‘What is it?’ she asked, her smile giving way to a look of surprise. For a moment, he pitied her. She certainly deserved to 207experience this moment, to be given a ring by a man she loved. But before his heart softened too much, Grímur reminded himself that he was saving her from Björn. This was going to hurt, but it would be so much better in the long run.

‘No idea,’ he said drily. ‘I’m just the delivery boy.’

He turned and walked away, threading his way between the tables, taking the most direct route to the door and the outside world beyond. He took a few more steps, almost as far as the corner, and then turned and ambled back. He put a deerstalker on top of the wig, lifted the hood of his coat over both and strolled past the restaurant’s big window, peering inside as he made his way slowly past. His view of their table in the middle of the room was partly obscured by those closer to the window, but by leaning and peering, he was able to make out Björn’s expression as it went from astonishment to confusion, and then to the emotion that was always his final resort, fury. Grímur stayed by the edge of the window and tried to imagine what words were flooding from Björn’s face, twisted in anger, as he gestured furiously with his hands, apparently shouting at both the waiters and Kristín, who sat with the box that had contained the ring in her hands. The ring itself was clamped between Björn’s fingers, as he held it first in front of the waiter’s face, and then Kristín’s, as she burst into tears. Grímur would have preferred to have shielded her from this emotional switchback from surprise to delight, to confusion and finally to terror. He was able to see all of these feelings in her eyes as Björn snatched the ring box from her and rushed out of the restaurant, the veins in his neck pulsing and his face such a bright red that he seemed ready to explode.

‘That’s nothing,’ Grímur whispered to the glass that separated him from her tear-streaked face. ‘Compared to what I’ve saved you from.’

This was exactly how it had been supposed to play out. He felt a deep sympathy for the woman, but dramatic measures had been needed to push them apart. Because tonight the time was ripe.

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‘The city police are searching for Ísafold Jónsdóttir, aged thirty-four, who has not been seen since May. Her disappearance was reported to the city police on Thursday. Ísafold is one metre, sixty-three centimetres in height, of slim build and she has dark-brown hair and brown eyes. Anyone who can provide information on her whereabouts is asked to contact the police on 444 1000 or via the City Police Facebook page.’