Where the Shadows Lie (Fire and Ice)

Magnús.’
    ‘It’s very important!’
    ‘Look, if you want to arrest me, arrest me. Otherwise let me go about my business.’
    Magnus realized he had pushed too hard, but he was none the less surprised by her evasiveness.
    ‘Ingileif, where’s Pétur?’
    ‘I don’t know.’ Suddenly the voice was quieter, less belligerent. She was lying.
    ‘Where are you going?’ Magnus asked.
    Silence.
    ‘Are you going to meet him?’
    Ingileif hung up.
    A police car screamed by, lights flashing, speeding upstream to reinforce the officers gawping at the pastor’s body.
    Magnus remembered the way Ingileif had suddenly stiffened on that very same road the day before. As though she had seen something. Perhaps the driver of a passing car? Pétur?
    If she had seen him, then the information that Hákon’s car had been found would make her think. Think along the same lines that Magnus had just been following. Like Magnus she would want to talk to Pétur. She was going to meet him now.
    In Flúdir. If she was telling the truth about that.
    Magnus called Ingileif back. As expected, she didn’t pick up the phone. But he left her a message that Hákon’s body had been found downstream from his car. If she was meeting her brother, that was something she needed to know.
    He carried on driving. It was still a few kilometres to the junction where he could turn left for Reykjavík or right for Flúdir. But first he needed to tell Baldur about Pétur.
    He called his cell phone. No reply. The bastard wasn’t picking him up.
    He tried Vigdís. She, at least, would listen to him.
    ‘Vigdís, where are you?’
    ‘At police headquarters.’
    ‘I need you to go arrest Pétur Ásgrímsson.’
    ‘Why?’
    Magnus explained. Vigdís listened, asking one or two pertinent questions. ‘Makes sense to me,’ she said. ‘Have you told Baldur?’
    ‘He won’t take my call.’
    ‘I’ll speak to him.’
    Magnus’s phone rang again a minute later.
    ‘He won’t do it.’ It was Vigdís’s voice.
    ‘Won’t do what?’
    ‘Authorize me to arrest Pétur.’
    ‘What!’
    ‘He says it’s too early to leap to conclusions. He hasn’t even seen the body yet. There have been too many early arrests made in this investigation.’
    ‘It’s only because I suggested it,’ Magnus said bitterly.
    ‘I can’t comment on that,’ said Vigdís. ‘But I do know I can’t arrest Pétur if my chief told me not to.’
    ‘No, of course not, Vigdís. I’m putting you in a difficult situation.’
    ‘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. Vigdís 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 Pétur 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 Vigdís was doing. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I appreciate it.’
    Magnus approached the junction. With Vigdís looking for Pétur in Reykjavík, Magnus could afford to concentrate on Ingileif.
    He turned right for Flúdir.
    Pétur 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 Thjórsárdalur. 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. Pétur 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