‘How?’
‘He said that unless Father sold him the ring – and Agnar promised he would pay a high price – then he would go to the police and tell them, I mean you, about the ring and about Dr Ásgrímur’s murder.’
‘So what did you do?’
‘I called Father. I told him what Agnar had said.’
‘How did he take it?’
‘He wasn’t having any of it. We agreed how absurd it was that Agnar should think that Father had murdered Dr Ásgrímur. But, of
course, Father knew I knew he had the ring. He said we should call Agnar’s bluff. So I went to look for him. I went to the University first, and then a student said he was at a summer house on Lake Thingvellir. I actually knew the house, I interviewed Agnar’s father there a few years ago. You know he was a cabinet minister?’
Magnus nodded.
‘So I drove out to Lake Thingvellir. I told Agnar that my father had no idea what he was talking about. I urged him to drop the blackmailing.’
‘Urged?’ said Magnus. ‘Or threatened.’
‘Urged. I pointed out that if Agnar went through with it, his clients almost certainly wouldn’t get the ring. I kind of admitted I knew that Father had it.’
‘What did Agnar say?’
‘He looked at me for several seconds, thinking. Then he suggested that if Father was too stubborn to give up the ring of his own accord, I should steal it from him. That way I would keep him out of jail.’
‘What did you say?’
‘I said I would think about it.’
Magnus raised his eyebrows.
‘Agnar had a point. I knew Father would never give up the ring, but I didn’t want him to go to jail. I knew where Father kept it, and it would be easy to take it and sell it to Agnar.’
‘So did you?’
‘Steal the ring? No. I drove straight home, and sat down and thought about it. In the end I decided to tell Father what Agnar had suggested. I called him that evening.’
‘And what did your father say?’
‘He was angry. Very angry.’
‘With you?’
‘With Agnar and with me. He was upset that I had as good as admitted that he had the ring. He didn’t seem at all grateful that I had stood by him, that I had called him instead of taking the ring myself.’ There was anger in Tómas’s voice. ‘He lost it, basically.’
‘So what did you do?’
‘I was wound up. I had a drink or two to calm myself down.’ Tómas winced. ‘I ended up drinking most of a bottle of whisky. I woke up late the next morning, still not sure what to do. Then I heard about Agnar’s death on the radio.’
Tómas swallowed.
‘What’s the timing on all this?’ Magnus asked. ‘When did you get home from Lake Thingvellir?’
‘About half-past five or so. Like I told your colleague.’ Tómas’s eyes flicked towards Baldur.
‘And what time did you call your father?’
‘About half an hour later, maybe an hour.’
‘So that’s about six, six-thirty.’ The obvious question framed itself in Magnus’s mind. ‘So your father could have gone to Lake Thingvellir later that night? To shut Agnar up?’
Tómas didn’t answer.
‘Well?’
‘I have no idea,’ he said. But it was quite clear that the thought had occurred to him too.
‘One other question,’ said Magnus. ‘Where does your father hide the ring?’
‘W
ELL DONE,’ SAID
Baldur as they left the interview room and walked rapidly towards his office. He didn’t smile, he didn’t even look at Magnus, but Magnus knew he meant it.
‘Shall we go arrest Hákon?’ Magnus asked.
‘We’ll get the Selfoss police to arrest him and bring him here for interview,’ said Baldur. ‘They’ll get there more quickly. And I’ll ask them to search for that damned ring.’ He paused as he reached the door to his office. ‘I’d like you to join me when they bring Hákon in.’
‘While you’re talking to the Selfoss police, can you ask them to check their reports on Dr Ásgrímur’s death in 1992?’ Magnus asked.
Baldur hesitated, and then nodded curtly.
When Magnus got back to his own desk, Árni was there, looking exhausted.
‘How’s the Gubernator?’ Magnus asked.
‘Very funny. I hear things have been happening back here.’
‘Baldur’s just sending the Selfoss police to arrest the pastor of Hruni now.’
‘Do you think he killed Agnar?’
‘Him or Tómas,’ said Magnus. ‘We’ll find out which pretty soon.’
‘So Isildur and Steve Jubb are innocent?’
‘Looks like it,’ said Magnus. And he explained all that had happened while Árni had been thirty-five thousand feet up in the air.
Magnus was expecting to wait three hours before Hákon was brought in, but it was less than an hour before Baldur strode into the room, his face like thunder.
‘He’s gone,’ he said.
‘Has he taken his car?’ Magnus asked.
‘Of course he has.’
‘And the ring?’
‘Gone as well. If it ever existed.’
It had been a frustrating twenty-four hours for Isildur. He was beginning to have his doubts about Axel, the PI he had hired. Pétur Ásgrímsson had been spectacularly unhelpful, his sister Ingileif seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth and Axel hadn’t succeeded in finding out very much from his supposed contacts in the police. Tómas Hákonarson was under arrest for the murder of Agnar, there was evidence that he had been at Lake Thingvellir on the night in question, but the police were dismissing rumours of magic rings as mythology.
Morons!
He and Gimli were waiting in the Hótel Borg for a call from Axel. In separate rooms. Despite the fact that they had formed such a close bond in the virtual world, in the real one they had little in common. Isildur was rereading the
Volsung Saga
and Gimli was watching repeats of a handball match. He had explained that whenever he went to a foreign country he liked to watch the local sports on TV.
Isildur’s cell phone rang. He checked the caller ID. It was Axel.
‘I’ve found her,’ the PI said.
‘Where is she?’
‘At her apartment.’
‘Great! Let’s go talk to her.’
‘I’ll pick you up in five minutes.’
