‘That’s his name? Orri?’
‘Orri Björnsson. That’s his name, all right. Up there on the third floor on the right.’
‘Do you know if he’s at home?’ Eiríkur asked.
‘I haven’t seen him go out.’
‘And I’m sure you’ve been keeping an eye out. Come on, let’s see if your friend’s at home.’
There was no answer as Geiri rapped on the door.
‘Police!’ Eiríkur yelled. ‘Open the door, please. I know you’re there.’
‘Nobody home,’ Geiri muttered in disappointment and turned to go, but Eiríkur stayed put, hammering on the door.
‘What now?’ Geiri asked.
‘Either he opens the door, or we stay here until he or his girlfriend shows up,’ he said, banging the door yet again. ‘Orri Björnsson! Open the door, please. Police!’
He stared intently at the door and was rewarded with the briefest flash of movement behind the spyhole.
‘I know you’re there, Orri. Open the door,’ he called. The lock rattled and the door squeaked as it opened.
‘Orri Björnsson?’ Eiríkur asked needlessly and the man nodded as he looked back, his face composed.
‘Yeah, that’s me. Sorry, I was asleep and didn’t hear you knocking. What can I do for you?’
Bára opened the door to the suite at the Harbourside Hotel.
‘Where’s her ladyship?’
Bára looked at her watch. ‘She’s been in the bathroom for just over forty minutes now.’
‘And no sign of Jóhann?’
‘Nothing so far. No replies to calls.’
‘And what does Sunna María make of it? Is she worried?’
‘It’s hard to tell. I’ve only seen a little of Jóhann, but they make an extremely odd pair. He’s fifteen years older than she is and they’ve both had a string of affairs over the years.’
‘She told you that?’
‘After her fourth Baileys on the rocks yesterday afternoon,’ Bára said with a grimace. ‘In detail. She told me how she was the other woman who wrecked his first marriage and since then she’s been determined not to let anyone wreck hers. So they have a tacit agreement and they both play discreetly.’
‘But they stay together for the sake of the money?’ Gunna asked. ‘How sweet. So Jóhann was last seen on Friday and only now she decides she wants to make a song and dance of it? What the hell’s going on?’
Bára cocked an ear. ‘She’s out of the bathroom, so she can tell you herself.’
‘I’m wondering how concerned she is about Jóhann. It doesn’t seem right to me. She should be frantic by now. I would be.’
‘She’s a cold fish, I think. Either that or she can bottle it all up or compartmentalize things very effectively. Their accountant was here yesterday and she was as bright as a button. You wouldn’t have imagined for a second that her husband had just walked out and that she should have been worried witless.’
‘Good morning, good morning,’ Sunna María said, breezing into the room with a smile that looked as if she had carefully put it on. ‘Any news?’ she asked, giving Gunna a steely gaze and pouring herself coffee.
‘I was going to ask you that.’
‘Nothing.’
‘Are you concerned? Why are you in such a rush to report your husband missing now?’
‘What kind of a question is that? Of course I’m concerned.’
‘You didn’t seem concerned on Friday. Has this kind of thing happened before?’
‘That’s an intrusive question.’
‘Your husband walked out of here unexpectedly two days ago and you haven’t seen or heard from him, which doesn’t sound like normal behaviour to me. So you can see why I’m trying to make sense of this, can you? Has this happened before?’
Sunna María stood with her back to the window, saucer in one flat hand, coffee cup held delicately in the other. She was dressed for business, an ivory blouse buttoned to the neck and a fine silver chain artfully arranged over it.
‘Jóhann and I had a row on Friday after you were here, if you really must know,’ she said, and Gunna could sense her gritting her teeth at the admission. ‘Normally that ends with one or other of us storming out, and this time it was him. It’s not the first time and I don’t suppose it’ll be the last.’
‘Are you telling me you’re not worried about him?’
‘He’s never been away more than twenty-four hours like this. And by the way, I’m checking out of here today and going home.’
‘You’re reporting Jóhann as a missing person?’
‘Yes. He took his mobile phone, his passport and credit cards, but he should be back by now. I’m hoping he’s fine; he’s probably holed up somewhere comfortable for a few days while his temper settles. He might even be on the next floor,’ Sunna María tittered and the cup in her hand rattled musically against the saucer.
Gunna stood up. ‘In that case, I’d appreciate it if you could let me know what your movements are. As far as I’m concerned, there’s still an element of danger as the killers of your business partner haven’t been identified.’
Sunna María flashed pearl-white teeth. ‘Come on. This is Iceland. People don’t kill each other in Iceland.’
The photograph of the little pile of gold lay on the table between them.
‘It was my mother’s,’ Orri said simply, hardly looking at it. ‘I needed the money, so I sold it.’
‘This was stolen from a house in Kópavogur a couple of weeks ago. The owner has identified it as hers and we have pictures of her wearing it, which prove it had been in her possession. So how did you get hold of it?’
‘Like I said, it was my mother’s and she had it from her mother. They’re both dead now. It came to me from my mum’s estate and I just left it in a drawer for years. Then I needed the money so I sold it.’
Eiríkur sat back and surveyed Orri Björnsson. There was no bluster to the man, just a quiet, dogged refusal.
‘You’re going to have to come up with a much better story than that,’ she said. ‘The evidence is against you. The clasp’s owner has identified beyond any reasonable doubt that it’s hers and she has pictures to prove it.’
‘Then the shop has fucked up somehow. I sold this stuff, but I didn’t steal it.’
‘The woman in the shop has identified your photo as the seller and we have CCTV images of you going to the shop that bought this stuff.’
‘Really? You mean you have some pictures of me walking along a street?’
‘Close enough, Orri. It ties in with the shop manager’s statement. So why the false name? Who’s Halldór Birgisson?’
Tinna looked up from the kitchen cupboards. She had emptied every cupboard and drawer while Geiri watched impassively. There were packets of porridge and the usual items you would expect, as well as exotic things — galangal, chillies and fresh ginger — things that Eiríkur reflected played a limited part in Svala’s cuisine.
‘Not a lot,’ Tinna said in answer to Eiríkur’s unspoken question.
Eiríkur nodded. ‘Living room next.’
This time they switched roles. Geiri and Tinna together went carefully through every drawer in the old-fashioned dresser while Eiríkur sat with Orri and watched for his reactions while he asked questions.
‘So I don’t get a lawyer, then, like they do in the movies?’
‘I told you the moment you sat down that you have the right to a lawyer at any stage of the proceedings.’
Orri shrugged. ‘Whatever. I haven’t been arrested, have I?’
‘Not yet. Why did you give a false name to Aunt Bertha when you sold the clasp?’
‘I suppose I thought they might declare it to the taxman and I already give the government enough of my cash.’
‘Good answer, Orri. But not good enough. You still have to convince me and you haven’t done a great job yet.’
‘It was Mum’s. She’s dead now and it came to me.’
‘What are these for?’ Eiríkur asked as Geiri placed a set of lock picks on the table.
Eiríkur thought he saw the briefest flash of concern in Orri’s eyes as he saw the picks, although he hid it well and shrugged.