She lifted it once Jói was out of the kitchen.
‘Dad, we’ve got to go,’ she whispered, snapping her laptop shut and grabbing it.
‘What do you mean?’ said her father.
‘Jói is Krakatoa. We’ve got to get out of here. Come on!’
She stood up to leave. Her father moved ahead of her to the front door and then turned to block her path.
‘How do you know?’
‘Just got a text from the police,’ Dísa hissed. The downstairs toilet door was shut. ‘Quick!’ She tried to push past her father to the door.
‘No, Dísa.’
‘Dad!’ She pushed harder.
He wouldn’t move.
Then it hit her. She should have seen it right away.
‘Wait a minute,’ she said. ‘You know Jói is Krakatoa, Dad, don’t you?”
Her father inclined his head in assent.
Dísa took a step backwards. ‘You and he came here together. From the airport.’
Ómar nodded again. ‘We bumped into each other on the plane.’
There was a sound on the staircase. Dísa turned. Her brother was coming slowly down the stairs. Pointing Grandpa’s shotgun right at her.
‘No,’ said Dísa. ‘No!’ she screamed and launched herself towards Jói, gun or no gun.
Strong hands grabbed her shoulders and held her back. ‘It’s OK, Dísa,’ her father said. ‘It’s all going to be OK.’
The tears came as outrage overwhelmed her. ‘What do you mean it’s OK?’ she yelled. ‘You and Jói ganging up on me like that. Killing Mum. Killing Kata.’
‘I didn’t have anything to do with that, believe me,’ said Ómar.
‘But he did!’ said Dísa, pointing to her brother.
‘I had to,’ said Jói reasonably. Quietly.
‘Of course you didn’t have to!’
Dísa stopped struggling.
‘If I let you go, will you keep still?’ her father said.
Dísa nodded. Anger wasn’t going to get her anywhere. She needed to think.
But how could she think in the face of this betrayal? A betrayal that ripped at her heart, ripped at her mind, trampled on her very being. She knew she shouldn’t be surprised that her father had let her down. Again. Yet she had always been sure of his love for her. For a second she had believed that his appearance in Dalvík proved that.
Idiot!
And she still couldn’t believe Jói would kill anyone, let alone their mother. He had always liked Mum, for God’s sake! And Kata. What had Kata ever done to him?
But the man pointing the shotgun at her didn’t look like her sweet half-brother Jói. He looked perfectly capable of pulling the trigger.
She staggered back into the kitchen and slumped on to a chair.
‘So it wasn’t a professional killer after all?’ she said to Jói.
‘It was. I paid someone to deal with your mother and with Kata. But, unfortunately, he’s left Iceland now.’
‘So you have to do the dirty stuff yourself?’
Jói nodded.
‘There doesn’t need to be any dirty stuff,’ Ómar said. ‘You pay Jói what you owe him—’
‘I don’t owe him anything,’ Dísa snapped.
‘What you took from him,’ Ómar said. ‘Jói leaves. And once he’s out of the country we tell the police what’s happened.’
‘And you think the police won’t arrest you?’ Dísa said.
‘They probably will,’ said Ómar. ‘But you’ll be alive. You’ll both be alive. This is the only way I can figure out for that to happen. And if I end up in jail again, so be it.’
‘Don’t act the noble martyr with me, Dad. Claiming to sacrifice yourself for me. You need to stand up to Jói, that’s what you need to do.’
‘Well, I disagree. Jói, transfer Dísa’s bitcoin to your wallet, and then we’ll go.’
‘Why didn’t you warn me? That Jói was Krakatoa?’
‘Because I thought he would get his hitman to kill you if I did.’ Ómar swallowed. ‘And me.’
‘But the hitman has left Iceland. Didn’t you hear him say that?’
‘Yes. But I didn’t know that. Until now.’ Ómar looked away from his daughter.
Jói was still holding the shotgun. ‘OK. Both of you stand over there, where I can see you.’
He pointed to the corner of the kitchen furthest away from the table, by the microwave.
‘Jói?’ said Ómar. ‘You can trust me.’
‘Possibly. But I’ll be happier if I have you both covered.’
Ómar frowned. ‘All right.’
He and Dísa watched as Jói laid the shotgun on the table, pointing towards them and tapped on Dísa’s laptop. He pulled out his phone and tapped on that, glancing at them every few seconds. After a minute or so, he began to transcribe the characters from Dísa’s private key into her computer.
‘The police know you are Krakatoa,’ Dísa said.
Jói looked up sharply.
‘That was the text I read,’ Dísa explained. ‘From Inspector Magnús. They know who you are. You won’t be able to get away.’
‘I will with this money,’ Jói said. ‘You can do anything with twenty million dollars. I’ll find someone with a boat or a plane who will get me out.’
‘Stop him, Dad,’ Dísa said, pleading with her father.
Ómar didn’t answer. He didn’t look at her. He was watching his son as he carefully typed the characters into Dísa’s machine. Then, with a triumphant flurry of taps, Jói grinned.
‘Done!’
‘All right,’ said Ómar. ‘Now let’s tie Dísa up and put her with the other two.’ He turned to his daughter. ‘I’m sorry, Dísa. I’ll let you go once Jói’s safely away. It’s the only way for you to get out of this alive.’
Jói got to his feet and picked up the shotgun, waving it vaguely at them. At both of them.
‘No,’ he said, simply.
‘What do you mean, no? We discussed this.’
‘Dísa knows too much. She has to die.’
‘What? Now?’
‘Yes, now.’
‘Jói? You can’t do this.’
‘I’m not Jói,’ said the man holding the shotgun. ‘I’m Krakatoa.’
Ómar stared at his son as if seeing him for the first time. A stranger. Dísa saw his face crumple as if in pain.
Then he straightened. He turned away from Jói and towards her.
She saw him wink. Once, long and slow.
He sighed. ‘All right, Jói. But let me do it.’
‘You?’
‘Yes. I can’t have my son kill my daughter. I’ll do it. Give me the gun.’ Ómar moved forward, extending his arm.
Jói took a step back. ‘Do you think I’m an idiot? Stop. Or I’ll shoot you,’ he warned. ‘In fact, I may just shoot you anyway.’
‘OK,’ said Ómar. He stopped. ‘You do it. You kill her.’
Jói’s eyes flicked from his father to Dísa and back again. The shotgun wavered between them.
‘Run, Dísa!’ shouted Ómar as he flung himself at his son.
The shotgun went off, the sound in the confines of the kitchen deafening.
Dísa did what she was told and bolted for the back door.
There was another explosion from inside the farmhouse as the second barrel went off.
Dísa sprinted across the farmyard. There were open fields above and behind the yard, with nowhere to hide except behind the elf rock.
That wouldn’t work.
Then there was the barn.
She sprinted for the side door and, glancing behind to make sure that Jói hadn’t emerged from the farmhouse, stepped inside, closing the door behind her.
The warm, familiar, safe smell of sheep and matured hay welcomed her. Thin daylight trickled into the barn through its small windows, illuminating hundreds of woolly backs. If the sheep made any noise at her arrival, she couldn’t hear it; her ears were still ringing from the report of the shotgun inside the farmhouse.