Isildur summoned Gimli and they waited outside the hotel. The square was empty, other than the pigeons. The parliament building squatted on the south side, a tough building made of blackened
stone. It was slightly smaller than the branch of Isildur’s local bank in Trinity County, and stood next to what must have been the tiniest cathedral in the world.
Axel drew up in his old banger and they crammed inside. They were soon outside Ingileif’s building. Once again, Isildur took the lead and rang the bell.
A pretty blonde woman answered the door with half a smile.
‘Hi,’ said Isildur, confident by now that a young Icelander would speak English. ‘My name’s Lawrence Feldman. I’m the guy who was all set to buy your saga. Can we come in?’
The half smile disappeared. ‘No you may not,’ said Ingileif. ‘Go away. I want nothing to do with you.’
‘I would still be willing to pay a very good price for the saga, Miss Ásgrímsdóttir.’
‘I’m not going to discuss it with you.’
Isildur persisted. ‘And if by any chance you know of the where-abouts of the ring itself, I will pay you for that information. Or for the ring, if you have it.’
‘Fuck off,’ said Ingileif in crisp English, and slammed the door in his face.
‘Funny. That’s exactly what her brother said,’ said Gimli with a chuckle.
But Isildur did not see the funny side. He had been hoping for a breakthrough from Ingileif. In his experience, if you waved enough money, you could usually get what you wanted.
But not necessarily in Iceland, it seemed.
They crossed the street, back to the car.
‘What now?’ asked Gimli.
‘Do you know much about electronic surveillance, Axel?’ Isildur asked.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Listening devices. Bugging phones, that kind of thing.’
‘That’s illegal,’ said Axel.
‘So is jaywalking, and we just did it. All that matters is that you don’t get caught.’
‘Actually, jaywalking isn’t illegal in Iceland,’ Axel said.
‘Whatever,’ said Isildur. ‘I want to know what that woman knows. And if she’s not going to tell us, we’re going to have to figure it out for ourselves.’
‘I guess so,’ said Axel.
‘There’s obviously a risk attached to it. Which means you deserve to get paid extra. For the risk.’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
Árni drove back to his apartment. He was dog tired, too tired really to drive. He almost ploughed into the back of a van that stopped suddenly at a light.
His mind drifted over the case and what Magnus had told him. There was something that wasn’t quite right, something nagging at his brain. It wasn’t until he was actually in his apartment and making himself a cup of coffee that he realized what it was.
Oh, God. He’d made another mistake.
He was so tempted just to forget about it, crawl into bed, trust to Magnus and Baldur to figure everything out for themselves.
But he couldn’t. He had some people to talk to. And he had to talk to them right away. If he was lucky, he would be proved wrong. He probably
was
wrong after all, he usually was. But he had to check.
He needed caffeine first. As soon as he had finished his coffee he grabbed his jacket and headed back out to his car.
Diego was not happy.
He had spent the bulk of the day knocking around the Hlemmur bus station, directly opposite police headquarters. He hadn’t seen Magnus go in or out of the building. But then he didn’t know for sure that Magnus wasn’t in there, because in addition to the two entrances at the front, he was pretty sure there was an entrance in back, where the parking lot was.
Plus he stuck out like a sore thumb. This country was so goddamned
white
. Not Caucasian, not creamy brown, but honest-to-goodness white. The people were so blonde their hair was almost white as well. No sign of a tan anywhere, and certainly not any brown skin.
Diego was used to blending in. If you thought about it, you would probably say he looked Hispanic, but he could have been Arabic or Turkish or even Italian with a tan, or a mixture of all of the above. In any American city he fit right in. Even when he had offed that stockbroker in the cute little town on Cape Cod, he hadn’t really turned heads. There were people that looked like him in every community in the US.
But not here.
Where were the goddamn Eskimos? They had black hair and brown faces. But they sure as hell didn’t live in this country.
This was stupid. He evaluated his options. He had called the police headquarters to ask if a Magnus Jonson worked there. He did, in the traffic department. But Diego was pretty sure that wasn’t the Jonson he was looking for.
So what was the next step? He could just walk in and ask if there was an American cop working at the station. He guessed that was the kind of thing that would have gotten around; if the guy he talked to didn’t know the answer he could probably find it out easily enough. Problem was, Jonson would hear someone had been asking about him. Diego didn’t want to tip off the target.
He could go back to the Lithuanians. He knew they had been paid well by Soto to help him out. He understood that in a small place like this they wanted to make sure that they weren’t associated with the hit, but surely they could put him in touch with a third party that could help him? A PI or a crooked lawyer. Someone who spoke Icelandic. Someone who was whitey-white.
He didn’t have much time. Jonson could be on a plane back to the States at any moment. Once there it would be easy for the Feds to keep him safe for the few days until the trial.
He was sitting in the coffee shop at the station, on his fifth or sixth cup, his eyes flicking between the two front entrances.
A big guy came out. A big guy with red hair.
That was him!
Diego left the half-empty cup of coffee and almost skipped out of the bus station.
To work.
Magnus headed up the hill towards the Grand Rokk. It was eight-thirty and he had the impression he wasn’t needed at the station any more that evening.
Baldur had been furious. Any positive thoughts he had held earlier about Magnus had been dispelled. Why hadn’t Magnus called Baldur as soon as he realized that Hákon was Tómas’s father? Why hadn’t he stayed with Hákon at Hruni and waited for reinforcements to arrest the pastor?
Why had he let Hákon get away?
While the rest of the Violent Crimes unit ran around like idiots, Magnus was left standing around with nothing to do. So he left.
The barman recognised him and poured him a large Thule. A couple of the regulars said hello. But he wasn’t in the mood for chat, however friendly. He took his beer to a stool in the corner of the bar and drank it.