Ingileif reddened at the admonition from her pastor.
‘I hardly think that’s for you to judge,’ said Magnus. ‘In fact, you should have told my colleague the truth first time around. It would have saved a lot of people a lot of time.’
‘Asgrimur was a very good friend of mine,’ said Hakon sternly. ‘I know what he would have wanted me to do.’
‘What you did was obstruct a murder inquiry,’ said Magnus. ‘Now. Did Agnar have something specific to ask you?’
‘Ingileif had just discovered the letter to her grandfather from Tolkien which referred to the discovery of the ring. Agnar came straight here and asked me much the same questions as you did just now. I gained the very strong impression that he wanted to try to find the ring himself. Of course, I couldn’t help him.’
‘How did he behave?’ Magnus asked.
‘Agitated. Excited. Aggressive in his questioning.’
‘Did you tell him anything you didn’t tell us?’ Magnus asked.
‘Absolutely not.’
Magnus paused, examining the pastor. But the man wasn’t about to say any more. ‘See, the day after he saw you, Agnar sent a message which implied that he knew where the ring was.’
‘Well, he certainly didn’t seem to know when I saw him.’
‘Did you tell him where you looked for it that day in 1992?’
‘No. He asked, but I told him I couldn’t remember. But of course I can.’
Ingileif showed the pastor the map that she had found among her father’s papers. ‘Is that the place?’
Hakon peered over. ‘Yes, that’s it. And there’s the farm, Alfa-brekka. I suppose I could have told Agnar where it was, wasted his time. I’m sure the ring is not there. At least it wasn’t there seventeen years ago, and I doubt it could have got there since.’
‘Are you certain it wasn’t there?’ Magnus asked. ‘I wonder if Agnar discovered clues to the location somewhere else and found something you missed.’
‘I’m absolutely certain,’ said Hakon. ‘Believe me, Asgrimur and I scraped every inch of the cave, and it wasn’t very big.’
‘Did your son know anything about this?’ Magnus asked.
‘Tomas? I don’t think so. He was, what, thirteen at the time? I didn’t tell him about the saga or the ring either then or afterwards. Did you, Ingileif?’
‘No,’ said Ingileif.
‘Then why was he speaking to Agnar the day he died?’ Magnus asked.
Hakon shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I had no idea they knew each other.’
‘Interesting coincidence, don’t you think?’
Hakon shrugged. ‘Maybe. I suppose so.’ Then he leaned forward, his eyes boring into Magnus. ‘My son is not a killer, young man. Remember that.’
‘God that man gives me the creeps,’ Ingileif said as they drove back towards Reykjavik.
‘Was he always like that?’
‘He was always weird. We didn’t go to church much, but when we did his sermons always used to scare the wits out of me. Lots of fire and brimstone, the devil behind every rock. As you can imagine, hearing that sort of thing while you are actually sitting in Hruni church is pretty frightening for a kid.’
She laughed to herself. ‘I remember one Monday morning, after one of his services, I gave back the hair clip I had “borrowed” from the girl I sat next to in class. I was so scared I was going to be swallowed up by the earth or struck by a bolt of lightning.’
‘I can imagine that.’
‘So, Mr Detective, was he telling the truth?’
‘I don’t think so. We know he lied to Vigdis about Agnar. I’m pretty sure he was lying about Tomas. He must have told him about the saga and the ring; why else would Tomas be talking to Agnar? It’s good I got him to deny that. Bad decision on his part.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Because when I get Tomas to admit that he heard about the saga from his father, we will have caught Hakon out in another lie. From then on he’ll be struggling to keep his story straight. What did you think?’
‘I think he killed my father. And I think he’s got the ring. Couldn’t you search his house?’
‘We’d need a search warrant.’
‘Are you going to get one?’
‘Possibly.’ Magnus would have loved to do that. But he would have to persuade Baldur, and that would not be easy. Not until he had broken Tomas’s story. He was looking forward to getting back to police headquarters to interview him.
‘Can we drop by that farm that Reverend Hakon went to for help?’ Ingileif asked. ‘Someone there might remember something.’
‘I’d like to get back as soon as possible to interview Tomas.’
‘I understand. But it might shed some light on my father’s death.’
Magnus hesitated.
‘Please, Magnus. You know how important it is to me.’
‘What was the name of the farm? Alfabrekka. He showed us on that map.’
‘That’s right. We’d have to go up Thjorsardalur.’
‘But that would be fifty kilometres out of our way, there and back.’
‘At least.’
Magnus knew he should tell Baldur about his interview with Hakon as soon as possible. And he wanted to do that in person rather than over the phone so he would be able to confront Tomas himself.
He glanced at Ingileif. It was true, he did know how important her father’s death was to her.
‘OK,’ he sighed. ‘Get the map out and tell me where to go.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
As the airplane began its descent into Keflavik Airport, Diego licked his lips. He was nervous. It wasn’t the hit, he was looking forward to that. And it wasn’t flying, he had been on many airplanes. But he had never been to Europe before. Spain he could have handled, Italy maybe, but Iceland?
From what little he had been able to find out about it, it was one weird country.
He was expecting snow and ice, Eskimos and igloos. The cold he could probably cope with. Since the age of fifteen he had lived in the town of Lawrence, about twenty miles north of Boston. It got pretty cold there in winter.
The cold had been one hell of a shock when he had first arrived in the States, aged seven. His family were from the town of San Francisco de Macoris in the Dominican Republic. They had crossed the hundred-mile Mona Passage to Puerto Rico by boat, and with fake ID purchased there flew to New York. They spent several years in Washington Heights in Upper Manhattan, where his father had plied his trade as a mule. He got caught, went to prison, died there ten years later. His mother had taken Diego and his two sisters up to where her cousin lived in Lawrence.
There, Diego had begun his narcotics career in logistics, before taking up an enforcement role, at which he was very successful. He wasn’t quite as gratuitously violent as some of Soto’s other enforcers, but he was smart, and often that counted for more. He was certainly the best guy to go find a Boston cop among a bunch of Eskimos and off him.
They landed, and were out of the plane in no time. Immigration control wasn’t a problem, the official glanced quickly at Diego’s fake US passport and stamped it. Then in the arrivals hall he looked for and found a sign saying Mr Roberts. The guy holding it was stocky, with close-cropped brown hair and what sounded a bit like a Russian accent, although actually he was Lithuanian. He led Diego out to the car park and a Nissan SUV.
There had been very little time to prepare for Diego’s trip. But Soto had managed to find out from his
