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heavily; the silence and the uncertainty.
    What the hell; why couldn’t he speak? Anything so that she didn’t have to lie still among her thoughts.
    Her mind turned to her two children, who had long since flown the nest, both with families of their own. They weren’t likely to be appear just when she needed them, rarely visiting their parents other than in the holidays or at Christmas.
    No, she was alone with this unknown man.
    He stood still and seemed to be reckoning the size of the living room. It was a wonderful room, as beautifully put together as anything in a property magazine, with two watercolours on the walls, both country landscapes, as well as the stylish coffee table and the newish sofa, the old wooden bureau inherited from her husband’s family and, finally, the armchair, a ridiculously expensive designer piece in leather, to which she was deeply attached. She took a shocked breath as he dropped into the chair, stroking the armrest with the point of his knife, and looked over at her. He said something, one word in a hoarse voice, almost a whisper, as if he didn’t want his voice to identify him later. That was promising, as was the fact that he had decided to cover his face. Maybe he was going to let her live.
    She struggled to hear what he said.
    ‘Sorry?’ she almost whispered, terrified.
    ‘I said, where’s the jewellery?’
    Just some bloody thief, she decided, with relief.
    She stood up, but felt faint, trying to maintain her balance as she pointed along the corridor to the stairs. Some of her jewellery was in the bedroom upstairs, although her husband had put the most expensive pieces away in a safe in the little study downstairs, along with documents and other valuables. She took a slight comfort in the fact that she didn’t know the combination needed to open it.
    He was holding the knife almost carelessly, but still as if he knew just how to use it; as if this wasn’t the first time he had used it. She made her way up the stairs with him following behind her. She quickly showed him the jewellery in the bedroom, carelessly deciding that there was no point in dragging this out, hoping that he would take what he’d come for, and then leave her alive.
    He tipped the contents of the jewellery box on the bed and went through it, rifling through her memories: her engagement ring, birthday presents, wedding gifts. She thought of her husband; what if this man didn’t let her go? What if…?
    She thought of the future, the golden years they had planned to spend travelling and exploring the rest of the world.
    Was this bastard of a criminal going to take all that away?

10

SIGLUFJÖRDUR. SUNDAY, 14TH DECEMBER 2008
    Two whole years. It was hard to believe. As if it had been only yesterday, Ari Thór remembered going downtown to buy Kristín a Christmas present for the first time. These memories skittered into his mind as he stood by Ugla’s house, the church bells resounding along the fjord. The bells echoed through the town, making it difficult to tell from which direction the sound came. Ari Thór instinctively turned to face the mountains; the ringing seemed to tumble down from the hills rather than from the church. He had a sudden vision, not of mountains, but of a tranquil evening by the lake in Reykjavík, just two years ago.
    With the end-of-term exams approaching, he had given up on the theology textbooks for the evening and left Kristín at home with the revision books from which she could only ever be reluctantly parted. He had walked down to the city centre, where he bought two books at a shop that stayed open well into the evening before strolling down to the lake that was such a landmark in the centre of Reykjavík. That day the weather had been unseasonably still, spiced with a chill that seeped under the collar of his jacket. Although the sky was heavy with clouds, it was still somehow bright, with Christmas lights illuminating every corner of the city. He had stood by the lake with