Michael Ridpath - Where the Shadows Lie

There was still the problem of the lone cop sitting in his patrol car right outside the building. But if Diego knew anything about cops the guy would be getting hungry.

Sure enough, once the woman disappeared down the street, the patrol car started up and pulled out.

Time enough to grab a pizza or a burger before the girl returned.

Diego got out of his car and crossed the street.

Magnus walked back to his new place in Thingholt from police headquarters. He needed the exercise and the fresh air. And you could at least say this for the air in Reykjavik, it was fresh.

His mind was buzzing with the day’s events. It was way too early to tell, but according to Professor Moritz, there was nothing in the translation of Gaukur’s Saga to suggest it was a forgery. The professor was clearly desperate to believe that the saga was authentic, but he admitted that if anyone could forge a saga, Agnar could.

Which raised another interesting possibility. Perhaps Steve Jubb had somehow discovered that the document Agnar was trying to sell him for so many millions of dollars was a fake, and he had killed him because of it.

Magnus still wasn’t convinced that Ingileif was telling the whole truth. But she had seemed much more sincere when he had spoken to her that afternoon. And he had to admit that he found her mixture of vulnerability and determination attractive.

He smiled when he remembered Officer O’Malley’s wise words of advice when Magnus started on the job: ‘Just because a girl has a nice ass, it don’t mean she’s telling the truth.’

There was no doubt Ingileif had a nice ass.

Steve Jubb wasn’t going to give them anything, especially if he was as guilty as Magnus thought he was. They needed to get on a plane to California and talk to Isildur. Threaten him with a conspiracy to commit murder rap and let him sing. Magnus could do that, he was sure he could.

‘Magnus!’

He was in a little street not far from Katrin’s house, quite high up the hill. He turned to see a woman he vaguely recognized walking hesitantly towards him. She was about forty, short reddish hair, a broad face with a wide smile. Although the hair was a different colour, her face reminded him strongly of his mother. Especially here, so close to the house in which he had grown up.

She stared at him closely, frowning. ‘It is Magnus, isn’t it? Magnus Ragnarsson?’ She spoke in English.

‘Sigurbjorg?’ It was a bit of a guess on Magnus’s part. Sigurbjorg was his cousin on his mother’s side of the family. The side that he had hoped to avoid in Reykjavik.

The smile broadened. ‘That’s right. I thought it was you.’

‘How did you recognize me?’

‘I noticed you walking along the street. For a second I thought you were my father, except you’re a whole lot younger and he’s in Canada. Then I realized it must be you.’

‘We haven’t met for what, fifteen years?’

‘About that. When you came to Iceland after your father’s death.’ Sigurbjorg must have seen Magnus grimace. ‘Not an enjoyable trip for you, I seem to remember.’

‘Not really.’

‘I apologize for Grandpa. He behaved appallingly.’

Magnus nodded. ‘I haven’t been to Iceland since.’

‘Until now?’

‘Until now.’

‘Let’s get a cup of coffee and you can tell me all about it, eh?’

They walked down the hill to a funky cafe on Laugavegur. Sigurbjorg ordered a slice of carrot cake with her coffee, and they sat down next to an earnest man with glasses who was plugged in to his laptop.

‘So you came back from Canada?’ Magnus said. ‘Weren’t you in graduate school?’

‘Yes. At McGill. Actually, I had just finished when I saw you. I stayed on in Iceland. Got a law degree: I’m a partner in one of the law firms here. I’ve also picked up a husband and three kids.’

‘Congratulations.’

‘Dad and Mom are still in Toronto. Retired, of course, now.’

Sigurbjorg’s father, Magnus’s Uncle Vilhjalmur, had emigrated to Canada in the seventies and worked as a civil engineer. Like Magnus, Sigurbjorg had been born in Iceland but spent most of her childhood in North America.

‘And you? I had no idea you were in Iceland. How long have you been here?’

‘Only two days,’ Magnus replied. ‘I stayed in Boston. Became a cop. Homicide detective. Then my chief got a call that the National Police Commissioner of Iceland wanted a body to come over here and help them. He picked me.’

‘Picked you? You didn’t want to come?’

‘Let’s say I had mixed feelings.’

‘After your last visit?’ Sigurbjorg nodded. ‘That must have been rough. Especially just after your dad died.’

‘It was. I was twenty and I had lost both parents. I wasn’t handling it well – I was drinking. I felt alone. After eight years I had almost fit in the States and suddenly it felt like a foreign country again.’

‘I know what you mean,’ said Sigurbjorg. ‘I was born in Canada, but my family are Icelanders and I live here. I sometimes think everywhere is a foreign country. It’s not really fair, is it?’

Magnus glanced at Sigurbjorg. She was listening. And she was the one member of his family who had shown any sympathy during that awful couple of days. She was the one he had felt closest to, perhaps because of their common North American experiences, perhaps simply because she had treated him like a normal human being.

He wanted to talk.

‘I needed some kind of family, other than just my brother Oli. All Icelanders do, you know that. It might be OK for Americans to live out their lives alone, but it wasn’t for me. I had lived with Grandpa and Grandma for a few years and I guess I thought they would welcome me back after what had happened. I thought they’d have to. And then they rejected me. More than that, they made me feel like I was responsible for Mom’s death.’

Magnus’s face hardened. ‘Grandpa said Dad was the most evil man he had ever known and he was glad he was dead. That brought back all the pain of those last years before Dad took me away with him to America. I was glad to leave and I swore I’d never come back.’

‘And now you’re here,’ said Sigurbjorg. ‘Do you like it?’

‘Yes,’ said Magnus. ‘I guess I do.’

‘Until you met me?’

Magnus smiled. ‘I do remember how sympathetic you were to me, even if the rest of the family wasn’t. Thanks for that. But do me a favour. Don’t tell them I’m here.’

‘Oh, they can’t do anything to you now. Grandpa must be eighty-five, and Grandma’s not much younger.’

‘I doubt they’ve mellowed in their old age.’

Sigurbjorg smiled. ‘No, they haven’t.’

‘And, from what I remember, the rest of the family was just as hostile.’

‘They’ll get over it,’ said Sigurbjorg. ‘Time has passed.’

‘I don’t see why they were so angry,’ Magnus said. ‘I know my father left Mom, but she made his life hell. Remember, she was an alcoholic.’

‘But that’s the whole point,’ said Sigurbjorg. ‘She only became an alcoholic after she discovered the affair. And it was from that that everything else followed. Your father leaving. Her losing her job. And then that awful car crash. Grandpa blames your father for all that, and he always will.’

A noisy group of two men and a woman sat down next to them and began to discuss a TV programme they had seen the night before.

Magnus ignored them. His face had gone blank.

‘What? What is it, Magnus?’

Magnus didn’t reply.

‘Oh my God, you didn’t know, did you? Nobody told you!’

‘What affair?’

‘Forget I said anything. Look, I’ve got to go.’ She began to stand up.

Magnus reached out and grabbed her hand. ‘What affair?’ The anger surged through his voice.