‘Don’t know. Didn’t ask. But Fatso had plenty of money. Lots of money.’
‘Where from, d’you know?’
‘Ask Fatso when you find him. I’ll bet he won’t tell you either.’
At the front door, Gunna rolled off the gloves, taking her time as Tóta was clearly anxious to get back to her television.
‘Thank you for your assistance. If you hear anything about Matti, I’d appreciate it if you let me know. That way I won’t have to look for him down in your cellar, if you get my meaning,’ Gunna said as Tóta scowled through the crack of the door.
Dagga decided to take the stairs instead of waiting for the lift. As she reached the first landing, she heard the lift hiss and open above and behind her, but shrugged and decided to carry on anyway.
Hardy stepped from the lift and dialled a number on his mobile, letting it ring until a disembodied voice told him in soothing tones that the number was either switched off or out of range. He cut the voice off before it had a chance to ask him to try again later and stepped quietly into Spearpoint’s offices.
Dísa looked up as the door opened and recognized him. Without a word spoken, she buzzed through to Sigurjóna.
‘What?’ Sigurjóna snapped through the intercom.
‘Mr Hardy is here to see you,’ Dísa replied.
‘One minute, please, Dísa. Then show him in.’
‘Sigurjóna will be right with you,’ she said in her careful English, looking back up at Hardy who simply nodded in reply.
Hardy stood impassive at the desk. Dísa found the man sinister. He said little, but what he said was always polite. On his rare visits to Spearpoint’s offices, he always looked the same, always dressed in the same way come rain, shine or snow. As she waited for the minute to pass, Dísa thought to herself that what really made Hardy sinister was the impassive look that gave no clue as to what he was thinking.
The intercom light flickered in front of her and Dísa looked up to where Hardy was standing at the window, hands folded together behind his back and rocking almost imperceptibly on the balls of his feet.
‘Sigurjóna’s free now,’ Dísa said to his back. Hardy twisted round soundlessly, nodding at Dísa with a hint of a smile.
Sigurjóna was sitting at her desk, watching a TV news channel with the sound turned down low. She glowered as Hardy came in and padded across the thick carpet.
‘It’s started again,’ she said, without bothering with a greeting.
‘The blog?’
‘Last week. I thought you had stopped it when it went quiet. I thought you’d found someone who was responsible for all this?’
‘A message has been sent. I’m sure it will be effective.’
‘Yeah,’ Sigurjóna spat. ‘And do you know what that stupid Skandalblogger is saying now?’
‘No. I haven’t read it.’
‘All right. It’s saying that someone who drowned in Hvalvík harbour was put there deliberately.’
‘Is that so?’
‘I hear the police are asking questions again.’
‘I see.’
‘I thought I could trust you after Horst said that you could fix anything?’
Hardy wondered how many drinks Sigurjóna had already had at this early hour of the afternoon. He felt that drinking while concentration was required was the sure sign of an amateur, or someone in deeper than they could cope with.
‘Some tasks take longer than others, I’m afraid. But the important work is progressing well. I understand that Horst is satisfied with progress at the site in Hvalvík and that the Lagoon site is also coming along well.’
‘Yeah. That’s all on schedule. I have well-paid staff to look after the details, so they do just that,’ Sigurjóna said. ‘Now, I’m wondering if you’re going to finish the little job I asked you to do before?’
‘It’s in hand,’ Hardy assured her. ‘It’s not often that something like this can be done overnight. But I have to ask for your help with another matter as well.’
Sigurjóna smiled a touch more broadly than she would have done without access to the vodka bottle in the cabinet. ‘In that case we’ll help each other out. But why do you need help with anything from us?’
‘I need to locate someone and, as I don’t have local knowledge, I need assistance from someone who does.’
‘I’m sure one of my people can help. But what about the driver who was fixing stuff for you? Can’t he help you with whatever you’re on the lookout for?’
‘That’s the person I need to locate.’
Without looking away from Hardy’s face, Sigurjóna pressed a button on the intercom console on the desk in front of her. ‘Dísa, would you ask Jón Oddur to come and have a word with us, please?’
She released the intercom button. ‘By the way, Mr Hardy, what are you doing on Friday night?’
25
Tuesday, 23 September
‘You’re on your own again, Haddi. Anything you need?’
Gunna leaned over the desk and peered at the monitor as Haddi appeared in the doorway. ‘Keflavík again?’ he asked. ‘Taking Snorri as well?’
‘I’m afraid so. I hope this isn’t going to take too long, but it is something a bit out of the ordinary,’ she added as the computer chimed to indicate new messages.
‘Bloody hope not,’ Haddi grumbled. ‘I’ve got enough on my plate as it is with all this traffic and whatnot going through the place. As for paperwork . . .’
His voice dropped to a mutter when he realized Gunna’s attention was on the computer as she quickly scrolled through her messages, deleting as she went.
Hi Gunna,
The article’s almost finished and I have just a couple of points I’d like to go over with you before I hand it over to the editor. Can we meet in the next few days? By the way, I’ve attached a few of Lára’s photos that we’d like to use with the feature. Can you let me know if these are OK? If there’s any you really hate, I’ll make sure they’re left out.
Thanks, regards, Skúli.
‘Hey, Haddi,’ Gunna called. ‘Come and have a look. We’re going to be famous,’ she said, clicking on the icons one at a time to open the picture files.
Haddi bustled in and stood behind her as she ran through the photos of the station, Haddi and Snorri sitting at their desks, both of them being briefed, Snorri manning a speed camera with Gunna scowling behind him.
‘Good grief, Gunna, my girl, you look like you’ve had a bag of sour lemons for breakfast there.’ Haddi guffawed.
‘And you look like one of the Keystone Kops.’
‘That’s a good one.’
‘I like that, the way they’ve got the whole village in the background.’
‘She’s bloody good with a camera, that girl is,’ Haddi had to admit.
Gunna clicked on the final picture and brought up an image of herself taken during the march on the InterAlu compound, from a low viewpoint and with the hills and some of the marchers reflected in her mirror sunglasses.
‘So’s that. Makes me look like a proper mean old cow. I hope they use that one.’
Haddi took off his glasses, polished them on his tie, put them back on and peered at the screen.
‘I’ve seen that bloke,’ he said, pointing to a man among the crowd behind Gunna’s shoulder in the picture, who was staring directly at the camera. She peered at the screen and found herself looking into the eyes of a man she had last seen on a car park surveillance camera.
‘Him?’ she asked, pointing.
‘That’s him. Fair-haired feller, the one in the pale leather jacket.’
‘All right. When did you see him?’
‘Saturday morning, I think. He was down at Hafnarkaffi, getting out of a taxi with a big fat bloke.’