“My client has no comment to make.”
“This is the number of your personal mobile phone?”
Gunna showed him the seven digits she had noted down. Jónas Valur nodded imperceptibly, while the lawyer shook his head.
“No comment.”
“You don’t deny that you and a group of men had a simultaneous relationship with Svana Geirs, and that between you you all contributed to her livelihood?”
“My client prefers not to comment.”
“In that case we appear to be at a deadlock,” Gunna said, her patience wearing thin. “So that’s it for now,” she added. Jónas Valur immediately shoved his chair back and rose to his feet.
“Can I have an assurance that my client will not be harassed?” the lawyer asked in a flat voice but with a sneer on his face.
“As long as I can have an assurance that your client won’t obstruct a murder investigation,” Gunna snapped back. “I’m sure we’ll have reason to talk again soon,” she said as Jónas Valur and the lawyer left the room without another word or a backward glance.
In silence, Gunna escorted the two men down to the front desk and watched them leave the building, Jónas Valur holding his tie in one hand to prevent a vicious wind from whipping it up, while Ólafur Jacobsen placed a hand on the top of his head to prevent his carefully arranged coiffure from collapsing.
Eiríkur appeared silently at her side as she glumly watched the two men get into a smart Mercedes that stopped for them outside.
“Right, my lad. I’d like you on your bike this minute. Get down to City Café to start with and see if Jónas Valur was in there the day Svana died. If not, try the other eateries and whatnot round there. Go out there and ask. See if we can demolish the stupid statement that evil-minded oaf wrote for him. All right?”
PICTURES IN ORNATE frames decorated every wall of the living room that stretched away into the distance. Some were garish abstracts; others were sepia-toned portraits of groups of children at various stages of adolescence, unconvincingly contrived to look as if they had been taken a century ago.
Gunna looked with unconcealed dislike at the display of bad taste on the walls while she and Helgi waited, standing uncomfortably next to a dining table that shone like a mirror, as Bjarki Steinsson carried on a muted argument with his wife just out of their earshot.
“I’m sorry. We can talk in my office,” he said apologetically, leaving his wife mouthing impotently in the middle of a bitter whispered tirade. Gunna was struck by how drawn the man appeared, with black bags under his eyes and a look of not having slept for many nights.
He ushered them into a small room and stood behind the door as Helgi sat on the small sofa against one wall and Gunna took the deep leather chair by the desk.
“I’m sorry,” Bjarki apologized, gesturing at the door. “Kristrún will listen …”
“We can take this to the station if that’s a problem.”
“No, no,” Bjarki protested with fright in his eyes.
“On the eleventh, the day that Svana Geirs was murdered, you stated that you were with her all morning.”
“Until soon after eleven. I don’t remember exactly when I left,” he said guardedly, then jumped as Helgi’s phone rang.
“Yup?” Helgi answered and listened. “OK, mate. That’s great. Yeah, you’d best tell her yourself.”
He handed the phone to Gunna. “Eiríkur for you, chief.”
“Any luck?” Gunna asked sharply.
“Oh yeah, chief. Jónas Valur had lunch at City Café. I got the manager to go through a stack of receipts and there it was. He has a tab there, pays once a month, lunch for two on the eleventh, clear as day. He definitely left the office that morning and the manager confirmed having seen him there.”
“Good. Doesn’t tell us much other than that he’s lying,” Gunna said. “Yeah, but that’s not all, chief,” Eiríkur went on.
Gunna listened, before handing the phone back to Helgi. She looked up at Bjarki as he hovered by the door.
“So what did the Svana Syndicate have to discuss on the evening before Svana died?”
“What do you mean?”
“You all had dinner together at City Café, you, Jónas Valur and Hallur, the night before her death. The only one missing, it seems, was Bjartmar Arnarson, leaving the three of you to talk something over, as you were there until close to midnight.”
“He was in America,” Bjarki said, a look of misery on his pale face as he leaned back on the door.
Suddenly he lurched forward as the door opened and his wife appeared.
“D’you want coffee?” she demanded.
“No, Kristrún, of course not. We won’t be long, dear,” he added, flustered.
“Actually, I’d like a cup if you’re making some,” Gunna said with a sly smile. “You too, eh, Helgi?”
“Yeah, definitely, chief.”
With a look of fury, the woman departed to make the coffee that she had been certain nobody would want.
“Right. You have two minutes while your wife’s not listening at the door. Talk,” Gunna instructed.
“Svana had called us all. She said that she didn’t want to continue with the syndicate any longer as she was going to be back on TV. I was … upset, to say the least. The others didn’t seem too concerned, except Hallur. He was furious.”
“Why?”
“Svana told me that someone had been pestering her, someone who clearly knew about the … the arrangement.” He gulped. “I told Hallur and he went wild.”
Gunna looked at Bjarki expectantly.
“We were all terrified of publicity. Well, Hallur and I, at any rate. I can’t deny that … my wife …” He left the sentence unfinished. “Jónas Valur was almost amused, I think. He seemed to think that Svana was spinning us a yarn.”
“In what way?”
“He’s very shrewd and can be extremely suspicious. He seemed to think that Svana was looking for a payout.”
“Blackmailing you all?”
Bjarki blanched. “That’s an ugly word.”
“So is murder,” Gunna reminded him. “And Bjartmar?”
“I didn’t speak to him myself, but Jónas Valur had called him earlier in the day. He said that Bjartmar’s marriage was a wreck anyway, so he wasn’t concerned on that score, but if we wanted to split the price of her silence four ways, such as the flat she was living in, that was fine with him. That was the message, anyway.”
“So the ones with something to lose were you and Hallur?” Bjarki nodded miserably.
“Coffee!” called an angry voice beyond the door.
“Yes, dear,” Bjarki replied.
“Make it quick, before she comes to get you,” Gunna growled.
“If the story came out, it would wreck my marriage,” Bjarki said with wide eyes. “My wife … her social position, you understand …”
“Yes. Go on. And Hallur?”
“God, it would destroy his career. He’s always had ambitions, but he was fishing for something higher up the ladder and would probably have got it fairly soon.”
“Until he wound up in intensive care.”
“What … ?” Bjarki Steinsson’s eyes reminded Gunna of saucers. “On the news they said he’d been in an accident, and I couldn’t get through to Helena Rós last night. You mean … ? Will he be all right?”
“Who knows? What happened? What did you decide between yourselves?”
“We tried to talk it through with Jónas Valur, but he’d had a few drinks by then. Hallur was beside himself, asked what the hell they could do to keep Svana quiet, and he pressed Jónas Valur harder than I would have done, asking whether she would keep quiet even if she’d been paid off, whether the whole thing would start up again next time she ran out of money.”
“And?”
“Jónas Valur said we could …” He hesitated and looked up. “We could all start screwing her again if she hadn’t got too slack by then,” he quoted in a clear voice. “Hallur was beside himself, said that it was all right for the rest of us, but it was different for him with a career ahead of him to think about.