Where the Shadows Lie (Fire and Ice)

ground. Stubborn bastards the lot of them.
    He climbed back in his car. Where to? If she had driven back to meet Pétur in Reykjavík 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 Flúdir. But to the east was Hruni. Perhaps she had gone there. Either to meet Pétur, 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 Ásgrímsdóttir?’ Magnus asked. ‘Blonde woman, late twenties?’
    ‘No. And I’ve been here since eight this morning.’
    ‘Damn!’
    ‘Did you hear they think they’ve found Hákon’s body?’ the constable said.
    ‘Yeah, I’ve seen it, at the bottom of Hjálparfoss. He’s dead, there’s not much doubt about that. But I’m worried about Ingileif. I think whoever killed the pastor is after her.’
    ‘I’ll radio in if I see her.’
    ‘Can you call me on my cell?’ Magnus said, giving the constable his number.
    ‘You could ask those guys back there.’
    Magnus turned. A car was parked by the side of the road over-looking the church and the rectory.
    ‘Who are they?’
    ‘Three men. One Icelander and two foreigners. I asked them what they were doing, they didn’t have an answer, or not one that made any sense.’
    Feldman and Jubb, Magnus thought. ‘They’re waiting for you to leave so they can search the church,’ he said. ‘But thank you, I’ll go speak with them.’
    He drove up to the car. There was a small Icelander in the driver’s seat, with Jubb next to him and Feldman in the back. They looked distinctly uncomfortable to see Magnus.
    Magnus got out of his own vehicle and approached theirs. The Icelander wound down his window.
    ‘Hello, Lawrence, Steve,’ Magnus said in English, nodding to the two foreigners.
    ‘Afternoon, officer,’ said Lawrence from the back seat.
    ‘And you are?’ Magnus asked the Icelander.
    ‘Axel Bjarnason. I’m a private investigator. I’m working for Mr Feldman.’
    ‘To do what?’
    Axel shrugged.
    ‘He’s helping us with some research,’ Feldman said.
    Magnus was about to tell them they were wasting their time, the church had been thoroughly searched and there was no ring there, when he thought better of it. Let them spend all day on this godforsaken heath in the mist.
    ‘Have any of you seen Ingileif Ásgrímsdóttir?’ he asked.
    Axel’s expression of patient disinterest didn’t change. But he didn’t answer the question. Jubb frowned.
    ‘No, officer, we haven’t,’ Feldman said. ‘At least not today. We tried to speak with her yesterday, but she wasn’t real excited to see us.’
    ‘I’m not surprised,’ said Magnus. ‘If you do see her, let me know.’ He scribbled his number on to a piece of paper torn from his note-book and gave it to Feldman. ‘The pastor has just been found. Murdered. I’m pretty sure the guy who did it is after Ingileif right now.’
    Feldman took the card. ‘We’ll be sure to call you,’ he said.
    Magnus turned to look at the church, squatting beneath the crags in the mist. A raven descended out of the cloud and landed by the side of the road a few feet ahead. It strutted along, eyeing the two cars.
    ‘Enjoy your day,’ Magnus said, and jumped back into his vehicle. He sped off down the hill back to the main road.
    He must have missed her coming the other way. Reykjavík. His best bet was Reykjavík.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
    S TEVE JUBB WATCHED the cop’s car disappear over the hill. ‘You know this isn’t right.’
    ‘What isn’t right, Gimli?’ Feldman said.
    ‘For a start, my name isn’t Gimli, it’s Steve.’
    ‘We discussed this before. We should use our nicknames.’
    ‘No, Lawrence. My name isn’t Gimli, it’s Steve. Your name isn’t Isildur, it’s Lawrence. This isn’t Middle Earth, it’s Iceland. Lord of the Rings isn’t real, it’s a story. A bloody good story, but a story none the less.’
    ‘But Gimli, the ring could be in that church! The ring from the Volsung Saga . The ring that Tolkien wrote about. Don’t you realise how cool that is!’
    ‘Frankly, I don’t give a toss. That professor I spoke to