Where the Shadows Lie (Fire and Ice)

believe him?’
    Feldman hesitated. ‘We wanted to believe him, of course. That would have been the coolest discovery in history. But we knew we were wide open to being ripped off. So I started to work on lining up an expert to examine the ring once we got a hold of it. Someone who would keep quiet about it afterwards.’
    ‘Steve Jubb never saw it?’
    ‘No,’ said Feldman.
    Magnus leaned back in his chair and studied Feldman.
    ‘Did Jubb kill the professor?’
    ‘No,’ said Feldman immediately.
    ‘Are you sure?’
    Feldman hesitated. ‘Pretty sure.’
    ‘But not absolutely positive?’
    Feldman shrugged. ‘That wasn’t part of the plan. But I wasn’t there.’
    Magnus accepted the validity of the point. ‘How well do you know Jubb?’
    Feldman looked away from Magnus, out of the window at the naked branches of the trees in the square, and the top of the statue of a distinguished nineteenth-century Icelander. ‘That’s a difficult question to answer. I’ve never met him or spoken to him. I don’t know what he looks like, what he sounds like. But on the other hand I’ve been communicating with him online for the last couple of years. I know a lot about him.’
    ‘Do you trust him?’
    ‘I did,’ said Feldman.
    ‘But now you are not so sure?’
    Feldman shook his head. ‘I genuinely don’t believe that Gimli killed the professor. There would be no reason to, and we never discussed anything like that. Gimli never struck me as being violent. People get aggressive online when they are anonymous, but Gimli never was. He thought flaming was plain dumb. But I can’t be one hundred per cent sure he’s innocent, no.’
    ‘So you came to Iceland to help him?’ Magnus asked.
    ‘Yeah,’ said Feldman. ‘To see what I can do. We’ve been communicating through the lawyer, Kristján Gylfason, but I wanted to do what I could myself.’
    ‘And look for the ring,’ Magnus said.
    ‘I don’t even know if there is a ring,’ said Feldman.
    ‘But you want to find out,’ said Magnus.
    ‘Are you going to arrest me?’ Feldman asked.
    ‘Not for the moment, no,’ said Magnus. ‘But I’ll take your passport. You’re not leaving Iceland. And let me tell you something. If you do find a ring, whether it’s a real one or a hoax, I want to know about it, know what I’m saying? Because it’s evidence.’ Feldman recoiled from Magnus’s stare.
    Magnus doubted he had the authority to confiscate Feldman’s passport, but he also doubted that Feldman would know that. ‘And if I catch you withholding evidence, you’ll definitely be spending some nights in an Icelandic jail.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
    I NGILEIF WAS ABSORBED in her drawing, her eyes flicking from her emerging design to the piece of tanned fish skin in front of her. It was Nile perch – the scales larger than the salmon she often used, the textures rougher. It had a wonderful light blue, translucent colour. She was designing a credit-card holder, always a popular item.
    Ingileif didn’t work in the gallery on Tuesday afternoons, her partner Sunna, the painter, was minding the store. She had plenty to worry about, but it felt good to lose herself in the design process for an hour or two. She had spent a year in Florence after she had graduated from university learning how to work with leather. When she returned to Iceland she had attended the Academy of Arts where she experimented with fish skin. Each skin was different. The more she worked with the material, the more possibilities she saw.
    The bell rang. Ingileif lived in a tiny one-bedroom flat on the upper floor of a small house in 101, not too far from the gallery. The bedroom was her studio and occasional guest room – she slept in the living area. The flat was stark: Icelandic minimalist with white walls, lots of wood and not much clutter. Despite that, it was cramped, but it was all she could afford in Reykjavík 101, the central postal area. And she didn’t want to live in one of those soulless apartments in the suburbs of Kópavogur or Gardabaer.
    She went downstairs to the front door. It was Pétur.
    ‘Pési!’ She felt a sudden urge to throw herself into her brother’s arms. He held her tight for a few moments, stroking her hair.
    They broke apart. Pétur smiled at her awkwardly, surprised at her sudden show of affection. ‘Come on up,’ she said.
    ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch,’ said Pétur.
    ‘You mean since Agnar’s murder?’ She flopped back on to the