Michael Ridpath - Where the Shadows Lie

She did know someone who would. Tomas’s mother.

Her name was Erna, and Ingileif trusted her. She was a small woman with blonde curly hair, who had originally come from a village in the West Fjords where she had met Hakon when he had been serving as a priest there. Ingileif remembered the way Erna used to look up to her husband, not just literally, for Hakon was almost half a metre taller than his wife, but also how she seemed to submit to his will. But Erna was basically an honest, kind, sensible woman who had ensured that Tomas hadn’t grown up an emotional wreck. It must have taken a lot of courage for her to leave her husband when she did, but it was definitely a wise decision.

She would know which of her son or her husband had killed the doctor. She would know.

So Ingileif drove her old Polo out to Hella, a town about fifty kilometres to the south of Fludir, which is where she knew Erna lived with her second husband.

The drive was unpleasant in the fog, but at least there wasn’t much traffic on the road. She listened to the news on the radio, hoping for more information about Tomas, or possibly the arrest of the Reverend Hakon. There was none of that. But there was something about shots being fired in 101, a policeman being wounded and taken to hospital and an American citizen being held by the police.

For a moment, a dreadful moment, Ingileif thought that the policeman was Magnus. But then they named him as Detective Arni Holm and she breathed again.

She was absolutely sure Magnus was involved somehow, though. Perhaps he was the American citizen they had locked up.

Hella was a modern settlement that lined the bank of the West Ranga river, the next one along after the Thjorsa. Ingileif had looked up Erna’s address from the national phone-directory website: her house was a single-storey building only thirty metres from the river, surrounded by a green garden. Ingileif had no idea whether Erna would be out at work, after all most Icelandic women had a job, but when Ingileif rang the doorbell, Erna answered.

She recognized Ingileif immediately and ushered her in. Erna’s blonde hair was still blonde, but dyed nowadays, and she had put on weight. But her blue eyes still twinkled when she saw Ingileif, although they swiftly clouded again with worry. ‘Have you heard the dreadful news about Tomas?’ she said, as she busied herself in the kitchen organizing coffee.

‘I have,’ said Ingileif. ‘You can hardly miss it. It’s all over the papers. Have you seen him?’

‘No. The police won’t let me. I’ve spoken to his lawyer on the phone. She says that the police don’t have enough evidence to prove anything. I didn’t even know he knew this Agnar fellow. Why on earth would he murder the man? The lawyer said that it all had something to do with a manuscript the professor was trying to sell. Here, Ingileif, let’s go through and sit down.’

The sitting room boasted a large picture window opening out on a view of the river, barely visible through the mist. Ingileif remembered that Erna’s husband was a manager in one of the local bank branches. He had obviously done well. Ingileif wondered, in the way that Icelanders had since the kreppa, whether the man had granted himself a hundred per cent mortgage in the boom times.

‘It has to do with our family, Erna. And with your husband.’

‘Oh. I feared as much.’

‘The manuscript is an old saga that had been in my family for generations. Gaukur’s Saga. Did Hakon ever mention it to you?’

‘Not directly. But that’s what he spent so much time discussing with your father, isn’t it?’

‘That’s correct. And when my mother died at the end of last year-’

‘Oh, yes, I’m so sorry about that. I would have gone to the funeral if I could.’

‘Yes. Well, after she died, I decided to sell the saga, through Professor Agnar. And the police think that it was for this saga that Agnar was killed.’

‘I see. But I still don’t understand what this has to do with Tomas.’

Except that Ingileif could see in Erna’s face that she was beginning to understand.

‘It all goes back to my father’s death.’

‘Ah. I thought it might.’ Erna was wary now.

‘I’m sure that the police will ask you questions about it soon. Perhaps today,’ said Ingileif. ‘And I promise I won’t tell them what you tell me.’ This promise was easier to make now that Magnus had made an idiot of himself. ‘But I want to know what happened to my father. I need to know.’

‘It was an accident,’ said Erna. ‘Hakon witnessed it. A terrible accident. There was a police investigation and everything.’

‘Did your husband tell you what he and my father were doing that weekend?’

‘No. He was very secretive about all that, and frankly I wasn’t interested. They were researching something, I’ve no idea what.’

‘Did he ever mention a ring?’

‘A ring? No. What kind of ring?’

Erna seemed genuinely puzzled. Ingileif took a deep breath. The questions were going to get more painful, there was no way of avoiding it.

‘It was a ring that was mentioned in Gaukur’s Saga, the manuscript the professor who was murdered was trying to sell. You see, the police believe that my father and your husband found the ring that weekend.’

Erna frowned. ‘He never mentioned it. And I never saw a ring. But it is just the kind of thing that would fascinate him. And there was something. Something hidden in the altar in the church. I saw him sneak in there several times.’

‘Did you ever look to see what it was?’ Ingileif asked.

‘No. I told myself that it was none of my business.’ Erna shuddered. ‘But the truth is I didn’t want to look. I didn’t want to know. Hakon had rather unconventional interests. I was scared about what I might find.’

‘The police think that my father may have been killed for the ring,’ said Ingileif.

‘By whom?’ said Erna. ‘Not by Hakon, surely?’

‘That’s what they think.’ Ingileif swallowed. ‘That’s what I think.’

Erna looked shocked. Shock turned to anger. ‘I know that my ex-husband is eccentric. I know that all sorts of strange stories are told about him in the village. But I am absolutely sure he didn’t kill your father. Despite all his fascination with the devil, he wouldn’t kill anyone. Ever. And…’

A tear appeared Erna’s eye.

‘And?’

‘And your father was the only true friend Hakon ever had. Sometimes I think, well I know, that Hakon was fonder of him than of me. He was quite broken up by your father’s death. It almost destroyed him.’ She sniffed and dabbed her eye with her finger. ‘He started behaving even more strangely, neglecting his parish duties, listening to Tomas’s dreadful music. He became impossible to live with after that. Impossible.’

Ingileif realized she would get no further on the subject of Hakon. She would leave grilling Erna to the police. She still thought Hakon had killed her father, but she was convinced that Erna didn’t, and she didn’t feel the need to argue with her.

‘But what has all this got to do with Tomas?’ Erna asked.

‘The police think he was there with Hakon and my father. The sheep farmers who Hakon went to for help saw him. Or at least they saw a boy, who the police think was Tomas.’ Ingileif didn’t want to confuse the issue with talk of hidden people.

‘Oh, that really is too absurd,’ said Erna. ‘Do they think Tomas killed Dr Asgrimur? But he was only twelve then!’

‘Thirteen,’ said Ingileif. ‘And yes they do think he was there. He might have witnessed what happened at the very least.’

‘That’s ridiculous,’ said Erna. ‘It must have been someone else.’ And then her eyes lit up. ‘Wait a minute. It can’t have been Tomas!’