Where the Shadows Lie (Fire and Ice)

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 Hákon. But Pétur 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 Hákon. And with Inga?
    He hoped to God that she understood. That she would keep quiet. Because if she didn’t. What then?
    Pétur 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. Hákon 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 Högni had found it, they were doomed.
    It had obsessed his father and caused his death. It had briefly obsessed Pétur 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 Hákon. No possessed Hákon.
    Only his grandfather, Högni, had had the courage to put the ring back where it belonged. Out of reach of men.
    Pétur had spent his whole life struggling against the power of the ring. He should face facts. He had lost. The ring had won.
    Pétur slipped the ring on his finger.
    If Inga refused to keep quiet, she would have to die. That was all there was to it.
    Pétur 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 Flúdir. 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 Flúdir, 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 Ásgrímur 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