Helgi turned to the computer on his side of the desk and inserted a blank disk.
“You know the procedure well enough, don’t you, Ommi?”
“Yeah. Been here before once or twice.”
Helgi pointed a finger upwards at a microphone hanging above the desk and the opaque dome of a surveillance camera in one corner. “You’re aware that everything that happens in this room is recorded?”
“Yeah. I know.”
Ommi settled himself deeper in the chair and thrust his legs out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. He folded his arms, displaying lurid tattoos peeking from the sleeves of his shirt.
“All right. We’re ready to roll. Present are suspect Ómar Magnússon and legal representative Karl Einar Bjarnason, police officers Helgi Svavarsson and Gunnhildur Gísladóttir,” Helgi said formally for the benefit of the recording. “Agreed?”
The lawyer nodded without looking up from his papers.
“Right, Ommi, it’s been a while. How have you been keeping?” Helgi asked in a friendly tone.
“Not bad, until I saw your ugly mug in front of me,” Ommi responded.
“You absconded from Kvíabryggja prison on the eighteenth of last month and set a record for being on the run. How about telling me what you’ve been up to in the meantime?”
The lawyer rolled his eyes towards the ceiling and Ommi bridled. “I’ve been keeping to myself. Having some fun with Selma. Y’know.”
“And the man in the garage with you? What’s your relationship with him?”
“Dunno. He just turned up.”
Helgi smiled. “As it happens, we had been watching you for a couple of days. Considering you spent the best part of a week in the man’s company, you must have spoken to him once or twice.”
“He’s just a mate,” Ommi retorted.
“Don’t play the fool. Addi the Pill’s up to his ears in Ecstasy, and don’t try and tell me that you didn’t know.”
Ommi shrugged. “I thought there was something dodgy about him. I’d have called the police if I’d known.”
“What were the two of you doing in Selfoss? Or was that just a little drive in the country?”
“Selfoss? Never been there.”
“We have definite evidence that you were there last week with Addi. What were you up to?”
“Sorry, mate. You must have made a mistake.”
“What made you want to run off from Kvíabryggja?” Helgi asked cheerfully. “A year to go of your stretch in a comfortable open prison. Breakfast in bed, conjugal visits, everything a man could ask for. Come on, Ommi. There has to be a good reason.”
For the first time some anger showed in a flush that suffused Ommi’s face. “Mind your own business.”
“This is my business.” Helgi leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms to mirror Ommi, who immediately uncrossed his arms and leaned forward.
“Look, I just wanted a break, man. Been in there for too long and I felt like a break. That’s it.”
“I don’t believe you. Someone like you doesn’t do that. You had less than a year to go, now you’ll get a good bit more and you’ll be back in Litla-Hraun instead of comfy old Kvíabryggja.”
The lawyer coughed. “Er, I ought to point out that you should not be threatening my client.”
“Threatening?” Helgi asked.
“Yes, you intimated that he would receive an extended sentence. Nothing has been proved.”
Helgi shook his head.
“Keflavík. A week ago. What were you doing there?” Gunna broke in.
“Keflavík? Haven’t been near it.”
“If you can’t account for your movements, we’ll have to assume that you were there. There’s witness evidence to support it.”
Helgi glanced to one side at Gunna, his face one big question, and Ommi grimaced.
“D’you want me to check my fucking diary?” he sneered.
“Please do. I’d love to know how Óskar Óskarsson wound up in hospital with a broken jaw, missing a few teeth, and with four broken ribs, broken fingers, bruises everywhere. Care to elaborate?”
“Nothing to do with me, but I guess he had it coming.” Ommi grinned.
“Explain, please, Ómar,” Gunna said quietly.
“Well, Skari’s always been a twat. He’s always winding up the wrong people. Sooner or later someone gives him a good smacking. It’s not the first time.”
“And by coincidence, someone looking remarkably like you happened to be there that very day. There are broken bones here and GBH is a serious matter. You could be looking at a good few years on top of what you’ve already got left.”
“Fucking hell, come on, man, call her off, will you?” Ommi appealed to his lawyer, who spoke with a voice as smooth as milk.
“I have to agree with my client. This appears to be an unrelated matter and therefore I would ask that you confine your enquiries to the case in hand.”
“I assure you that this is very relevant to the case,” Gunna replied. “But we can come back to it. Helgi, would you continue?”
Helgi sat back and knitted his fingers together over his paunch. “Tell me about Svanhildur Mjöll Sigurgeirsdóttir.”
“Who?” Ommi asked. “No idea.”
“Svana Geirs.”
“Svana?”
“When did you last see or speak to her?”
Ommi frowned and glared at Helgi. “Years ago, man. Years ago. We had a bit of a thing going back in the nineties. Ancient history.”
“All right. Tell me about your relationship with Svana.”
Ommi whistled. “That’s so long ago. Like I said, we got together for a while, had some fun.”
“All right, where did you meet, and when was this?”
“In some club, I guess. When, hell, I don’t know. Ninetysix, something like that. Before she started to get popular. Anyway, what’s all this about Svana?” he demanded. “What d’you want to know for?”
“How long were you together?” Helgi asked blandly, ignoring Ommi’s question.
“Hell, a few months … listen, this was years ago. We were kids.”
Helgi nodded, as if this were a nugget of information he had been searching for. Gunna suppressed a smile of satisfaction and watched Karl Einar Bjarnason as carefully as she watched Ommi’s reactions to Helgi’s questions.
“So what was the nature of your relationship with Svanhildur Mjöll? Did you live together?”
“No, we never shacked up like that. She had a flat with Elma and the other girl from that band they were in. I was around there a while.”
“Where were you living?”
“Where did I live in 1996? What’s all this? Are you going to let them carry on with this crap?” Ommi demanded of his lawyer, who merely shrugged in reply.
Helgi picked up a sheet of paper from the desk and pretended to consult it.
“According to the National Registry, your legal residence until you went to prison was at Hraungata 19 in Hvalvík. I take it you weren’t actually living there?”
“That’s where my mum lives. I haven’t even been near that dump for years.”
“How long did your relationship with Svanhildur Mjöll last?”
“A few months.”
“Why did it come to an end?”
“I don’t know. I got tired of her.”
“Not because you were abusive and violent? You have a record of violence against women.”
“Don’t drag that up again. That was years ago, and only the once.”
Helgi gazed at Ommi and tried to gauge just how angry he was getting with the line of questioning he did not see the reason for. “Isn’t it true that Svanhildur Mjöll threw you over after you hit her?”
“No! I dropped her. And I never smacked her, even if I wanted to.”
“Why would you want to?” Gunna broke in.
Ommi shook his head. “She was just nuts. She’d drive you mad sometimes, wanting this and that, wanting to go here or there and always right now. Maybe she’s slowed down by now. Felt sorry for that poor bastard she married, twisted him right round her little finger and dropped him the minute he wasn’t going to be a rich footballer.”