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 Mosfellsbær 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. Jóel 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, wishing 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-fashioned 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 Jón and I’m investigating an incident connected to your stay at the Harbourside Hotel recently.”
Haraldur felt suddenly 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 hell 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 bitch 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 Jón 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 around 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.”
“Okay. Skinny? Fat? Big tits 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?”
“Please. Leave my wife out of this,” Halli said, trying to stop himself from pleading.
“G’bye, Halli. And not a word to anyone, anyone at all. Understood?” the voice said sharply, and the call ended, leaving Haraldur sitting in the office chair with his shirt sticking to the sweat that had collected on his back.
Hekla stole an occasional look in the mirror. There were cars overtaking her at intervals, and there was always a car somewhere in the distance behind her, but too far for her tell if it was the same one. Surely anyone following her would have wanted to stay closer? She regretted not having taken a more roundabout route through Grafarvogur after leaving the swimming pool, taking a few twists and turns that would at least have given her an idea if she were being followed, but such was her hurry that the thought hadn’t crossed her mind until it was too late.
She struggled to remember the man with the pale eyes. It had been a good while ago that she had met him at some hotel in Reykjavík; she wasn’t sure which one. He seemed a decent enough old boy and she had almost not wanted to take his money, but times had been hard and still were, and the man’s cash had paid for the car to be fixed and insured, as well as covering the month’s rent. Halfdán? Hermann? She struggled to remember the name, although she recalled clearly enough the vaguely sad, pale-blue eyes in the heavy face, and the look of disappointment rather than anger when he realized he was being robbed, even though she had been considerate enough to get him off before leaving him to wait it out.
As she approached the little settlement at Kjalarnes, she was assailed by doubt. How long had that grey car been following her, had it been behind her all the way? She thought back frantically and decided that it had been behind her in the distance all the way from Mosfellsbær; she told herself it had to be someone on the way to Akranes, or maybe further. Someone from out of town, she told herself, slowing the car and noticing that the car behind did the same, allowing a van to overtake, whose driver was pushing it to the limits of what could be considered safe on the slippery winter roads.
She stopped to turn left and the van hurtled past, spraying slush over the red car’s windscreen as it passed. Hekla fumbled for the wipers to clear it, hoping to see the grey car follow the van, but instead she saw that it was still some way off and clearly moving slowly. She crossed the road, and rather than driving straight through the village to the house she rented on the far side, she pulled into the petrol station beside the first pump. Hekla took her time pumping fuel, hoping to give the grey car a chance to drive past, but with the tank full and only a truck having gone past, her heart sank. It had to be him, Hermann or Halfdán or Heimir or whatever the damned man’s name was-something that began with an H.