Where the Shadows Lie (Fire and Ice)

Of course, I don’t have a good view of the car park from here.’
    ‘Thank you,’ said Jubb.
    As he stepped out of the information centre, he saw the German couple the woman had mentioned, walking down into the car park from the hill above, huddling together against the weather. The man had a tripod slung over his shoulder.
    Jubb trotted over to them. ‘Hello?’ he called. ‘Do you speak English?’
    ‘Yes, I do,’ said the woman.
    ‘Have you seen a man and a woman up there? The man is bald and the woman is blonde?’
    ‘Yes,’ said the woman. ‘Just over the top of this hill here.’
    Jubb thought for a second. Should he run up there himself, or should he get Magnus?
    Get Magnus.
    He ran down from the car park towards the falls.
    Pétur decided against hitting Ingileif, at least right away. He turned and sauntered over towards the edge of the gorge.
    ‘Where are you going?’ Ingileif called after him.
    ‘To look at the falls.’
    ‘Are you listening to me?’
    ‘Yes, I’m listening.’
    As he had hoped Ingileif followed. She was still arguing with him, pleading with him to give himself up. But she was keeping her distance.
    Pétur paused, talked and then moved on again. This seemed to work. Finally he was within a few feet of the rim of the gorge. He had to shout to be heard.
    Ingileif had stopped dead. She wasn’t moving any further.
    Then he saw in her eyes that she understood what he was doing – tempting her forward to her death. She took a few steps back-wards and then turned and ran. Pétur lunged after her. His legs were longer, he was stronger, fitter, he caught her up, throwing her to the ground.
    She screamed, but the scream was killed by the mist and the roar of the water. He pinned her to the grass, but she raised her right hand and scratched at his face.
    Damn! That would be very hard to explain to the cops. He would think of something.
    He hit her in the face. She screamed, but continued to writhe beneath him. He hit her again, harder. She lay still.
    He swallowed. His eyes were hot with tears. But he had had no choice. He had never had a choice.
    He dragged her over towards the rim of the gorge. That spot wouldn’t quite work. Below the cliff a grassy slope dropped down to the water. It was steep, but not quite steep enough. He would have to go a few metres upstream.
    He pulled her along a rough path, her legs and body knocking against bare rock. She seemed to be coming round. But he was nearly to a good spot; the top of a rock jutting out with a near vertical drop down to the river hurtling towards the falls.
    The ring! She had the ring. Damn it. Perhaps she had dropped it when they had fought. Or perhaps it was in her pockets.
    He lay her down. She groaned. He began to search her pockets.
    And then, out of nowhere, a large shape flew through the air and bowled him over.
    Magnus never heard Steve Jubb’s shouts above the din of the waterfall. But he did pause and look back up the way he had come.
    He saw the portly figure of Jubb wobbling down the path towards him, his arms waving.
    Magnus ran. It was uphill and it was steep but he sprinted.
    He usually kept himself very fit, running several miles a day if he could. In Iceland he hadn’t had the chance, and already the edge was off his fitness. His heart was pounding and the breaths were hard to take. It was a steep path, but he took it as fast as he could.
    ‘Up there!’ Jubb said. ‘Above the waterfall.’
    Magnus didn’t wait for more explanation but continued running uphill.
    His chest felt like it was going to explode as he scrambled over the rim of the hill.
    He saw them. Two figures, a few feet from the edge of the cliff, one lying on the ground, the other crouching over her.
    Magnus ran faster downhill towards them. There was no chance of Pétur hearing him in all the noise, and he was concentrating too hard on Ingileif to see what was coming at him.
    Magnus threw himself at Pétur and together they rolled to the cliff edge.
    Pétur writhed, broke away, and hauled himself to his feet. He stood swaying on the edge of the cliff above the river.
    Magnus stared at him, keeping his distance of a few feet. He had no desire to plunge over the cliff in a death-grapple with Pétur. Arrest was going to be difficult. For a start, Magnus didn’t have any handcuffs with him. He didn’t know what he would do if he managed to overpower Pétur – perhaps get Steve Jubb to sit on him for an hour until Vigdís showed up. Of