Meltwater (Fire and Ice)

more.’
    ‘Will I get to meet him finally?’
    ‘I guess so. Don’t worry, he’ll like you.’
    ‘How do you know?’
    ‘Because Ollie likes gorgeous women. Even if they are totally insensitive.’
    ‘Sounds like my kind of guy.’ Ingileif leaned over and kissed Magnus on the cheek. ‘Sorry about the weirdo comment. I always knew you were a little strange. But why do you let
your brother dictate what you do?’
    ‘I went over to Boston a few months ago. Began asking around in Duxbury where my father was killed. But Ollie was unhappy about it, very unhappy. He asked me to lay off.’
    ‘And you did? Why?’
    ‘I’ve told you what a tough time we had as kids at Bjarnarhöfn. What my grandfather used to do to him. Since then I feel like I have to look after him, watch out for him.
Especially after Dad was killed. If he says he can’t handle me digging into the past, I believe him.’
    ‘So it’s his weird obsession against yours?’
    ‘I guess so.’
    ‘Sounds like you should talk to him tomorrow. Where’s he staying?’
    ‘Where are you staying?’
    ‘My bag’s at María’s house. You remember her?’
    ‘Yeah.’ Ingileif had loads of friends in Reykjavík, none of whom Magnus had got to know. They were beautiful people, beautifully dressed, with beautiful taste, who had all
gone to school together. Magnus wasn’t beautiful. They were nice to him, but he didn’t fit in, and he didn’t try. Ingileif didn’t seem to mind. ‘Your bag? What about
you?’
    ‘Well … I thought I could sleep here. If that’s OK with you.’ She stroked his thigh.
    ‘That’s fine with me. How long are you here for?’
    ‘Just three days. I’ve got to see a load of people tomorrow, but can we meet for lunch?’
    ‘It’s going to be difficult,’ said Magnus. ‘There’s a big homicide investigation on at the moment.’
    ‘How exciting! Then we should definitely meet for lunch. You can give me your clues and I can solve it for you just like I solved your last case.’
    ‘Getting the chief suspect drunk and making him brag about what he’s done is not a recommended technique for the modern detective.’
    ‘Why not? It should be.’
    ‘Besides, we are lacking even a chief suspect at the moment.’
    ‘Well, you can find one in the morning and we can discuss him at lunch. Or her.’
    ‘I’ll call you if I can make it,’ said Magnus.
    ‘What about Ollie?’ She kissed him. ‘Where is he going to sleep tomorrow night?’
    ‘Katrín has a spare room downstairs. He can sleep there.’
    ‘Good.’
    She kissed him again. And moved her hand a bit higher up his thigh.
    The man wasn’t used to it getting dark this late in April – after nine o’clock. Spotlights sprang to life, illuminating the church next to him and its phallic
spire thrusting up into the night sky. He had the hunting knife he had bought the day he had arrived in Iceland. He had his torch. He would wait.
    The traffic died away. Peace settled on the church and the statue. The odd tourist wobbled into the hotel. All seemed to be quiet down in Thórsgata.
    At eleven, he pulled on his red jacket and strolled down the street running parallel to Thórsgata, Lokastígur. Back to the car and another couple of hours’ wait.
    At a few minutes past one, he put on his gloves, pulled the knife out from under his seat and shoved it into the pocket of his jacket. He walked the long way round, along Baldursgata and then up
Lokastígur. The street was dead. It was reasonably well lit by the streetlamps, but there was barely a light on in any of the houses. He paused outside the property he had calculated earlier
backed on to the Freeflow house – cream concrete walls, red-painted corrugated metal roof – and slipped into a shadow.
    He crept around the side of the house, stepping over a kid’s bike. It was much darker here, and he paused to let his eyes adjust. The rustle of his clothes and the rasp of his breathing
were uncomfortably loud in his ears.
    The back garden was small, less than ten metres across. There was a fence at the back, about one-sixty high. He crossed the garden and hauled himself over, landing with a gentle thump in the
back garden of the yellow Freeflow house.
    He looked up. The lights were on in just about every room.
    Damn.
    The curtains were all drawn. The ground floor was slightly raised, so the window sills were at eye level. His fingers closed around the handle of the knife in his pocket. He crouched down and