Where the Shadows Lie (Fire and Ice)

sermons always used to scare the wits out of me. Lots of fire and brimstone, the devil behind every rock. As you can imagine, hearing that sort of thing while you are actually sitting in Hruni church is pretty frightening for a kid.’
    She laughed to herself. ‘I remember one Monday morning, after one of his services, I gave back the hair clip I had “borrowed” from the girl I sat next to in class. I was so scared I was going to be swallowed up by the earth or struck by a bolt of lightning.’
    ‘I can imagine that.’
    ‘So, Mr Detective, was he telling the truth?’
    ‘I don’t think so. We know he lied to Vigdís about Agnar. I’m pretty sure he was lying about Tómas. He must have told him about the saga and the ring; why else would Tómas be talking to Agnar? It’s good I got him to deny that. Bad decision on his part.’
    ‘Why’s that?’
    ‘Because when I get Tómas to admit that he heard about the saga from his father, we will have caught Hákon out in another lie. From then on he’ll be struggling to keep his story straight. What did you think?’
    ‘I think he killed my father. And I think he’s got the ring. Couldn’t you search his house?’
    ‘We’d need a search warrant.’
    ‘Are you going to get one?’
    ‘Possibly.’ Magnus would have loved to do that. But he would have to persuade Baldur, and that would not be easy. Not until he had broken Tómas’s story. He was looking forward to getting back to police headquarters to interview him.
    ‘Can we drop by that farm that Reverend Hákon went to for help?’ Ingileif asked. ‘Someone there might remember something.’
    ‘I’d like to get back as soon as possible to interview Tómas.’
    ‘I understand. But it might shed some light on my father’s death.’
    Magnus hesitated.
    ‘Please, Magnús. You know how important it is to me.’
    ‘What was the name of the farm? Álfabrekka. He showed us on that map.’
    ‘That’s right. We’d have to go up Thjórsárdalur.’
    ‘But that would be fifty kilometres out of our way, there and back.’
    ‘At least.’
    Magnus knew he should tell Baldur about his interview with Hákon as soon as possible. And he wanted to do that in person rather than over the phone so he would be able to confront Tómas himself.
    He glanced at Ingileif. It was true, he did know how important her father’s death was to her.
    ‘OK,’ he sighed. ‘Get the map out and tell me where to go.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
    A S THE AIRPLANE began its descent into Keflavík Airport, Diego licked his lips. He was nervous. It wasn’t the hit, he was looking forward to that. And it wasn’t flying, he had been on many airplanes. But he had never been to Europe before. Spain he could have handled, Italy maybe, but Iceland?
    From what little he had been able to find out about it, it was one weird country.
    He was expecting snow and ice, Eskimos and igloos. The cold he could probably cope with. Since the age of fifteen he had lived in the town of Lawrence, about twenty miles north of Boston. It got pretty cold there in winter.
    The cold had been one hell of a shock when he had first arrived in the States, aged seven. His family were from the town of San Francisco de Macorís in the Dominican Republic. They had crossed the hundred-mile Mona Passage to Puerto Rico by boat, and with fake ID purchased there flew to New York. They spent several years in Washington Heights in Upper Manhattan, where his father had plied his trade as a mule. He got caught, went to prison, died there ten years later. His mother had taken Diego and his two sisters up to where her cousin lived in Lawrence.
    There, Diego had begun his narcotics career in logistics, before taking up an enforcement role, at which he was very successful. He wasn’t quite as gratuitously violent as some of Soto’s other enforcers, but he was smart, and often that counted for more. He was certainly the best guy to go find a Boston cop among a bunch of Eskimos and off him.
    They landed, and were out of the plane in no time. Immigration control wasn’t a problem, the official glanced quickly at Diego’s fake US passport and stamped it. Then in the arrivals hall he looked for and found a sign saying Mr Roberts . The guy holding it was stocky, with close-cropped brown hair and what sounded a bit like a Russian accent, although actually he was Lithuanian. He led Diego out to the car park and a Nissan SUV.
    There had been very little time to prepare for Diego’s