Part 6 (1/2)

'Sure?'

'Of course I'm sure. His name's Baddo. He was in prison somewhere in Eastern Europe and was only recently released. I did a story about him a while ago because he didn't want to be repatriated and finish his sentence in Iceland as people normally do. He fought quite hard not to be sent home and he also fought against being deported from wherever it was once he was released. I'm trying to remember what his real name is. I tried to get an interview with him once he was finally sent back to Iceland before Christmas, I think but he wouldn't have it.'

'Hrobjartur,' Gunna supplied, her memory jogged back into gear. 'Hrobjartur Bjarnthorsson.'

'Yeah. Isn't it a terrible name?' Skuli said with a smile. 'It doesn't get much more nineteenth century than Hrobjartur Bjarnthorsson. It's like something out of Laxness. Now I'm wondering why you're interested in him and if there's anything you can tell me?'

'Not right away. He's been snooping around a case I'm working on and I want to know why.'

'This is about the thing at the Gullfoss? The s.h.i.+powner who was found strapped to the bed?'

Gunna gave him another hard stare. 'You don't know anything about that, do you, Skuli? I'm not asking, by the way. I'm telling you that you haven't heard anything, especially from me.'

Skuli shrugged. 'Fair enough. It's not exactly something I can print in Reykjavik Voice. But I do s.h.i.+fts at Dagurinn, and they were knocking together Johannes Karlsson's obituary last night. Nothing to worry about,' he said hurriedly. 'Just the usual c.r.a.p about which farm his grandparents came from and how many grandchildren he had.'

Gunna started uncomfortably at the mention of grandchildren.

'Nothing about him paying a hooker to tie him to a bed in a smart hotel,' Skuli added.

'There'd be h.e.l.l to pay if you did.'

'But there are rumours.'

'Like what?'

Skuli scratched his nose and looked about him theatrically, rea.s.suring himself that apart from the two of them, the only other person in the cafe was the proprietor, yawning behind his counter.

'There's nothing concrete, but you know what Reykjavhik Voice is like. It's seething with gossip. It seems that it's the latest scam. Man books a kinky escort, she ties him up and disappears with his wallet after taking a couple of compromising photos, presumably as insurance. Simple as that. It seems one guy wanted his fun in the wardrobe, but she locked him inside it and stole his wallet. It's been going on for a while and it's all ”somebody knows someone who heard something from . . .” You know?'

'Yeah. I know, Chinese whispers that don't stand up in court.'

'I thought it was just an urban myth until this thing at Hotel Gullfoss happened yesterday. Not that we journos know any more than the police,' he said with a sly smile. 'Although now some of us know that Bigfoot Baddo is involved. Not that we'd say a word out of place.'

At lunchtime Joel Ingi went for sus.h.i.+. It wasn't something he did often, nor did he like it particularly, but the others enthused about the delights of raw fish and he joined the group of four at a small, smart place on Laugarvegur that had yet to become popular. Once it did, they would probably abandon it and find somewhere else, Joel Ingi thought, enjoying the unaccustomed slow pace of the meal, made slower by his lack of skill with chopsticks, which he did his best to disguise.

The two women in the group departed together for the restaurant's bathroom, leaving Joel Ingi and Mar with Saevar, a translator from the next floor. Joel Ingi daydreamed as the other two talked British football, something he had never been able to muster interest in. Coffee arrived as the two women returned, and Katrin from the press office sat down opposite him and smiled. Joel Ingi liked her. Katrin had a sense of humour that seemed irrepressible. A short, round woman who he decided had never seen the inside of a gym in her life, she didn't attract him in the same way that his wife's spare, bony frame drove him wild, but there was no denying that Katrin was fun in a way that Agnes could never be.

Joel Ingi remained distant, answering the questions Katrin laughingly set him. Her friend, a wiry girl called Ursula, was definitely more his type, he felt. The only one of the group not from the ministry, she seemed reluctant to engage in conversation with him, apparently preferring to talk to Mar. Although he noticed her stealing the occasional glance his way.

'Hey, Joel Ingi,' Katrin grinned as the waiter placed tiny cups of Icelandic coffee in front of them to smother the subtle sus.h.i.+ flavours. 'Chelsea v Spurs on Sat.u.r.day. I'm sure you'll be glued to that, won't you?' she joked. 'Spurs to win, you think?'

