Where the Shadows Lie (Fire and Ice)

I’ve given up on the saga, and the damned ring. So if you don’t believe me, take me away and interrogate me. Or torture me. You are American, aren’t you? Do you want to try out some water-boarding on me?’
    Magnus was taken aback by the vehemence of her denial. ‘It’s true I have lived in America for a while. But I’m not going to torture you. In fact, I’ll just ask you. Do you know where the ring is?’
    ‘No,’ Ingileif said. ‘Do you believe me?’
    ‘Yes,’ Magnus said. He knew that as a professional detective he should still doubt her, but a professional detective wouldn’t have been drinking a glass of wine in her apartment. He had given up on being a professional detective, at least while he was in Iceland. He just wanted to find out who killed Agnar.
    She seemed to calm down. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘About the water-boarding dig.’
    ‘Will you still help me?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Your brother told me that your father confided in the local pastor. That the two of them worked on theories of where the ring might be hidden. Can you tell me something about this pastor?’
    ‘I didn’t know anything about my grandfather finding the ring at that stage, but I did know that Dad planned several hiking trips around Thjórsárdalur with the pastor to look for it. So, what can I tell you about Reverend Hákon?’
    She paused, gathering her thoughts. ‘He’s strange. I mean there are plenty of eccentric country priests in Iceland, but Hákon is one of the strangest. A lot of my friends were scared of him, scared and fascinated at the same time. He used to mess with their heads.’
    ‘But not yours?’
    ‘No, he was always straightforward with me, because of my father, I think. He’s clever, he fancies himself as an intellectual. He’s very interested in Saemundur the Learned – you know, the guy who kept on cheating the devil. And of course he knows everything about the legend of the Hruni dance.’
    ‘Have you seen him recently?’
    ‘He officiated at my mother’s funeral at the end of last year. He didn’t do a bad job, actually. He definitely has presence.’ She finished her wine. ‘Do you want another glass?’
    Magnus nodded. Ingileif went to the fridge to retrieve the bottle and refilled their glasses.
    ‘I’ve been thinking a lot about my own father’s death this week, after what happened to Agnar. I know it’s Agnar’s murder you are investigating, but I wonder whether Dad’s death was all that it seemed.’
    ‘What happened?’
    ‘Dad and the pastor were going on a two-day expedition, with tents, up in the hills to the west of the River Thjórsá. It’s pretty barren up there, and there was still some snow on the ground. I never found out exactly where they went – presumably they were checking out some local caves or hound-shaped chunks of lava.’
    Ingileif took a gulp of her wine. ‘On the second day they were on their way back when a snowstorm blew up out of nowhere. I say out of nowhere, it had been forecast, but the previous day had been clear and sunny, I remember it. They got lost on the moor, and Dad stumbled over a cliff. He fell about fifteen metres on to some rocks. The pastor climbed down. He says he thought Dad was badly injured but still alive. He hurried off as quick as he could to find help, but he got lost in the snowstorm. Six hours later he found a sheep farm and grabbed the farmer. By the time they got back to the cliff, Dad was dead: fractured skull, broken neck. In fact, they think he probably died within a few minutes of the fall.’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ said Magnus. ‘My father died when I was twenty. It’s rough.’
    Ingileif smiled quickly. ‘Yes, it is. And although you think you have come to terms with it, you never really do. Especially when something like this happens.’
    ‘Do you think he was pushed?’ Magnus asked.
    ‘By Reverend Hákon? You mean, they both found the ring and the pastor pushed my father over the cliff to take it from him?’
    Magnus shrugged. ‘You just said it. What do you think?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ Ingileif said. ‘The pastor and my dad were good friends. My dad had lots of friends, he was good with people, but Reverend Hákon wasn’t. I think Dad was probably the only true friend he really had. After Dad died the pastor sort of withdrew into himself and became really weird. His wife left him a couple of years later. No one in the village blamed her.’
    ‘Or it could simply be the reaction of someone