“Both our cars are, were, diesel. There was a small petrol can in there for the lawnmower, though it could have been empty for all I know. But that would never have been enough for a blaze like that, surely?”
“How’s your wife?” Gunna asked bluntly, and Bjartmar’s eyes lifted.
“No idea,” he said with a shrug. “We don’t communicate a lot.”
“Svanhildur Mjöll Sigurgeirsdóttir,” Helgi broke in. “She was found dead in her apartment a week ago and we have good reason to believe that you had a relationship of some kind with her. Would you explain?”
Bjartmar’s smile froze for a second, then thawed as he looked over at Helgi before focusing his attention back on Gunna. “I’ve known Svana for years, since she was in the Cowgirls. That’s going back ten, twelve years. Why are you asking me this?”
Helgi planted his elbows on the polished wood of the table and Bjartmar winced at the sight of his greasy anorak. “We understand there was a syndicate, a group of prominent men who shared her favours, and that you’re a member of this group. Is that correct?”
“It is,” he said with only a flicker of rapidly stifled irritation.
“When we spoke before, you mentioned that your marriage had been rocky for some time,” Gunna said quietly. “You didn’t attempt to hide it and you certainly gave the impression that you and Unnur were likely to part company shortly. I’m given to understand that you have another relationship now?”
“This is personal,” Bjartmar said stiffly.
“It certainly could be,” Helgi said gruffly. “It could be very personal if whoever killed Svana Geirs also tried to kill your wife.”
Bjartmar’s jaw hung slack for a second. “Do you really think …?”
“We don’t know. But it’s an angle we have to consider and there are a few things we need to ask you about,” Gunna said.
“God. Hell, yes, anything. Ask away if it helps.”
“First, the syndicate. We have a pretty clear idea of how this operated, and the legal department are now deciding whether or not to proceed with prosecutions.”
“Prosecutions? Why?”
“Because it appears that offences have been committed in purchasing sexual services.”
“It was a consensual private arrangement between adults.”
“Were you a member of the syndicate from the start?”
“We all were. There have never been any new members. Actually, I’d more or less dropped out and hadn’t seen Svana for a while.”
“Why?”
Bjartmar’s eyes sparkled, although his face remained set. “I met a new lady and we’re getting on just fine.”
“And you even bought her a business?” Gunna asked.
“Look, where did you hear that from?” he demanded angrily. “That’s a private matter. As it happens, I already owned a controlling share in the place and bought out my partner. Then I asked … my new partner to manage it, and she has, very competently.”
“Is that partner as in business partner, or partner as in girlfriend?” Helgi asked.
“Both.”
“And your wife? Is she still a business partner as well?”
“I suppose so.”
“And how is her restaurant doing now that she’s not available?”
“Better, thanks. The chef’s running things for the moment and it’s going a lot more smoothly without Unnur in charge. I might keep him on.”
Gunna wondered how Bjartmar felt about his wife’s injuries, or if he was more concerned about the damage to the house.
“Where were you when Svana Geirs was killed?” she asked.
“Abroad,” he answered without hesitation. “I returned from the States the day of the fire, as you know. Before that I’d been away for almost two weeks, Belgium, Germany, Spain and then Chicago. All verifiable if you want to see tickets and reservations.”
“You know, I’d been wondering about you, and then I remembered. You used to run Blacklights, didn’t you?”
Bjartmar frowned and his jaw pushed forward, as if he were unprepared to have his past dug over. “That was one of my earlier ventures, yes.”
“I thought so. At the time, we were always as sure as we could be that there was a lot more to that place than met the eye, but never anything that could be pinned down,” she recalled as Bjartmar’s eyes narrowed. “So what happened to the place? Did you sell up?”
“Someone else took over that business. We still own the building. In fact, The Fish Lover is exactly where Blacklights used to be.”
“And this is a better business than the nightclub?”
“Not as profitable as a nightclub, but without the headaches. There’s a better class of customer, and we never have to throw anyone out these days.”
“I see,” Gunna said. “How about your old friend Long Ommi? Heard from him recently?”
“What?” Bjartmar asked, as if Gunna had dropped a firecracker on the table in front of him. “Ommi? Why would I have heard from him?”
“That’s what I’m asking you. Ommi and you go way back, I’m told, until he was put away.”
“Listen, I don’t know where your information comes from, but I haven’t seen or heard of him for years,” Bjartmar snarled, and Gunna was pleased to see that the suave businessman had vanished.
“Just how many years?”
“Eight, nine. I don’t know. A long time.”
“I’ll refresh your memory, in that case. Ómar Magnússon was jailed in 2001 for murder and got a fifteen-year sentence. He would have been up for parole next year, and as he’s been a good lad inside, he’d have been out within a year. But for some reason that nobody has been able to fathom, he did a runner from his comfortable open-prison billet at Kvíabryggja last month and is still at liberty.”
Bjartmar sat with his fists clenched so the knuckles whitened. Gunna noticed suddenly that they were not the soft hands of an office worker, but shovel-like and better suited to a farmhand than a businessman. For a second she recalled the old story about the size of a man’s hands being relative to other parts of his anatomy—or was that feet?—but dismissed the thought irritably. She leaned forward and looked Bjartmar in the eyes.
“What I’m wondering is whether Ommi is going round settling scores on his own account, or whether he’s clearing up for someone else, carrying out a contract, so to speak. And if he’s doing business for himself, who’s next, and why? Has he been in touch?”
Bjartmar’s face was the colour of parchment and the veins stood out on his neck as his jaw jutted ahead of him.
“I’m not prepared to discuss this any further,” he said hoarsely.
“Now that’s a shame, because I have a distinct feeling that you know a good deal more than you’re obviously prepared to let on,” Gunna said gently. “I have a feeling that you and Ommi have probably been in touch since he’s been out, and I don’t doubt that he’ll spill the beans in return for some kind of a deal when we catch up with him, which will be soon enough.”
“Iceland’s a small country and you can’t stay hidden for long,” Helgi added.
Bjartmar stood up suddenly and his chair shot back on its wheels to hit the wall behind, where it rolled over and crashed on to one side.
“I’m not prepared to continue this,” he rasped. “You two had better leave. Now, right now.”
Gunna stayed sitting down for a moment and took a long look at Bjartmar flexing his fists, shoulders tensed, before she got slowly to her feet without taking her eyes off him.
“Well, thanks for your time. Very interesting in many ways. I’m sure we’ll speak again soon.”
“You can call my secretary, and I’ll have my lawyer here. I have nothing more to say.”