‘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. Vigdis 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 Petur 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 Vigdis was doing. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I appreciate it.’
Magnus approached the junction. With Vigdis looking for Petur in Reykjavik, Magnus could afford to concentrate on Ingileif.
He turned right for Fludir.
Petur 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 Thjorsardalur. 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. Petur 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 Hakon. But Petur 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 Hakon. And with Inga?
He hoped to God that she understood. That she would keep quiet. Because if she didn’t. What then?
Petur 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. Hakon 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 Hogni had found it, they were doomed.
It had obsessed his father and caused his death. It had briefly obsessed Petur 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 Hakon. No possessed Hakon.
Only his grandfather, Hogni, had had the courage to put the ring back where it belonged. Out of reach of men.
Petur had spent his whole life struggling against the power of the ring. He should face facts. He had lost. The ring had won.
Petur slipped the ring on his finger.
If Inga refused to keep quiet, she would have to die. That was all there was to it.
Petur 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 Fludir. 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 Fludir, 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 Asgrimur 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 Petur in Reykjavik 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 Fludir. But to the east was Hruni. Perhaps she had gone there. Either to meet Petur, 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 Asgrimsdottir?’ Magnus asked. ‘Blonde woman, late twenties?’
‘No. And I’ve been here since eight this morning.’
