“Yup.”
“Thought you were more cheerful than usual.”
“Well that’s what happens when you get it regularly,” Gunna assured him.
“Couldn’t tell you, that was so long ago,” Bjössi said morosely.
“Get away with you, you randy old goat. You’ve always been like a rat up a drainpipe,” Gunna shot back, stopping to look for the room where Óskar Óskarsson was not expecting them.
She pushed open the door and saw that there were visitors ahead of her. Óskar’s mother sat there with pursed lips, and a florid woman with a mass of ginger hair spilled across the other chair.
“Morning,” Gunna greeted them. “I could do with ten minutes of your time, if you don’t mind,” she added firmly to Skari, making it plain that she expected none of them to object.
“Of course. We’ll leave you to talk to my Óskar,” old Fanney said in her clear voice.
The other woman opened her mouth to protest, but Fanney stood up, buttoning her coat as she did so.
“We’ll go and look round the shops for half an hour, Óskar,” she said with decision. “Just while this lady wants to speak to you. Come on, Erla. We can start in Krónan.”
Gunna recognized the younger woman as Skari’s wife. She had seen her many times around Hvalvík, but never otherwise than surrounded by a brood of similarly red-haired children and behind a pushchair.
The two of them left the room, leaving Gunna and Bjössi to take their chairs.
“I’ve nothing to tell you,” Óskar rasped.
“Your voice has improved, Skari,” Gunna said, trying to be friendly.
“Yeah. Full of drugs, so it doesn’t hurt so much.”
“Skari, I’d like you to cast your mind back, if you’d be so good.”
The patient glowered and looked uncomfortable. “What?”
“Ten years ago,” Bjössi said. “What were you doing then?”
“I was in Reykjavík. Why?”
“That much we know. I’d like you to tell me about Blacklights. You remember the place?”
“Yeah,” Óskar admitted warily. “Why?”
“Steindór Hjálmarsson. Does the name mean anything to you?”
“Should it?”
Gunna extracted a sheaf of documents from her briefcase, paperclipped together.
“This is a witness statement made by Óskar Óskarsson to the effect that you saw Ómar Magnússon and Steindór Hjálmarsson arguing heatedly in Blacklights at around two thirty in the morning. You and two of the other bouncers, whose statements I also have here, separated them.”
“Might be,” Óskar repeated with a shrug. “It was a rowdy place. There was rucks going on all the time.”
“Ah, but this was a bit special,” Gunna said. “Further along in your statement, you said that you escorted Steindór Hjálmarsson from the building and that Ómar Magnússon followed him out. So don’t try and tell me you don’t remember this, Skari. This is part of the testimony that put your mate Ommi away for fifteen years, isn’t it?”
Óskar gulped and his eyes swivelled.
“So all this lot, all these black eyes, broken ribs and the rest of it, was this Long Ommi settling a score, or what?”
“Nah. Like I said, Polish bloke. A right big bastard he was.”
“No, Skari,” Bjössi broke in gently. “Long Ommi did this. You screwed him over, and when he got out, he decided to pay you back for the favour.”
“No, no, no,” Óskar said emphatically. “Leave me alone, will you? I’m straight now, clean record these days. So lay off.”
“Let’s look at it another way, shall we, Skari?” Gunna suggested quietly as the panic in Óskar’s face began to magnify and his eyes started to bulge. “I get the feeling that you’ve been spinning us a good few tales. Let’s suppose a little bird whispered to me that your statement is a pack of lies? What then?”
Gunna held up the statement again, one finger on the scrawled signature at the bottom. Surprise registered on Bjössi’s face and he sat back to listen.
“Yours, I believe?”
“Whadda you mean?” Óskar blustered.
“What I mean is, you gave a statement putting Ómar right next to Steindór Hjálmarsson when he was killed. Am I right?”
“Yeah. And what?”
“Long Ommi was your mate, your best mate. You grew up together. You don’t help the coppers do the dirty on your mates. You could easily have said that you saw nothing and just kept out of it. Your statement and Svana’s statement helped put Long Ommi away. Your best mate and Svana’s former lover, one of many, you included, I understand. Right?”
“Well, yeah, me and Svana had a thing going for a while. But Ommi, I didn’t …”
“Didn’t what?”
“I didn’t make a statement to get back at him or anything like that.”
“So why, then?” Gunna asked sweetly. “Why squeal on your mate? It’s not as if you had any special love for coppers, is it?”
“Hell, no,” Óskar spat through his broken teeth.
“So why?”
“Nothing to say,” Óskar said firmly.
Gunna sat back and looked at Bjössi, his face one big question mark.
“All right, let’s try another theory, shall we? Correct me if I’m wrong, won’t you?” Gunna continued. “Of course you don’t dump on your mates. But maybe your mate wanted you to testify that he was following Steindór Hjálmarsson?”
Óskar’s eyes overflowed with panic and he looked desperately past her at the door, as if willing anyone in the world to come into the room and interrupt. Gunna leaned forward and looked straight into the smashed face and the frantic eyes.
“So who really attacked Steindór Hjálmarsson, Skari? Who has Ommi been covering for all these years? Who promised him a payday when he’s done the time? Who’s being protected? And why is Ommi out now, ahead of time and causing trouble all round? Why has he been settling scores? Why were you thrashed and why is Svana dead? Who else is on his list? Come on, Skari. We’re on to you. Spill the beans, will you?”
“N-n-n-nothing to say,” Óskar squawked, drops of spit flying in every direction as the words came out faster than his puffed lips could cope with them.
“You’re telling me everything I need to know, Skari,” Gunna continued in a gentle tone. “If you have nothing to say, that tells me you have plenty to hide, so I have every reason to dig a bit deeper.”
“Shut up! Fuck off out of it and leave me alone,” Óskar yelled furiously. “Nurse! Erla! Where are you?”
“Skari, just who are you scared of? You’re in hospital. Ommi’s not going to come and break your kneecaps in here, is he?”
“Get out! Nurse! Come here, quick!” Óskar roared, sweat rolling in rivulets from his thick black hair and down his forehead. He wiped his face with a sleeve and continued to bellow.
“Jeezus,” scolded the nurse as she came in, punching a button on the wall. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to leave. You’ve really upset him and he’ll have to be sedated again now.”
Gunna and Bjössi stepped back as a sandy-haired young doctor appeared and strapped an oxygen mask around Óskar’s face, while the nurse patted his hand soothingly. Gunna could still see Óskar’s wild eyes, even though he began to calm down as the doctor administered an injection.
“You’ll have to leave now,” he said seriously. “If you’ve caused any complications …”
“Just doing our job, Doctor,” Gunna assured him. “See you again soon, Skari,” she said over one shoulder as they left the room and the door banged shut behind them.
“Hell, Gunna. Were you trying to give the poor bastard a heart attack? Couldn’t you see what he was like?” Bjössi demanded outside.
“You were listening, weren’t you?”
“You’re serious about that, are you? That Long Ommi’s been doing time for someone else? You weren’t just winding Skari up?”