Where the Shadows Lie (Fire and Ice)

Magnus called Baldur as soon as he realized that Hákon was Tómas’s father? Why hadn’t he stayed with Hákon at Hruni and waited for reinforcements to arrest the pastor?
    Why had he let Hákon get away?
    While the rest of the Violent Crimes unit ran around like idiots, Magnus was left standing around with nothing to do. So he left.
    The barman recognised him and poured him a large Thule. A couple of the regulars said hello. But he wasn’t in the mood for chat, however friendly. He took his beer to a stool in the corner of the bar and drank it.
    Baldur had a point, of course. The reason that Magnus had waited until he returned to Reykjavík before telling him what Hákon had said was hardly noble. It was so that he and not Baldur would crack Tómas’s story.
    Which he had done. He had solved the case. Discovered not only who had killed Agnar, but also what had happened to Ingileif’s father. The moment of victory had been sweet, but it had only lasted an hour.
    There was a chance that Hákon had just driven out on an errand and he would be back in an hour or so. Or that he would be caught by the police. He was an easy guy to spot, it was a small country, or at least the inhabited parts of it were. Magnus wondered whether Hákon would hide in the backcountry, like the outlaws in the sagas, living on berries while he dodged the law.
    A possibility.
    There was no doubt about it, Magnus had screwed up.
    At least that meant that the National Police Commissioner wouldn’t demand that he stay in Iceland for the full two years that he had originally expected. They would be glad to be rid of him next week.
    And he would be glad to go.
    Wouldn’t he?
    It was true what he had said to Ingileif, the memories of his early life in Iceland were painful, made more so by the chance meeting with his cousin. And clearly things were not going well with Baldur. But there were things he liked about his brief time in Iceland. He did have an affinity with the country. More than that – it was a loyalty, a sense of duty. The pride that Icelanders felt for their homeland, their determination to work their butts off to make the place function, was infectious.
    The Commissioner’s idea to recruit someone like Magnus wasn’t a bad one. The police officers he had met were smart, honest, hard working. They were good guys, even Baldur. They just lacked experience in big-city crime and that was something he knew he could help them with.
    And then there was Ingileif.
    He had no desire to go back to Colby, and he was quite sure that she had no desire to go back to him.
    But Ingileif.
    He had really screwed that up. She had a point, their relationship was more than a quick roll in the hay. How much more, Magnus didn’t know, and neither did she, but that didn’t matter, he shouldn’t have made it matter.
    He ordered another beer.
    He would try again. Say he was sorry. He wanted to see her again before he went home. She might just tell him to get lost, but it was worth the risk. There was nothing to lose.
    He gulped down half his beer and left the bar.
    Diego had found himself a good spot, in the smokers’ tent pitched outside in the front yard of the Grand Rokk. He had strolled in to get himself a beer at the bar, and had seen the big cop alone with his drink, absorbed in his own thoughts.
    Perfect.
    There was one problem; Diego’s car was still parked a couple of blocks from the bus station. He had followed Jonson on foot. There was no way that he was going to carry out the hit in daylight. He needed darkness to make good his escape.
    But it was still light. He checked his watch. It was nearly nine-thirty. What was with this country? It was still only April, back home it would have gotten dark hours ago.
    So he would follow Jonson. If he was still on the streets when darkness eventually fell he would do it then, otherwise he would follow him home and break in in the small hours of the morning.
    Then he saw the big cop walk purposefully out of the bar, past the tent and out on to the street.
    Diego followed.
    Finally, it was getting dark, or at least dusk. Not quite dark enough. But if Jonson had a long walk before he got home, there might be a chance to do something. Diego would rather pump a couple of shots into Jonson’s head on a quiet street than lumber around in a strange house, with God knows who else there.
    Magnus made his way to Ingileif’s house. There was a light on upstairs in her apartment. He hesitated. Would she listen