Wednesday 17th
HELGI’S DELIGHT COULDN’T be concealed.
“And what are you so damn cheerful about this morning?” Gunna demanded.
“Found where Long Ommi’s hiding away.”
“Really? Well done. The sooner we can get the bastard back to the nick, the better for all of us. Spill the beans, then. How did you find him?”
Helgi beamed. “Easy. I got a patrol to knock on Eygló’s front door, asking if anyone had noticed a joyrider in a stolen car belting around the area. The back door opened as soon as the patrol rang the doorbell, and all I had to do was follow him.”
Gunna nodded appreciatively. “Nice work. So where is he?”
“You know that new district in Gardabær, just above the Smárinn sports hall? All those new houses?”
“Yup. I drive past it every day.”
“He’s in one of those. The whole place is empty, not a single one’s been sold yet and it’s like a ghost town. The place he’s camped out in is Hátúnsbraut 21 and I think he’s using the garage to live in as it doesn’t have any windows, so nobody looks in and no light gets out—or it wouldn’t if the garage door hadn’t been put in crooked.”
“What’s that?” Eiríkur asked, dropping his briefcase on to his chair and shrugging himself out of his coat.
“Our man has tracked down Long Ommi. Now we’d better go and collect him,” Gunna replied.
Helgi frowned. “I’d like to track him for a day or two, find out what he’s up to. He’s a right evil bastard and I’m positive he’s up to no good.”
“You think so?” Gunna asked sharply. “I reckon we get the uniform boys to pick him up and ship him over to a month in solitary at Litla-Hraun once we’ve asked him a few questions. Job done.”
“I don’t know,” Helgi murmured. “It doesn’t make sense, to my mind. He had less than a year of a long stretch to go, in a low-security nick where life isn’t hard. So why abscond? Why now? All right, he’s set a national record for being on the run, which is an achievement in itself. But I’m sure setting a record wasn’t what he set out to do.”
Gunna watched as her computer started up, wondering how many of the emails in her inbox could safely be deleted unread.
“Ommi’s from Hvalvík, Gunna. Didn’t you ever cross paths with him?” Helgi asked.
“He’d left Hvalvík before I went to live there. I know who his mother is, though. Nice enough lady, very strict, I always thought. Religious as well, sings in the church choir.”
“I really think we ought to watch Ommi for a day or two. I’m certain it was him who gave Skari a beating in Keflavík, and Daft Diddi, and the word is that there have been more broken noses than usual around. But I’m sure he didn’t abscond from Kvíabryggja just to settle old scores that could have kept for a few more months.”
Gunna thought quickly. The unit had more than enough to do with the murder of Svana Geirs and now the suspected arson at Bjartmar Arnarson’s house.
“We don’t have the time or manpower to keep tabs on Ommi, but Eiríkur, can you keep a watch and log who goes in and out of there tonight, and we’ll pick him up in the morning. Until then, please get on to finding out about Bjartmar’s dirty deals when you have an hour. A list of business interests and property would be handy, and his tax records.”
• • •
HALLUR HALLBJÖRNSSON’S SMILE of welcome was sicklier than it had been when they last met, and Gunna’s expression was grimmer. This time a dowdy and flustered researcher showed her to the rooftop office, which seemed smaller as Hallur glowered behind the desk in the corner. Today the sun was out and slanted in through the window to bring out a touch of bronze in the hair that swept unfashionably down to his earlobes.
Wasted on a bloke, Gunna thought, reminding herself that her own unruly thatch was overdue its usual workmanlike trim.
“Good morning,” she offered, sitting down opposite him without waiting to be asked.
“More questions, Sergeant?”
“I’m afraid so. This isn’t a bad moment?”
“Not at all. Always ready to help the police,” Hallur said, and Gunna saw him gulp as he spoke.
She nodded and looked sternly over the cluttered desk. “I don’t feel you’ve been entirely open about your relationship with Svanhildur Mjöll Sigurgeirsdóttir. We spoke a few days ago and you gave me the impression that you had conducted an occasional liaison with her, but now I understand that there was rather more to this. I’d be interested if you’d elaborate.”
Gunna could sense fear as Hallur coughed and looked from one corner of the room to other as if seeking inspiration. He’s cornered and terrified, Gunna thought. Be gentle. Don’t overdo it.
“I, er, I’d like you to know that this could be deeply embarrassing, you know … Very unpleasant for a lot of people. My wife … and the Prime Minister …”
There was real anguish in his voice. Gunna looked impassively at the wild eyes frowning back at her and let him continue.
“It would be a shock to her if this were made public. A huge shock,” he concluded, nodding in emphasis.
“Unfortunately that’s beyond my remit. My concern is to identify who was responsible for this woman’s violent death. You’d best be open about it and tell me what you know.”
Hallur fidgeted. “What do you know already?”
“Let’s just pretend that I don’t know anything and you start from the beginning.”
“I think I ought to have my lawyer present,” he blurted out.
Gunna shrugged. “Up to you. That’s if you want me to suspect you were involved with her death, in which case we’d be best off doing this as a formal recorded interview at Hverfisgata and not an informal chat in your office.”
Hallur deflated visibly and his whole body sagged in his chair.
“Did you, for instance, support Svana financially in any way?”
“What? Good grief, no.”
“Not at all?”
“I paid for a meal sometimes,” he said with a flash of his smooth public persona breaking through. “I’m old-fashioned like that, don’t believe in going Dutch. Of course I paid for everything that time we met in Copenhagen, but apart from that, certainly not.”
“And your financial records will bear this out?” Gunna asked quietly.
“You want to go through my bank statements?”
“It’s possible. So this is the sum total of your involvement with Svana Geirs, is it? An occasional meal, one dirty weekend away, the odd screw? No cash changed hands?”
Hallur blanched and he shook his head, jumping as his desk phone rang. He snatched up the receiver as if it were a saviour and yelped into it, nodding as he spoke.
“Yes, yes, of course. That shouldn’t be a problem. But could you ask him to call me in an hour? I’m in a meeting right now and it’s not entirely convenient. Thanks.”
He dropped the receiver reluctantly. “Sorry. I’m supposed to be on the way to meet a group of Japanese investors.”
“You know Bjarki Steinsson,” Gunna said, framing the question as a direct statement.
“Er, I, yes. Of course. What do you want me to say? We belong to the same clubs, he’s a member of the party and attends meetings regularly.”
“I want you to tell me the truth and all of it, just as you would in court,” Gunna said grimly. She was certain that Hallur was close to telling her everything as long as she could maintain pressure on him. “And how about Jónas Valur Hjaltason? Another friend?”
Blood drained from Hallur’s face, leaving him gaping at her. “How much do you know?” he gulped finally.
“Tell me about the syndicate,” Gunna said quietly, ignoring his question.
“It was Jónas Valur who started it all off.”
“Go on.”
“Yeah. He’d known Svana for a long time. The idea came up when we were at Jónas Valur’s salmon lodge, I don’t know, three years ago, a whole bunch of us. Jónas Valur’s son Sindri was there as well, and he was boasting that he’d slept with Svana. He was pretty drunk, and all of a sudden he spat out that Svana would do it for cash for the right people. We had a laugh and a joke about it and that was that.”