“It may well seem odd…” he began, shutting his mouth suddenly as a faint buzz could be heard from his jacket hanging on an old-fashioned hatstand in the corner. His eyes narrowed and Gunna immediately sensed the man’s fury.
“I take it that’s your phone ringing over there?” she asked sweetly, lifting her own phone from her pocket. “If you answer it, you’ll find yourself talking to me.”
“Probably nothing important,” Jónas Valur said dismissively. “I receive dozens of calls every day.”
“But you don’t,” Gunna corrected him. “I happen to know that your personal mobile number is carefully given out to only a few selected friends and your business calls come here to be screened by the witch next door.”
Jónas Valur stood up and leaned forward with his knuckles on the surface of the desk. “I think I’ve told you everything I have to say without a lawyer present. So if you don’t mind, I’m a busy man.”
His eyes indicated the door.
“What did Svana talk to you about?” Gunna asked, remaining seated as he loomed over her.
“I have said everything I’m prepared to say.”
“Did she call you to let you know that the syndicate was being closed down?”
“What the hell are you talking about, you stupid woman? Don’t you know what’s good for you?” Jónas Valur hissed, lifting his knuckles from the desk and impotently balling his fists.
“If I’m expected to take that as a threat, then it might be as well to continue this conversation at Hverfisgata,” Gunna said in a voice that she did her best to keep even.
“On what grounds?” he sneered. “Sleeping with a murder victim? That doesn’t mean that I had any hand in her death.”
“Or Steindór Hjálmarsson’s?”
Jónas Valur sank back into his chair and his face hardened. “What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
“I had nothing whatsoever to do with that.”
“That’s not what I’ve heard.”
“That was all Bjartmar’s doing.”
“And he’s conveniently no longer with us.”
Jónas Valur’s eyes bulged with fury that he concealed with a humorless smile. “Nonetheless, it was Bjartmar’s affair entirely. He was a good friend, but the man had a temper that he sometimes found difficult to rein in. I knew nothing of this until long after the event, and then only through unreliable hearsay. Needless to say, I never asked Bjartmar about these rumours.”
This time Gunna stood up and towered over him.
“In that case you won’t have any objection to making a formal statement to that effect. Nine tomorrow morning at Hverfisgata? Ask for me at the main desk,” she said crisply, turning to leave Jónas Valur glaring at her as she closed his office door behind her.
GUNNA HUNTED AROUND for the car, cursing the department’s finances that left them short of vehicles and forced them to hire cars to fill the gap. She clicked the fob, saw lights flash and strode across the car park to where today’s Audi waited for her.
Her phone trilled as she started the engine, and she fumbled for it as the car began to bump forward through the puddles.
“Gunnhildur,” she barked without bothering to check the caller ID.
“Hæ, it’s me. Busy?”
“As always. What can I do for you, Skúli?”
“Ah. It’s more a case of what I can do for you.”
“Go on,” Gunna instructed, intrigued, letting the car come to a halt. She heard Skúli take a deep breath.
“It’s about Gulli Ólafs. I’ve been talking to a friend of a friend and thought you might be interested to know there’s a rumour around the news desk that he and Helena Rós are more than usually good friends. You know, Hallur Hallbjörnsson’s wife?”
“That’s very diplomatically put, Skúli. I don’t suppose you could name a source, could you?”
“I could, but I’d best not.”
Gunna put the car into gear and it jerked forward, splashing its way through a deeper than usual pool of rainwater.
“That certainly throws a new light on things. Thanks for letting me know, Skúli. It’s appreciated.”
“That’s not all, though. Listen …”
Gunna braked and the car ground to a halt a second time. “There was a journal meeting this morning and a load of the usual old stuff came up, but there was also a mention by one of the senior editors that he has someone sitting on a story about Svana Geirs and her little club. There was a bit of an argument about whether or not we should actually use it when it shows up, as it’s definitely going to upset her family.”
“And what was the verdict?”
“That we use it. If we don’t, someone else will, so we might as well have it,” Skúli said quickly. “It’ll have to be under an in-house byline, as the guy who’s done the legwork on it would probably be sacked if his employers find out he’s freelancing as well. So are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Gulli Ólafs?”
“I reckon you’d be right, especially taking the rumours about Helena Rós into account.”
“Thanks, Skúli. I’ll keep that to myself for the moment. But I’d really appreciate it if you let me know when this is going to hit any headlines. OK?”
“Will do. Got to go. There’s someone coming.”
The phone went dead in her hand and Gunna sat with a puzzled frown on her face as the raindrops started to rattle on the car’s roof.
“MESSAGE FROM THE Laxdal,” Helgi said as he jumped into the car outside Bjarki Steinsson’s office building.
“Which is?” Gunna asked, letting out the clutch and roaring into the traffic.
“First, turn on your communicator. Second, he formally requested the Portuguese police pick up Sindri Valsson, but by the time they got round to knocking on his door, he’d done a bunk. He’s in Iceland, apparently, according to his neighbours.”
“Like hell,” Gunna grunted. “I’ll bet he’s sunning himself in Tortoiseland or whatever the bloody place is called.”
“Tortola, chief. It’s a tax haven in the British Virgin Islands.”
“I was just about to say that. But I suppose it’s out of our hands and he’ll surface eventually. What d’you reckon on Bjarki Steinsson?”
“Bloody hell, chief. The man’s distraught. He couldn’t have been more upset if had been his wife who had been murdered.”
“Still?”
“Yeah. Even more so because it seems Svana had gently given him the push, along with all the others.”
“Ah! Högni was telling the truth on that bit, at least.”
Helgi looked doubtful. ‘Who knows? I reckon he probably did it. They had a shouting match and he bashed his sister over the head in the heat of the moment. That’s what Sævaldur thinks, and I’m inclined to go along with him on this one.”
“Don’t bring Sævaldur Bogason into it. I don’t care if the man’s a chief inspector; he has neither imagination nor common sense.”
“Fair enough. Hallur next, then?”
“Yup, the oily bastard himself.”
“How was Jónas Valur?”
Gunna swerved to overtake a heavily loaded truck and cursed as the car behind flashed its lights.
“Yeah, piss off, or I’ll have you for dangerous driving,” Gunna yelled as the jeep sped past. “Let’s say that I’m more than likely not on Jónas Valur’s Christmas card list, nor likely to ever be on it, and my description is probably being circulated right now among the funny-handshake brigade with instructions to blight this bloody awkward old cow’s career at all costs.”
“A productive day’s work, then?”
“We’ll see a bit later on what happens. We’ll have an Interpol alert out for Sindri Valsson. I’ve told Eiríkur already that I want Jónas Valur tailed to see where he goes, and hopefully we’ll be able to track his mobile as well.”