Part 11 (1/2)

He chewed his lip and wondered where the car was going. He was certain it was the same woman. The hair was different, cut very short and made spiky by the moisture and steam, but she looked so familiar. That figure was the same, with those heavy b.r.e.a.s.t.s that he'd last seen encased in electric-blue PVC. He told himself bitterly that he had seen more of them through the blasted woman's demure swimsuit than he had during the session at the Arctic Hotel that had cost him so dear. On top of that, her listing was still there on personal.is.

From under the lids of half-closed eyes he had watched her relax in the hot tub, concentrating on the face alone, certain that the strong jawline and narrow, slightly kinked nose in a long but shapely face belonged to the same woman. Watching the car from a distance and with time to think, his blood boiled with anger at the humiliation, as well as the fact that she had bled his account dry. Taking deep breaths and telling himself to be calm and maintain a steady speed as the red car pa.s.sed through Mosfellsbaer without stopping, he reminded himself that the b.i.t.c.h had at least kept her word. She had skinned his credit and debit cards, but had only used them once, plus he had been released from his bonds exactly when she had said he would be. That didn't detract from the fact that he'd had to borrow money for the first time in years to tide himself over that month.

Where was the red car going? he wondered. All the way to Akranes, maybe? Or further? He looked at the fuel gauge and was relieved to see he had more than half a tank. With the last of the Mosfellsbaer roundabouts behind it, the red car picked up speed along the quiet road.

Agnes was painting when he came in. She sat at her easel in the wide-open living room with an absorbed look on her face, a fine brush crosswise in her mouth and another in her hand as she concentrated every ounce of her attention on the small canvas in front of her. Joel Ingi wondered what the abstract image was supposed to be as she etched a swooping line in aquamarine across half of the canvas.

'Is it a bird?' he guessed.

'Nope,' Agnes replied distractedly. 'Not sure yet.'

He admired her dedication, wis.h.i.+ng he could do the same. The tiny pink point of her tongue protruded between her lips as she took the broader brush from her mouth and worked at a patch in a corner of the painting, lightening the tone. A wisp of her pale blonde hair had escaped from the band around her head and she absently pushed it out of her eyes, her otherwise clear forehead furrowed in concentration.

'I'm going for a shower,' he said, slipping off his jacket and loosening his tie. 'Coming?' he asked hopefully.

Agnes had her eyes focused on the inexplicable painting. 'Hmm?'

'Nothing,' he said, turning and making for the bathroom as Agnes's phone tinkled in the pocket of her artist's smock.

His phone rang in the breast pocket of his jacket. A traditional sort of man, he had set the ring tone to sound like the bell of an old-fas.h.i.+oned phone, the kind with the rotary dial that nowadays you only see in junk shops.

'Haraldur,' he greeted the unknown caller with a warm voice.

'Good day to you, Halli. I hope you're keeping well.'

'Fine, thanks. Sorry, but who is this?'

There was a chuckle from the other end and Haraldur was irritated. It had been a busy day and he had no time to play games.

'Look, should I know you?' he asked sharply, abandoning his urbane voice.

'No. But I know you. My name's Jon and I'm investigating an incident connected to your stay at the Harbourside Hotel recently.'

Haraldur suddenly felt faint and looked around for somewhere to sit. Fortunately he was alone in the office and let himself sink into the comfortable chair he kept to put customers at ease.

'Still there, are you, Halli?'

'I'm not sure I can help you.'

'I'm sure you can.'

'Is this some kind of a joke?' he asked, angry now that he had started to collect his thoughts.

'Oh, no. Far from it. The lady you met at the Harbourside. The one who started off blonde and then wasn't. I'm looking for her, and I'm surprised you aren't as well, Halli. I'm after a name,' the voice said. 'To start with.'

'Who the h.e.l.l are you?'

'Hey, calm down, Halli. It's all right. A little information and everything will be fine.'

'I don't have time for this,' he said abruptly.

'Really?' the voice drawled. 'Because if you don't, then the lovely Svava might. I'm sure she'll be interested to know what you were up to at the Harbourside, wouldn't she?'

Halli felt faint a second time. He had tried to put the incident out of his mind and he'd almost succeeded.

'Her name's Sonja,' he said weakly. 'That's all I know.'

'How much did the b.i.t.c.h sting you for, then?'

'About half a million.'

'In cash? She emptied your account, I suppose?'

'Look, I really don't want to talk about this.'

'But I do, Halli, I do. And if you don't, then I'll ask Svava if she can give me copies of your bank statements. I suppose you have a joint account, don't you?'

'Yes,' Haraldur said faintly, understanding that the man with the harsh voice held all the cards, and deciding that Jon was probably no more his name than that woman's name was Sonja.

'All right. Now, answers. She calls herself Sonja. How did you meet her?'

'Through an ad on the internet.'

'Where?'

'Personal.is.'

'Which is what?'

Haraldur looked round as the door opened and frantically waved the secretary out of the room as the door rapidly closed again.

'It's a site for people to meet. You can look at it yourself, can't you?'

'I most certainly will. Now, this Sonja. Age?'

Haraldur floundered. 'I don't know. Around thirty, maybe.'

'Height, weight?'

'Tall. One-eighty, something like that. Weight? I have no idea.'

'OK. Skinny? Fat? Big t.i.ts or small?'

'Er . . . medium I guess. Around medium.'

'Eyes?'

'Green, I think.'

'Yeah,' the voice chuckled. 'I guess you had other things than her eyes on your mind, didn't you, Halli? Listen, I appreciate your help. If I find her and it all goes well, then you won't hear from me again, and neither will Svava. All right?'