“It’s just a name you’re looking for?”
“A name will do fine.”
“I don’t know,” Gussi wavered. “Four hundred thousand doesn’t go far these days. Can we stretch to half a million?”
“You drive a hard bargain.”
Gussi sighed, reminding himself that he had been determined to ask for double that. “I have plenty of debts,” he said finally. “If you could stretch a little further than that …?”
There was that enigmatic smile again, and Gussi felt unnerved as it vanished suddenly.
“I don’t like to do things the hard way, but sometimes there’s no alternative,” Baddó said in a soft tone and delved into the inside pocket of his jacket to take out a fat envelope. He placed it on the chair’s armrest. “Four hundred thousand. Take it or leave it.” He looked at Gussi with an unwavering gaze that made it plain there was no more on offer. “I’d advise you to take it.”
“I, er … I don’t know.”
Gussi stretched to pick up the envelope and, as he did so, Baddó shot out a hand that caught Gussi at the wrist in a solid grip that left him leaning forward with the stool about to collapse underneath him.
“The name.”
“What the hell …?”
“The name. Before you pick up the cash. A name.”
“Hekla,” Gussi gasped.
“And the rest?”
“Hauksdóttir. Hekla Elín Hauksdóttir.”
The grip relaxed. “You know where she lives?”
Gussi shook his head, his breath coming in gasps. The man’s hand released his wrist so that the stool sat back on its three legs again with Gussi, red-faced, slumped on it with his back against the wall.
“How come you know this girl?”
“We were in Othello at the National Theatre. I played Iago,” Gussi said with a pride in his voice that he couldn’t conceal. “It was ten years ago, or more. She had a part in it as well. I remembered her, that’s all.”
“And is she going to remember who you are, Gussi?”
“I don’t know. I doubt it.” He could feel his chest heaving and took off his glasses to wipe the sweat from his forehead onto the sleeve of his shirt. “It was a long time ago.”
“And you’ve come down in the world, haven’t you? So this woman was an actress,” Baddó mused. “That’s interesting.”
Gussi stuffed the envelope full of cash into his trouser pocket. “No harm will come to her, will it? You gave me your word.”
“How long has she been pulling this stunt with rich old men? It’s a smart idea.”
“I’ve really no idea. I haven’t been taking notes.”
“No, but you’ve been able to put two and two together, haven’t you?”
The gaze remained unflickering, and Gussi felt that the man sitting calmly in the chair was stripping him bare, fully aware of any lie he might try to tell. He shivered in spite of the warmth in the little apartment. “I’ve seen her once or twice,” he admitted.
“And at a few other hotels as well? Word gets around, surely, and you people compare notes.”
Gussi nodded glumly. “It happens. But it’s not often.”
“When did you last see Hekla Elín Hauksdóttir?” He asked, rolling the names slowly across his tongue, as if testing them for flavor.
“Last week.”
Baddó thought rapidly without dropping his gaze from Gussi’s eyes. Last week meant that the woman was still working, still pulling her stunts. “What day was that?”
“I don’t know,” Gussi said, flustered and hot, levering himself to his feet. “Four or five days ago.”
“The same day that old guy was found dead at the hotel, was it? Anything to do with your friend?”
“I don’t know anything about that,” Gussi said quickly.
“Ah, but I think you do, my friend, and I think you may have told me more than you were going to,” he said, standing up from the chair with a grace that Gussi found beguiling in a man of his bulk. “You said anything to the police?”
“No. Not a word.”
“Good. And you’re not going to, are you? I assure you, it wouldn’t be worth your while,” Baddó said with soft menace. “Not if you want to keep your health.”
Jóel Ingi threw two pills down his throat and washed them down with a cup of chilled water from the cooler. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms until the lights behind his eyelids flickered red.
“All right, Jóel Ingi?”
He looked up to see the grinning face of Katrín, the plump press officer from the next floor.
“I don’t know. Flu coming on, I think.”
“Well, I’d prefer it if you don’t give it to me. I’m on holiday in a couple of weeks, going to Dublin for a few days rest and a couple of nights on the town. Now that I’m single again, I’m allowed to start enjoying myself,” she said. “That’s what you need, to let your hair down for a few days.”
“I’m okay,” he assured her, refilling his plastic cup and draining it. “It’s this place, I’m sure of it. Air conditioning all year round isn’t healthy. What happened between you and Axel? I thought you were rock solid?”
Katrín lifted her shoulders in an unspoken question, hindered by the files she had hugged to her ample chest. “I don’t know,” she said with a sigh. “I guess I must have realized that deep down he was never going to grow up mentally to be more than fourteen. That’s fine when you’re young, but after a certain point enough is enough.”
“I’m really sorry to hear it.”
“I’m not,” Katrín told him with an arch lift of her eyebrows. “I’m working out again as well now, so maybe I’ll see you at the gym?” she suggested, looking over her shoulder as she left him at the water cooler in bemusement.
“All right, are you?” Már asked, finding him standing there with a dull look on his face.
Jóel Ingi shook his head. “I don’t know. That fat Katrín just came on to me two minutes ago right here.”
“In broad daylight?” Már laughed, his smile brought to a sudden death by the morose look on Jóel Ingi’s face.
“That’s about it.”
“I’m shocked. I’ll have a word with her line manager and see that she’s given a written warning for flirting with the fourth floor,” Már said, breaking into a laugh as he saw the serious look on Jóel Ingi’s face. “Seriously, though. Be flattered. I mean, I always thought you were queer.”
“Get away, you bastard,” Jóel Ingi retorted, a smile finally appearing on his face.
“Listen, though. A quiet word.”
Már’s suddenly serious tone switched off the laughter.
“What’s the matter?”
“It’s that laptop you had stolen before Christmas. Ægir’s as nervous as hell. A human rights group in Holland has figured out that those four Arabs left Germany and traveled to Amsterdam. That’s where they lose track of them. They got hold of the same information as we did about those four being found shot in the back of the head in Tripoli, plus I don’t know what else …”
“They were tortured?”
“I don’t know. But they weren’t being sent to a summer camp with four meals a day and team-building exercises. I’d be amazed if they hadn’t been.”
Jóel Ingi’s pale face went a shade paler. He poured cold water from the cooler and drank it down fast, wiping away the sweat that had suddenly appeared on his forehead. “Good God, what have we done?”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s done. There’s nothing we can do about it, except keep quiet. Listen, the do-gooders lose track of them in Amsterdam. They may know they came through Keflavík, but they don’t have anything to prove it. Let’s keep it that way, shall we?”
“Ægir knows all this?”
“Hell no. Not all of it. But he’s a shrewd bastard and he can read you like a book. That’s enough to tell him that something’s up. He’s been on to the police about it.”
“I’m looking after it, all right? Isn’t that good enough?”
“Hey, calm down, man. I know Ægir’s an arsehole, but he has every right to be worried.”
“It’s in hand, I keep telling you.”