Michael Ridpath: Where the Shadows Lie

‘Frankly, I don’t give a toss. That professor I spoke to only a week ago is dead. A vicar is dead. There’s a nutter running around somewhere out there who’s looking to kill a girl. A real live person, Lawrence, don’t you get that?’

‘Hey, look, it’s got nothing to do with us,’ said Feldman. He looked at Jubb suspiciously. ‘Or does it?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, did you kill the professor?’ said Feldman.

‘Don’t be daft. Course I bloody didn’t.’

‘You say that, but I have no way of knowing whether you are telling the truth.’

‘Look. That copper out there is looking for Ingileif. We know where she is. We should tell him.’ Jubb took out his mobile phone. ‘Give me his number.’

‘No, Gimli. No.’

‘Jesus Christ!’ exclaimed Jubb. He jumped out of the car, flung open the door to the back and hauled Feldman out. The little man tried to cling on to the seatbelt but Jubb broke his grip. Jubb clenched his fist. ‘Give me that number or I’ll smash yer face in.’

Feldman cowered on the ground and handed the big Yorkshireman the scrap of paper bearing Magnus’s number.

Jubb went round to the driver’s side. ‘Are you with me?’ he asked Axel.

‘The problem is, Steve, that bugging the girl’s car wasn’t strictly legal.’

Jubb didn’t wait to argue. He leaned in, grabbed the private investigator, and flung him into the road. He jumped into the driver’s seat and started up the engine. With Feldman and Axel hammering on the side of the car, he executed a quick three-point turn and sped off after the copper, striking Feldman a glancing blow on the legs with his bumper as he did so.

Magnus slowed as he reached the junction of the main road just south of Fludir. His cell phone chirped.

‘Hello?’

‘This is Steve Jubb. Just wait where you are! I’m right behind you.’

‘All right,’ said Magnus. He knew Feldman and Jubb had known more than they were saying, although he was surprised that they had decided to tell him what. ‘I’ll be waiting.’

Magnus pulled over to the side. Within two minutes he saw the private investigator’s car fly down the road towards him. It pulled in behind him, and Steve Jubb jumped out, carrying a laptop under his arm. Alone.

He climbed into the passenger seat next to Magnus.

‘Hang on,’ he said, switching on the laptop, and a receiver attached to it. ‘This will tell us where Ingileif is.’

‘Excellent,’ said Magnus. He put the car into gear and turned left, towards Reykjavik. That was by far the most likely direction and he wanted to catch her up. ‘Where are your friends?’

‘Tossers,’ muttered Jubb as he fiddled with the computer.

Magnus wasn’t exactly sure what a tosser was, but he was prepared to take Jubb’s word for it. ‘Thanks for coming to get me.’

‘I should have said something back there,’ Jubb said. ‘Should have told you everything back when you arrested me.’ He clicked a couple of keys. ‘Come on…’ he muttered.

‘So you bugged her car?’

Jubb just grunted and carried on tapping at the keyboard. ‘Here we are. She’s north of here. Way north of here. Turn around.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Course I’m bloody sure. Take a look.’

Magnus slowed and peered at the computer screen on Jubb’s lap. It displayed a map of south-west Iceland, and it showed a round circle moving north along a road on the other side of Fludir.

‘Where the hell is she going?’ Magnus asked. ‘There’s nothing up there, is there? Take a look at the map. There’s one in the glove compartment.’

Jubb pulled out a map. ‘You’re right, there’s not much north of here. A couple of glaciers, I think they are. The road goes right the way across the middle of the country.’

‘It’ll still be closed this time of year,’ Magnus said.

‘Wait a minute. There’s something here. Gullfoss? Do you know what that is?’

‘It’s a waterfall,’ said Magnus. ‘A massive waterfall.’

Petur pulled into the large car park. This early in the season, and in this weather, it was empty, apart from one tour bus.

He climbed out of his BMW. The enormous waterfall roared at him, unseen, from beyond the far side of the information centre. Tourists emerged along the pathway leading to the waterfall, cooing to each other about the majesty of what they had just witnessed. In five minutes they would be whisked away to the next stop on their tour, the geysers at Geysir, perhaps, or the Althing assembly grounds at Thingvellir.

Good, thought Petur.

Rather than heading straight down towards the waterfall, Petur turned left, upstream. There was now a maintained path leading up the low hill; in his childhood it had just been a narrow sheep track.

Just over the crest of the hill was a shallow hollow. It was here that Dr Asgrimur had liked to take his family for a picnic on sunny days. Tourists usually walked to the foot of the falls, or halfway up, or followed the gorge downstream. The hollow, above the falls, offered some privacy, even in the height of summer. The grass and moss, soft and springy, made a comfortable spot to sit, when things were dry.

At the beginning of May, in the mist, things were very wet and there was no sign of anyone. It was only a couple of hundred metres to the car park, but there was no chance of being seen or heard above the din from there.

Petur walked towards the river. The dull roar turned into a crescendo as the magnificent waterfall opened out beneath him. Its power was extraordinary. The Hvita flung itself down into the gorge in two stages, at each throwing up a thick curtain of spray. The resultant tumult was known as Gullfoss, which means ‘golden waterfall’, because of the tricks of light that low sunshine could play on the fine moisture suspended above the cauldron. In the right conditions rainbows danced gold and purple over the falls.

On a clear day it was possible to see Langjokull, the ‘Long Glacier’ which produced all this water, crouching between the mountain peaks thirty kilometres to the north. But not today. Today, everything was covered in a grey shroud of moisture, spray and cloud merging into one.

Again, good.

Petur stood and waited for Ingileif.

He was pleased with his choice of meeting place. Like the road to Stong. Petur had tempted Hakon out to that remote spot with a far-fetched tale of how he knew where the helm of Fafnir was hidden. He remembered the look of excitement and expectation on the pastor’s face as he had approached him parked above the Fossa. Petur had led the pastor down to the river, and then paused to let him pass. A blow on the back of the head with a rock, and the pastor had tumbled: it was all that Petur had been able to do to stop him from falling straight into the water. He held him back just long enough to ease the ring off his finger, and then tipped him into the torrent. It could be weeks before his body was found, if ever.

That was another effect of the ring on people. It persuaded them to suspend their normal critical faculties, to believe the unbelievable. Petur smiled. The irony that the pastor had fallen for the same ruse that had done for Gaukur a thousand years before pleased him.

Petur stood, staring at the waterfall, and thought of his father. This place really did remind him of that sunny period before things had gone so wrong. Perhaps what he had said to Inga was true. Perhaps their father really was present.

Petur shuddered. He hoped not. He wouldn’t want his father to witness what might happen to Inga if she didn’t promise to keep quiet.

Petur wondered what the police would think when they found the pastor’s body, or more likely his car. An accident? Suicide perhaps?

That was an idea. If the worst came to the worst, and Inga ended up in the waterfall, Petur could claim she had killed herself. He had received a call from her. She was distraught, upset by feelings of betrayal at trying to sell Gaukur’s Saga. She told him that she was going to Gullfoss. He feared suicide, and drove up to try to stop her. But he was just too late. He saw her jump.