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about?’
    ‘This and that. Places to visit in Iceland. He knows the country pretty well.’
    ‘No, I mean what did you talk about that made you want to see him again? He was a university professor, you’re a truck driver.’ Magnus remembered Jubb’s unmarried status. ‘Are you gay?’ Unlikely, but it might provoke a reaction.
    ‘Course I’m not bloody gay.’
    ‘Then what did you talk about?’
    Jubb hesitated, then answered. ‘Sagas. He was an expert, I’d always been interested in them. It was one of the reasons I came to Iceland.’
    ‘Sagas!’ Magnus snorted. ‘Give me a break.’
    Jubb shrugged his broad shoulders and folded his arms over his belly. ‘You asked.’
    Magnus paused, assessing him. ‘OK, I’m sorry. Which one is your favourite?’
    ‘The Saga of the Volsungs.’
    Magnus raised his eyebrows. ‘Unusual choice.’ The most popular sagas were about the Viking settlers in Iceland during the tenth century, but the Saga of the Volsungs was set in a much earlier period. Although written in Iceland in the thirteenth century, it was a myth about an early Germanic family of kings, the Volsungs, who eventually became the Burgundians: Attila the Hun had a role in the story. It wasn’t one of Magnus’s favourites, but he had read it a few times.
    ‘OK. So what was the name of the dwarf who was forced to give his gold to Odin and Loki?’ he asked.
    Jubb smiled. ‘Andvari.’
    ‘And Sigurd’s sword?’
    ‘Gram. And his horse was called Grani.’
    Jubb knew his stuff. He might be a truck driver, but he was a well-read man. Not to be underestimated. ‘I like the sagas,’ Magnus said with a smile. ‘My dad used to read them to me. But he was Icelandic. How did you get into them?’
    ‘My grandfather,’ Jubb said. ‘He studied them at university. He used to tell me the stories when I was a lad. I was hooked. Then I found some of them on tape and I used to play them in the wagon. Still do.’
    ‘In English?’
    ‘Obviously.’
    ‘They are better in Icelandic.’
    ‘That’s what Agnar said. And I believe him. But it’s too late for me to learn another language now.’ Jubb paused. ‘I’m sorry he’s dead. He was an interesting bloke.’
    ‘Did you kill him?’ It was a question Magnus had asked all sorts of people during his career. He didn’t expect an honest answer, but often the reaction the question provoked was useful.
    ‘No,’ said Jubb. ‘Of course I bloody didn’t!’
    Magnus studied Steve Jubb. The denial was convincing, and yet … The lorry driver was hiding something.
    At that moment the door opened and Baldur burst in, followed by the interpreter. Magnus couldn’t conceal his irritation; he thought he was beginning to get somewhere.
    Baldur was clutching some sheets of paper. He sat at the desk and laid them in front of him. He leaned over and turned a switch on a small console by the computer. ‘Interview recommences at eighteen twenty-two,’ he said. And then, in English, staring at Jubb: ‘Who is Isildur?’
    Jubb tensed. Both Baldur and Magnus noticed it. Then he forced himself to relax. ‘I’ve no idea. Who is Isildur?’
    Magnus asked himself the same question, although he thought the name sounded familiar from somewhere.
    ‘Take a look at these,’ Baldur said, returning to Icelandic. He pushed three sheets of paper towards Jubb and handed another three to Magnus. ‘These are printouts of e-mails taken from Agnar’s computer. E-mail correspondence with you.’
    Jubb picked up the sheets of paper and read them, as did Magnus. Two were simple messages confirming the visit Steve had suggested on the phone and arranging a date, time and place to meet. The tone was more businesslike than an informal arrangement to meet up for a chat with an acquaintance.
    The third e-mail was the most interesting.
From: Agnar Haraldsson
To: Steve Jubb
Subject: Meeting 23 April
Dear Steve
I’m looking forward to seeing you on Thursday. I have made a discovery that I think