Joel Ingi lifted his eyes to smile back at her and shook his head, about to speak. But as he looked at her laughing eyes and past her through the restaurant windows, a familiar parka and baseball cap combination strolled along the opposite side of the street, stopped to look into a shop window and carried on.

's.h.i.+t! I was joking about the football,' Katrin said in alarm as the colour drained from Joel Ingi's face and the coffee cup stopped an inch from his lips.

Seconds after leaving Skuli so he could return to editing the next week's TV listings, Gunna had her phone to her ear. She was relieved that the continuing snow promised by the deep grey clouds brooding a scant few feet above the rooftops of downtown Reykjavik was holding off releasing its payload.

'Eirikur? Hi, Gunna,' she said needlessly, as if Eirikur had not already seen her number appear on his phone. She was cursing herself for not having spent the previous evening looking through Hrobjartur Bjarnthorsson's file, but Gisli's bombsh.e.l.l had pushed everything else out of her mind, and she reminded herself that first Laufey would have to be told of her big brother's predicament, and then the rest of the family. She wondered if her elder brother Svanur had yet been told of his stepdaughter's pregnancy, and the circ.u.mstances.

'Chief? You there?' Eirikur asked, concerned. Gunna realized that her phone was at her ear while her mind was elsewhere.

'Sorry, Eirikur. Brain's gone to mashed potato today,' she said, smothering her growing irritation at herself and trying to concentrate. 'Look, priority. No messing about. Johannes Karlsson's wife must have been told by now. I want access to his bank details as soon as possible, preferably within an hour. Any unauthorized transactions and all that. You know the score.'

'Anything suspicious?'

'Anything out of the ordinary, especially anything yesterday, considering he was probably dead around lunchtime. Understand?'

'Understood.'

'But quick, Eirikur. There are more people than just us sniffing around. OK?' Gunna instructed, putting her phone away and approaching the hotel, where a bulky man with a black frown on his face was huddled in a padded coat, smoking a cigarette under the 'No Smoking' sign.

'This is a non-smoking zone,' she snapped and the man glared back at her, took a final pull and flicked the b.u.t.t into the slush in the gutter.

'How would you like to mind your own business?' he invited and quailed as Gunna opened her wallet in front of him.

'City police,' she said in the same sharp tone as before. 'I believe you wanted a word with me. You are?'

'Hakon Hakonarson,' he said once they were inside the hotel's lobby. 'My wife works here and she was questioned twice yesterday. I just wanted to make it plain that this is unjustified and it's not right for you people to hara.s.s her like this.'

Gunna nodded in agreement, suppressing the dislike that she'd instinctively developed for this corpulent man and his pompous manner. 'If she had been interviewed twice, then I might agree with you, but there was one short interview and that was all. Where's your wife right now?'

'At home with a headache,' Hakon retorted in a sullen voice, like a child scolded for someone else's misdemeanour.

'And where do you live?'

'Vallarholt. Number 87.'

'And you drove here, did you?'

'Of course.'

'Gunna felt in her pocket for her keys. 'Well, if you go now, you'll be there before me.'

Hakon looked stunned. 'You think you're going to interview her again?'

'Yup.'

'She's had two interviews already,' he protested.

'That's as maybe. But she's only spoken to a police officer once and I'd very much like to know who she spoke to after she left this place yesterday.' She made to go. 'So I'll see you in about half an hour, Hakon. All right?'

Valeria looked ill while Hakon fumed in a corner. The flat was spotless, with not a single one of the many china statues of ballerinas and puppies out of place. Gunna felt nervous about sitting down and ruining the careful arrangement of cus.h.i.+ons on the sofa, so she perched on the edge instead.

'Not feeling well, Valeria?'

'It's OK. I don't have a s.h.i.+ft today, so I'm not missing work.'

'Let's track back, shall we? You found Johannes Karlsson's body in his room at the hotel, right? I understand that you shouldn't have done. According to the rules, your supervisor should have gone into the room first.'

'That's right. astros is worried about it. There will be an . . .' She floundered, searching for the right word.