‘A lot of coincidences?’ Ívar Laxdal asked quietly.
‘Plenty of them,’ Gunna agreed, feeling her shirt start to stick to her back and wishing she had taken off her uniform tunic. ‘But considering this man’s background, I feel we need to concentrate on him.’
‘Go on,’ Ívar Laxdal prompted.
‘Not a pleasant character. Several sentences for violent crimes, involvement with narcotics, and a big car theft operation that exported stolen cars to West Africa from Scandinavia via various Baltic States. It seems he’s broken quite a few kneecaps in his time and he’s suspected of nastier things, including at least one disappearance and a very unpleasant incident with someone’s fingers and a hammer and chisel, but not much that can be proved. The man’s a pro.’
‘Is that all?’ Vilhjálmur asked, his face pale with horror.
‘His background is that he’s a Norwegian national, aged forty-two, naval PT and unarmed combat instructor until dishonourably discharged. Resident in Sweden since 1993, half a dozen stretches including a five-year sentence for grievous bodily harm, which was the hammer and chisel thing.’
‘Good God,’ Vilhjálmur whispered.
‘His real name’s Gunnar Hårde, with a little circle over the A, so I suppose he might be related to the Prime Minister, but I doubt it somehow.’
‘A proper Norwegian conspiracy?’ Bjössi shot in. For form’s sake, Gunna frowned at him and smothered the urge to laugh.
‘Something like that. Anyway, our man’s been a good boy for the last few years, travels under his own name, listed in the Södertälje phone book. But Special Branch in Sweden have been keeping an eye on him and he’s been back and forth to Estonia and Latvia quite a bit in the last few years. No idea what he’s been doing there, but he’s been declaring income from what’s described as work as a security consultant, and paying his taxes like a good boy. Still waiting to hear back from Oslo.’
‘Good. Did you run the Gunnar Ström name past them in Sweden?’
‘Yup. He’s used that name before, but a long time ago. Other names he’s used are Ekström and Angström. They’re checking with their passport office for any valid passports in those names that might fit our boy. But the fun part is that Sweden says our man is retained as a security consultant for InterAlu, which means he’s on our doorstep. He may well be in the country right now.’
Gunna surveyed the three men sitting in front of her in silence. Vilhjálmur looked aghast.
Ívar Laxdal’s expression was impassive and the County Sheriff looked thoughtful.
‘What do you need, Gunna?’ he asked quietly. ‘More people?’
‘Not right now. I need cooperation straight away from other forces and some quick backup when it’s needed. I may need to upset some people in high places, but I don’t reckon that’s something that can be avoided if we’re to get to the bottom of this.’
‘That can all be arranged, can’t it, Ívar?’
Ívar Laxdal nodded and grunted, his chin in one hand.
‘And as this guy is clearly dangerous, I want access to the Special Unit if some strong-arm stuff looks likely.’
‘As this appears to be a unique case for Icelandic policing, I feel a more senior officer should be handling it,’ Vilhjálmur said abruptly.
‘I was wondering when this was going to occur to you,’ Gunna murmured.
Ívar Laxdal and the Sheriff frowned in unison.
‘Gunnhildur is a highly competent officer. I don’t see a problem with her taking charge of this investigation, particularly as she has been with it from the outset,’ the Sheriff pointed out.
‘This is an exceptional case,’ Vilhjálmur responded stiffly.
‘And in my view Gunnhildur is an exceptional police officer,’ Ívar Laxdal said. ‘She’s familiar with every aspect of the investigation so far and we risk losing time by handing over to someone more senior. Do you have another officer in mind? Do you feel you should be in personal charge?’
Vilhjálmur opened his mouth and closed it again, while Gunna wondered when they were going to stop discussing her as if she were in another room. Unlike the three men sitting in front of her, she could see frowns on the faces of Bjössi, Snorri and Bára behind them. There was silence for a moment until Ívar Laxdal broke it.
‘This is something you’re confident to handle, isn’t it, Gunnhildur?’
‘It is,’ she answered hoarsely.
‘That’s settled, then,’ Ívar Laxdal said with satisfaction. ‘Now, where are you taking this?’
‘As low-profile as possible for the moment.’
She turned to the desk, picked up Matti’s picture and one of the green taxi and added them to the row of photographs on the wall.
‘I would very much like to track down this character, Marteinn Georg Kristjánsson, known as Fat Matti. He’s a taxi driver and small-time criminal who we understand has been ferrying Ström/ Hårde, whatever we decide to call him, around the country. Matti has disappeared and I’m concerned for his safety. I’m hoping that he hasn’t been quietly disposed of, as he may well be able to provide some information about Hårde’s activities.’
Ívar Laxdal nodded. ‘I think the best we can do is to leave you to get on with it. Agreed?’ he asked, turning first to the Sheriff and then to Vilhjálmur before shoving his chair backwards as they all rose to their feet.
‘If you need anything, call me,’ he said as the door swung shut behind them.
‘Well done, sweetheart,’ Bjössi announced, breaking the silence and clapping his hands slowly. ‘Knocked ’em dead. Now what?’
Gunna sat down and felt her legs turn to jelly. ‘Snorri, I’d like you to start with a quick scout around Reykjavík and see if you can find Matti anywhere before we put out an alert for him. Bára, anything from Clean Iceland about Egill Grímsson and Einar Eyjólfur?’
‘Nothing concrete. Supposed to be meeting them this afternoon.’
‘All right,’ Gunna decided. ‘Keep to that, but let me know. Bára, would you check to see if Fat Matti’s taxi has been picked up anywhere and check all the flights as far back as you can for Ström or Hårde? That’s it for now. I have to get back to Hvalvík for an hour and I’ll see you all here in . . .’ She craned her neck to see the clock on the wall. ‘In two hours.’
Reynir Óli scowled. Sometimes Dagurinn’s editor felt that a little discipline could be applied to Jonni Kristinsson, but a feeling that he would be unlikely to come out of it well had always held him back.
‘Well? What do you have?’
Jonni looked sideways at her as Dagga took a deep breath.
‘ESC,’ she said.
Reynir Óli’s head jerked up, eyes wide. ‘What?’
‘Energy Supply Consultation.’
‘I know what it stands for,’ he snapped. ‘What’s the story?’
‘It’s to do with that Hvalvík aluminium project, the one that went quiet when National Power decided not to sell them electricity.’
Reynir Óli had recovered his composure, but had a nasty taste in his mouth and was sure that Jonni was scrutinizing him. He nodded slowly. ‘And?’
‘I understand that it’s about to be floated on the stock exchange now that it has a contract to supply InterAlu with electricity.’
‘And?’
‘ESC were granted a special concession as a public-private partnership to build an autonomous hydro-electric plant in the hills above Hvalvík, so they can dam the river there to produce electricity and supply it to InterAlu.’
‘Isn’t this just rumour?’ Reynir Óli asked. ‘Is this really a story that we can use?’
‘Good grief, man. If that isn’t a story, what is?’ Jonni exploded, pulling off his glasses and pointing them at Reynir Óli. ‘Public money used to set up a dodgy company that then gets floated while all the scumbags in the know get share options. They get a fat contract through some shady back-door deals with other government departments, side-stepping a state monopoly in the process, and the moment the contract with InterAlu becomes public knowledge, their share value will go through the roof.’