Bjartmar swept from the room and left them to find their own way out through the office space where staff tried not to look up, reminding Gunna precisely of Bjarki Steinsson’s staff staring fixedly at their computer terminals.
She looked back as Helgi pulled the door open to see Bjartmar gesticulating with his phone to one ear, the fury apparent on his face rendered silent by the soundproof glass wall of his office.
“Coming, are you?” Helgi asked. “I thought you two were getting on so well when you had to go and spoil it.”
“I DON’T KNOW about you, but I’d dearly love to haul all of them in and chuck them in cells overnight before we give them a proper roasting.”
“You think so?” Helgi asked, listening to the gearbox rattle with a pained expression on his otherwise mild face.
“Yup. The whole lot of them in the cells. What a bunch of shitbags! Are most men like that? Have you ever paid for it, Helgi?”
“Not as such,” he said distantly, stopping at a junction and peering left and right.
“What does ‘not as such’ mean?”
“I met my first wife at a country hop at Húnaver, talked her out of her knickers that night and almost twenty years later I’m still paying for it,” he said grimly.
“Æi, you’re a cynical bastard, Helgi Svavarsson,” Gunna grinned. “What do you make of Bjartmar?”
“Wouldn’t buy a second-hand car off him.”
“Did he do it?”
“His alibi’s pretty perfect. Involved? More than likely.”
“And the others?” Gunna probed.
“I don’t reckon I’d put much past Jónas Valur. Who knows? He’ll be a very tough nut to crack and he’s certainly covered his tracks. As for Bjarki Steinsson, I felt almost sorry for the man. He was clearly besotted with Svana, so I can’t see him being responsible for her death.”
“Even though he saw her that day?”
“Even so,” Helgi said firmly. “The man was shattered. You saw his face when we walked in. How about Hallur?”
“The same. He has an alibi as well, he was speaking in Parliament at two that afternoon. But somehow I have less faith in the innocence of the ones who do have alibis than I do in Bjarki Steinsson, who doesn’t. Ah well. Back to the office, please, my good man, and we’ll see what our young sleuth has dug up.”
Thursday 18th
HELGI FELT HIS nerves jangling. He knew that while having slept badly would catch up on him later in the day, later could wait. Two patrol cars were parked in the street and one in the street above. Six officers from the Special Unit in black overalls waited by their van for the word to go, breath steaming in the cold clear morning with the sun just rising.
The sergeant in charge of the squad, a solidly built man called Steingrímur, rubbed his gloved hands together, relishing the moment. “How many numbskulls are in there?” he asked.
“Should be three. Ómar Magnússon, did a runner from Kvíabryggja last month. Then there’s Addi the Pill, small-time dealer, nasty bit of work. Don’t give him any second chances, just cuff him quick. Then there’s Ommi’s girlfriend Selma, who’s the only one I don’t really expect to come at us with a baseball bat. That’s it unless we’ve miscounted somewhere along the line.”
“Good. Whenever you’re ready.”
“Let’s go, then. Big key or quiet key?”
“Let’s keep the noise down, shall we?” Steingrímur decided and murmured instructions to his team. Two of them slipped along the row of houses to watch the back. Steingrímur looked over at Helgi. “Ready with the car, are you?”
Helgi nodded and retreated, taking his place in one of the squad cars. He started the engine and listened to it mutter into life as Steingrímur spoke into his communicator to warn the pair at the back of the house.
“Go on, boys,” he said crisply. “Make a mess of it.”
The brand-new front door splintered quietly as the hydraulic key levered the lock apart in fascinating slow motion. Helgi eased the patrol car forward up the drive until its bumper was an inch from the garage door. The sound of booted feet piling into the narrow hallway greeted him as he stepped from the car and joined the burly, black-clad queue.
The house wasn’t big. Two of the officers quickly checked the kitchen, glanced into the bathroom and thundered up the stairs as two others made for the front room. Helgi quickly opened the back door to let in the two behind the house.
“Come on. Garage,” he ordered.
The wiry young man in front made to put his shoulder to the door in the hallway leading to the garage, but Helgi stopped him and pointed to the handle. The young man opened it and stepped into the dark opening, backing away with a yell of pain and both hands clutched over his eyes.
“Fucking spray!” he howled.
So now you know how it feels, Helgi thought, and shouted to the others.
“Steingrímur! In here, quick!”
The heavy figure, wearing a full-visor face mask, appeared at his side.
“In there. The bastard’s just peppered your mate,” Helgi gasped.
Steingrímur shouldered his way into the opening, drawing his baton, and Helgi heard the ominous click as it snapped open. The spray hissed a second time behind the door, followed by a crack and a howl of agony. Helgi didn’t wait and followed close behind, wondering as he did so how he could retreat with three more men behind him.
Inside the door he fumbled for a light switch and clicked it on. A skinny man wearing only ragged underwear and with a curtain of greasy hair loose around his thin shoulders was sitting on the concrete floor nursing one arm and whimpering. A can of spray rolled across the floor towards one of the mattresses along the wall, where a young woman held one hand blearily over her eyes and with the other lifted the hem of a sleeping bag higher over herself as she blinked in the bright light. At the far side, a lanky figure hammered ineffectually on the garage door.
“It’s all right, Ommi. You needn’t bother. Quietly, now.”
“Bastard,” he snarled back.
“You are arrested on suspicion of absconding from prison. You are not required to say anything, but anything you do say should be correct and truthful. You have the right to a lawyer at every stage of proceedings,” Steingrímur intoned in a flat voice as he clicked shut handcuffs on Ómar’s wrists.
The second man was hauled to his feet, still whimpering in pain and clutching one hand in the other.
“You’d better call an ambulance for this chap,” Helgi decided.
Steingrímur stooped to pick up the pepper spray can and carefully placed it in an evidence bag.
“Police issue. That counts as assaulting a police officer, doesn’t it, Helgi?” he asked smoothly.
“I certainly think so. You’d better send your lad to hospital with him and get his eyes washed out.”
Helgi looked around the bare garage, lit by the glare of a trio of naked bulbs in the ceiling.
“Selma, isn’t it?” he asked as the girl let the sleeping bag slip down. “What of it?”
“Put them away, will you, love? We’ve all of us seen tits before, especially small ones like those. But I think you and I need to have a little chat.”
“Are you arresting me?” she asked petulantly.
“Not yet, but you might get lucky and find yourself in a cell,” Helgi replied. “It’s bound to be a bit more comfortable than this dump.”
A PLEASURE TO see Bjössi again, Gunna thought. Even though the man acted like a world-class chauvinist, something that had landed him in trouble more than once, experience told her that there was a conscientious and painstaking detective underneath. Since her move to the new squad in Reykjavík, she had seen little of her colleagues at the tiny station in Hvalvík or the main police station in Keflavík to which it belonged. If she hadn’t been so busy, she would have missed them.