Michael Ridpath: Where the Shadows Lie

But what about Agnar’s murder? Petur had an alibi for that. He was at his clubs all night, Arni had checked it out.

Magnus slammed his palm on the steering wheel. Arni! That was what he had been trying to say before he lost consciousness after he was shot. Not ‘Goodbye’ but ‘Alibi’. He was trying to tell Magnus about an alibi. Petur’s alibi.

Magnus could imagine what had happened. Arni had been round each of Petur’s three clubs and had received assurances that Petur had been seen there at some point on the evening of the murder. He hadn’t cross-checked times, drawn up a precise time-line of exactly where Petur was and when during that night. It was just the kind of sloppy mistake he would make. But, to be fair to him, it was also the kind of thing he would feel guilty about later.

Petur had made sure he was seen in the early part of the evening and then driven up to Lake Thingvellir, arriving after nine-thirty when Steve Jubb had left. Perhaps he waited for an hour or so after he had killed Agnar until it was completely dark, before carrying him down to the lake. That would explain the signs of flies on the body in the summer house. Then, of course, he would still have time to get back to his clubs in the early hours of the morning, while they were still hopping.

Four deaths. And Petur was responsible for all of them.

Magnus accelerated towards Reykjavik. He wanted to call Ingileif. Of course she was Petur’s sister, her first loyalty was to him. But she wouldn’t shield a murderer. Or would she?

Magnus called her number. ‘Ingileif? It’s me, Magnus.’

‘Oh.’

‘Where are you?’

‘I’m on the road to Fludir.’

The road from Hella to Fludir passed the turn-off up the Thjorsa valley not far ahead of Magnus.

‘I need to talk to you. I’m pretty close. If you pull over and tell me where you are, I’ll find you.’

‘I can’t, Magnus, I have an appointment.’

‘It’s important.’

‘No, I’m sorry, Magnus.’

‘It’s very important!’

‘Look, if you want to arrest me, arrest me. Otherwise let me go about my business.’

Magnus realized he had pushed too hard, but he was none the less surprised by her evasiveness.

‘Ingileif, where’s Petur?’

‘I don’t know.’ Suddenly the voice was quieter, less belligerent. She was lying.

‘Where are you going?’ Magnus asked.

Silence.

‘Are you going to meet him?’

Ingileif hung up.

A police car screamed by, lights flashing, speeding upstream to reinforce the officers gawping at the pastor’s body.

Magnus remembered the way Ingileif had suddenly stiffened on that very same road the day before. As though she had seen something. Perhaps the driver of a passing car? Petur?

If she had seen him, then the information that Hakon’s car had been found would make her think. Think along the same lines that Magnus had just been following. Like Magnus she would want to talk to Petur. She was going to meet him now.

In Fludir. If she was telling the truth about that.

Magnus called Ingileif back. As expected, she didn’t pick up the phone. But he left her a message that Hakon’s body had been found downstream from his car. If she was meeting her brother, that was something she needed to know.

He carried on driving. It was still a few kilometres to the junction where he could turn left for Reykjavik or right for Fludir. But first he needed to tell Baldur about Petur.

He called his cell phone. No reply. The bastard wasn’t picking him up.

He tried Vigdis. She, at least, would listen to him.

‘Vigdis, where are you?’

‘At police headquarters.’

‘I need you to go arrest Petur Asgrimsson.’

‘Why?’

Magnus explained. Vigdis listened, asking one or two pertinent questions. ‘Makes sense to me,’ she said. ‘Have you told Baldur?’

‘He won’t take my call.’

‘I’ll speak to him.’

Magnus’s phone rang again a minute later.

‘He won’t do it.’ It was Vigdis’s voice.

‘Won’t do what?’

‘Authorize me to arrest Petur.’

‘What!’

‘He says it’s too early to leap to conclusions. He hasn’t even seen the body yet. There have been too many early arrests made in this investigation.’

‘It’s only because I suggested it,’ Magnus said bitterly.

‘I can’t comment on that,’ said Vigdis. ‘But I do know I can’t arrest Petur if my chief told me not to.’

‘No, of course not, Vigdis. I’m putting you in a difficult situation.’

‘You are.’

‘The thing is, I think he’s going to meet his sister. I think she’s on to him. I’m worried that if they do meet, he might try to keep her quiet. Permanently.’

‘Aren’t you jumping to a few too many conclusions there?’

Magnus frowned. He was concerned about Ingileif. Vigdis might be right, perhaps he was stretching to a conclusion too far, but after what had happened to Colby, Ingileif’s safety worried him. Worried him big time.

‘Maybe,’ he admitted. ‘But I’d rather jump to too many than too few.’

‘Look. I’ll see if I can find Petur at his clubs or at his house. Then I’ll follow him if he goes anywhere. OK?’

Magnus knew Baldur would be very unhappy when he found out what Vigdis was doing. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I appreciate it.’

Magnus approached the junction. With Vigdis looking for Petur in Reykjavik, Magnus could afford to concentrate on Ingileif.

He turned right for Fludir.

Petur could barely see Lake Thingvellir in the gloom ahead of him. It was just over a week since he had last been there. A week in which plenty had happened. A week in which he had lost control.

Everything had been ruined that day seventeen years ago when his father had died in the snowstorm in the hills above Thjorsardalur. Since then, his entire life had been spent trying to limit the damage.

He had tried removing himself: from the whole Gaukur saga thing; from his family; from Iceland. That had worked to some extent, although he could never remove his father’s death from his heart, his soul. He thought about it every day. For seventeen years he had thought about it every single fucking day.

But the misery had reached some kind of equilibrium, until Inga had opened up the question of the saga again. Petur had tried to tell her not to sell it. He should have been more persuasive, much more persuasive. Inga’s and Agnar’s assurances that it would be possible to keep the sale secret had never had credibility.

It was all Inga’s fault.

He was nervous about meeting her now. He would explain everything, explain it so she could understand. He knew she looked up to him as a reliable big brother. That was precisely why she had been so angry with him when he had abandoned her and her mother and the rest of the family. Perhaps that would mean that she would understand why he had killed Sigursteinn. That man had deserved to die because of what he had done to Birna.

Agnar would be harder to explain. As would Hakon. But Petur had had no choice. There was no other way. Inga was smart, she would understand that.

He was losing control. He had covered his tracks well with Agnar. Not so well with Hakon. And with Inga?

He hoped to God that she understood. That she would keep quiet. Because if she didn’t. What then?

Petur fumbled in his pocket for the ring. He felt a sudden urge to examine it. He pulled over to the side of the road and killed the engine.

Silence. To his right was the lake, a deep grey. Cloud obscured the island in the middle of the lake, let alone the mountains on the other side. In the distance he heard the sound of a car, growing louder, passing with a whoosh of air and then diminishing.