presence.’ She finished her wine. ‘Do you want another glass?’
Magnus nodded. Ingileif went to the fridge to retrieve the bottle and refilled their glasses.
‘I’ve been thinking a lot about my own father’s death this week, after what happened to Agnar. I know it’s Agnar’s murder you are investigating, but I wonder whether Dad’s death was all that it seemed.’
‘What happened?’
‘Dad and the pastor were going on a two-day expedition, with tents, up in the hills to the west of the River Thjorsa. It’s pretty barren up there, and there was still some snow on the ground. I never found out exactly where they went – presumably they were checking out some local caves or hound-shaped chunks of lava.’
Ingileif took a gulp of her wine. ‘On the second day they were on their way back when a snowstorm blew up out of nowhere. I say out of nowhere, it had been forecast, but the previous day had been clear and sunny, I remember it. They got lost on the moor, and Dad stumbled over a cliff. He fell about fifteen metres on to some rocks. The pastor climbed down. He says he thought Dad was badly injured but still alive. He hurried off as quick as he could to find help, but he got lost in the snowstorm. Six hours later he found a sheep farm and grabbed the farmer. By the time they got back to the cliff, Dad was dead: fractured skull, broken neck. In fact, they think he probably died within a few minutes of the fall.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Magnus. ‘My father died when I was twenty. It’s rough.’
Ingileif smiled quickly. ‘Yes, it is. And although you think you have come to terms with it, you never really do. Especially when something like this happens.’
‘Do you think he was pushed?’ Magnus asked.
‘By Reverend Hakon? You mean, they both found the ring and the pastor pushed my father over the cliff to take it from him?’
Magnus shrugged. ‘You just said it. What do you think?’
‘I don’t know,’ Ingileif said. ‘The pastor and my dad were good friends. My dad had lots of friends, he was good with people, but Reverend Hakon wasn’t. I think Dad was probably the only true friend he really had. After Dad died the pastor sort of withdrew into himself and became really weird. His wife left him a couple of years later. No one in the village blamed her.’
‘Or it could simply be the reaction of someone who had just murdered his best friend,’ said Magnus. ‘I think I should go and see the Reverend Hakon tomorrow.’
‘Can I come?’ Ingileif asked.
Magnus raised his eyebrows.
‘It’s hard to explain,’ Ingileif said. ‘I need to find out what really happened to my father. It was a long time ago and I’ve tried to bottle it all up, but there are so many questions that I don’t have the answers to. Agnar’s murder has brought them all back. I’ve just got to find those answers if I’m going to get on with my life. Do you understand?’
‘Oh, I understand,’ said Magnus. ‘Believe me, I understand. I sometimes think I spend every day trying to answer those kinds of questions about my own father.’
He considered her request. It was certainly not part of the standard investigative procedure to take one witness along to interview another, just to satisfy her curiosity. ‘Yes,’ said Magnus, smiling. ‘That would be fine.’
Ingileif returned his smile. There was a silence that was and was not uncomfortable.
‘Tell me about your father,’ Ingileif said.
Magnus paused. Drank some wine. Glanced at the woman opposite him, her grey eyes warm now. It wasn’t standard investigative procedure. But he told her. About his early childhood, his parents’ separation, his own move to America to join his father. About his stepmother, his father’s murder and his failed attempts to solve it. And then about his recent discovery of his father’s infidelity.
They talked for an hour. Perhaps two hours. They talked a lot about Magnus, and then they talked about Ingileif. They finished the bottle of wine and opened another.
Eventually Magnus got up to leave. ‘So you still want to come with me to Hruni? To see the Reverend Hakon?’
‘I’d like to,’ said Ingileif, with a smile.
‘Good,’ said Magnus, putting on his coat. Then he froze. ‘Wait a minute!’
‘What?’
‘This pastor. This Reverend Hakon. Does he have a son?’
‘Yes. As a matter of fact I saw him only this morning. He’s an old friend of mine.’
‘And what’s his name?’
‘Tomas. Tomas Hakonarson. He’s a TV presenter now. He’s quite famous: you must know him.’
‘Yes,’ said Magnus. ‘As a matter of fact, I do know him.’
The street was cold and damp after the warmth of Ingileif’s flat. There was a light drizzle and a steady fresh breeze pushed the moisture against Magnus’s cheeks.
He knew he should go home, but Ingileif lived not far from the Grand Rokk.
Just one beer.
As he made his way along the higgledy-piggledy little streets, Magnus pulled out his phone. He should call Baldur, tell him that the man he had in custody was the son of the pastor who had accompanied the doctor in his search for the ring seventeen years before.
He didn’t have Baldur’s home number or the number for his cell phone. But if he called the station they could pass on the message.
Screw it. Magnus slipped his phone back in his pocket. It’s not as if Baldur would care. He wouldn’t actually do anything with the information. Magnus would tell him the following day, when he had actually spoken to the Reverend Hakon.
His phone rang. It was Arni.
‘I’ve just arrived in San Francisco,’ he said. ‘I got your message.’ The disappointment flowed unhindered the thousands of miles from California.
‘Sorry about that, Arni. I saw Isildur this morning at the Hotel Borg.’
‘Did he give you some good information?’
‘Yeah, he did. Not that your boss would care.’
‘Why? What’s happened?’
‘He’s made another arrest. Some guy called Tomas Hakonarson.’
‘Not from The Point?’
‘That’s the guy.’
Arni whistled down the phone. ‘So what shall I do now?’
‘I guess you’d better come home. Your plane will probably turn right around and head back to New York. You’d better check they got a seat for you on it.’
‘Oh, shit,’ said Arni. ‘It feels like I’ve been on the plane for days already. I don’t think my body could stand another flight that long.’
Don’t be such a wimp, Magnus thought. But he took pity on his new partner. ‘Or you could just check into a hotel and listen to my message first thing tomorrow morning.’
‘Good idea. I’ll do that. Thanks, Magnus.’
‘No problem.’
‘And Magnus?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Keep at it. Don’t give up. You’ll get there.’
‘Night, Arni.’
As Magnus switched off his phone he thought about Arni’s last comment. He was pleased to be going home. But he didn’t like giving up. He hated the idea that he would leave Iceland with Agnar’s murder unsolved. To be brutally honest, he hated the idea of Baldur solving it just as much. Arni was right, he shouldn’t give up. He was looking forward to going to Hruni the next day with Ingileif. There was her father’s death to explain as well.
There was so much to explain. With a kind of weary inevitability, his mind drifted back to his own father’s death.
He paused outside the Grand Rokk and strode towards the pool of light emanating from the bar. The warmth
