.
The cleaner, a young Polish woman, was more helpful. She was quite certain that she hadn’t seen a ring, or anything that might contain a ring, as she had told the police a few days before. Unfortunately for Magnus, she seemed a reliable, observant girl.
The ring definitely wasn’t there. Arni’s interpretation of Jubb’s text message to Isildur was probably right – Jubb hadn’t taken it, but Jubb thought Agnar had it.
Next stop, the summer house on Lake Thingvellir. Again.
Magnus took the stairs down to the lobby. His thoughts drifted back to Colby. Was he serious about flying back to Boston?
At least he would be doing something. But finding Pedro Soto would be difficult. Killing him even more difficult. Magnus would be much more likely to give Soto the opportunity to finish him off. That would solve Soto’s problems, take the pressure off the Lenahan trial, keep his narcotics import and distribution businesses going.
What about finding Colby and protecting her? That, too, might be difficult. Colby had sounded determined to disappear. She was a capable woman: when she was determined to do something she usually did it. She would be hard for Magnus to find. And for the Dominicans. But if Magnus charged around looking for her, he ran the risk of leading the Dominicans right to her.
Like it or not, Magnus’s best shot at hurting Soto and protecting Colby was to lie low, stay in Iceland, and testify at Lenahan’s trial.
He handed the key card to the receptionist. As he was leaving the hotel, he passed a small man with a scruffy beard coming in, wheeling a suitcase behind him. The man was wearing a green baseball cap proclaiming ‘Frodo Lives’.
Magnus held the door open.
‘Oh, er, thank you very much, sir,’ the man said, nervously. The language was English, the accent American.
‘No problem,’ said Magnus.
The Hotel Borg shared a square with the Parliament building, the site of the weekly Saturday afternoon demonstrations over the winter. As Magnus walked across it towards the police-department silver Skoda that he had signed out that morning, he wondered about the cap. Strange, he had never thought about Lord of the Rings memorabilia before. Was he going to be stopped short by every Gollum or Gandalf T-shirt he came across? Were there really that many of them?
No. There weren’t.
He turned on his heel and returned to the lobby in time to see the elevator door closing behind the wheeled suitcase.
‘What was the name of the guest who just checked in?’ he asked the receptionist.
‘Mr Feldman,’ she said. Then, glancing at her computer screen. ‘Lawrence Feldman.’
‘Which room?’
‘Three-ten.’
‘Thank you.’
Magnus gave Feldman a minute to get himself into his room and then took the elevator up to the third floor. He knocked on the door of Room 310.
The man answered.
‘Isildur?’ said Magnus.
Feldman blinked. ‘Who are you?’
‘My name is Sergeant Detective Jonson. I’m working with the Reykjavik Metropolitan Police. Can I come in?’
‘Er, I guess so,’ said Feldman. His suitcase and his jacket were on the bed, together with the baseball cap. Magnus could hear the sound of the lavatory cistern refilling from the bathroom.
‘Take a load off,’ said Magnus, indicating the bed. Feldman sat on it, and Magnus pulled out the chair behind the desk.
Feldman looked tired. His brown eyes were quick and intelligent, but rimmed with red blood vessels. His skin was a waxy pale underneath the scrappy beard.
‘Just flown in?’ Magnus asked.
‘You followed me in from the airport?’ said Feldman. ‘I guess you knew I would check in at the Borg.’
Magnus just grunted. Feldman was right, they should have known there was a good chance that he would show up in Iceland sooner or later. They should have been checking the airports. And the Hotel Borg was the natural place to stay. But Magnus decided not to explain to Feldman that it was just dumb luck that he had spotted him.
He thought about Arni, currently high over the Midwest on his way to California. It was all he could do not to smile to himself.
‘Should I get a lawyer here?’ Feldman asked.
‘Good question,’ said Magnus. ‘There’s no doubt you’re in deep shit. And if this was the States, then I would definitely advise it. But here? I don’t know.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, here they can lock you up for three weeks if they think you’re a suspect. That’s what happened to Steve Jubb. He’s in the top-security jail at Litla Hraun now. I could easily send you in there with him, if you don’t cooperate. I mean we’re looking at conspiracy to murder.’
Feldman just blinked.
‘These Icelandic places are tough. Full of these big blond beefy Vikings. Oh, don’t worry, they’ll like you. They like little guys.’ Feldman shifted uncomfortably on the bed. ‘A lot of them are shep-herds, you know, stuck up on a hillside all alone with a flock of sheep. They break the law – rape, incest, indecent acts with herbivores, that kind of thing. They get caught. They go to prison. No women, no sheep. What’s a big blond Viking guy going to do?’ Magnus smiled. ‘That’s where you come in.’
For a moment Magnus thought he had gone too far, but Feldman seemed to be buying it. He was tired, disoriented, in a foreign country.
Of course Magnus had absolutely no idea what conditions at Litla Hraun were really like. Knowing Iceland he rather suspected that the warders brought the prisoners hot cocoa and slippers every night as the inmates watched the latest soap on TV and knitted themselves scarves.
‘So, if I talk to you now, you’ll guarantee you won’t send me there?’
Magnus looked directly at Feldman. ‘That kinda depends on what you tell me.’
Feldman swallowed. ‘I didn’t have anything to do with Agnar’s murder. And I really don’t think that Gimli did either.’
‘OK,’ said Magnus. ‘Let’s start from the beginning. Tell me about Gaukur’s ring.’
‘I like to call it Isildur’s ring,’ said Feldman. ‘I changed my online nickname to Isildur when I first heard the
