‘Are you enjoying yourself, darling?’ Erna yelled into his ear, draping an arm loosely around his neck and pummelling his shoulder with her free hand.
‘Of course,’ Hardy replied smoothly.
‘You’re not drinking?’
‘I don’t drink. At least not alcohol.’
‘Drying out?’
‘No. I just don’t drink.’
‘Everyone drinks. Unless they’re drying out,’ Erna said with finality.
Sigurjóna’s name was called out and she lurched upright to walk falteringly towards the stage where a young man with a head as shiny as his suit was waiting for her and clapping.
‘What’s the award for?’ Hardy asked Erna, who had a hand on his shoulder again.
‘I don’t fucking know. Best advert for decaffeinated yoghurt or something like that. Nobody goes away from here without a prize,’ she yelled back at him over the storm of applause that greeted Sigurjóna’s arrival on stage.
Sigurjóna grabbed the microphone ahead of the shiny-suited compère and launched into the impromptu speech that one of the office staff had carefully crafted for her that afternoon. The room quietened as she began, but the speech lasted a long time for something made up on the spur of the moment and the level of chatter rose steadily, moving gradually forward from the back tables.
‘What’s your sister saying?’ Hardy asked.
‘Just bullshit. She’s thanking everybody she’s ever met, including the postman, the girl she sat next to in primary school, her personal trainer, and her husband.’
‘Where is he tonight?’
‘Hell, I don’t know where high-and-mighty Bjarni Jón is,’ she snarled. Hardy was interested to see she disliked her brother-in-law and filed the information away for future reference.
‘Was he supposed to be here?’
‘You’re sitting in his seat, honey,’ Erna said, attention on Sigurjóna who was winding up her speech. ‘Oh, how sweet! She thanked me as well! Big sister!’ she squawked in delight, reaching for a bottle from the middle of the table and upending it into her glass.
Sigurjóna tottered back with applause and whistles ringing in her ears, a black glass statuette of a pair of elongated praying hands under one arm and a wine bottle held by the neck in her other hand.
‘She’s great, my big sister, isn’t she?’ Erna declared to Hardy in a voice that carried over the conversation around them. ‘Her tits are better, but at least mine are real.’
Hardy felt the phone buzz in his pocket and put a hand inside his jacket to take it out. He looked at the number displayed and stood up quickly with the phone flashing in his hand.
‘Excuse me just one minute,’ he said quickly and marched towards the lobby.
‘Don’t be long, honey! Bjarni Jón’s not here and we girls need at least one man around!’ Erna yelled after him.
The elegant statuette by a well-known artist had become a collection of slivers of black glass that shuffling feet had dispersed across the floor of the ballroom, providing a nightmare mess for the staff of the Gullfoss Hotel to clean up in the morning. With the ceremony long over and already forgotten, a few couples gyrated jerkily across the dance floor and groups of dazzling people, much the worse for wear, sat in alcoves around the edge, some on the point of passing out.
‘Where’s my sister?’ Sigurjóna demanded, shaking Jón Oddur by the lapel of his silver-grey suit. She took a long draw on the joint in her other hand as Jón Oddur’s eyes opened blearily.
‘Dunno. She just went. Haven’t seen her,’ he slurred.
‘Where did she go? Was she alone?’
‘Don’t know. She was dancing with that foreigner.’
‘Which one? There’s plenty of foreigners here.’
‘Er. The tall guy. Y’know. Had a meeting with him today. Yesterday,’ he corrected himself. ‘Hardy?’ Sigurjóna sat down hard on the chair next to Jón Oddur and ground out the joint on the table top. ‘Did you get a room here?’
‘I booked four,’ he said proudly.
‘Shit. My fucking sister,’ she cursed. ‘Come on. Where’s your room?’
29
Saturday, 27 September
‘Good morning.’
Erna opened one eye and lifted her head from the pillow, dropping it down again as sunlight filtering through gaps between the curtains pierced her eyeballs. She quickly screwed her eyes shut again.
‘Hi,’ she mumbled.
‘Your head hurts?’ Hardy inquired gently.
‘Yeah. Sleep more,’ she mumbled.
Hardy nodded, swung his legs from the bed and padded from the room. Erna vaguely took in the sound of running water as she drifted back to sleep.
An hour later he returned to wake her, mugs of fragrant tea, two aspirins and slices of toast spread with honey on a tray that he balanced in one hand as he slid back into the bed alongside her.
‘Good morning again.’
‘And to you.’
‘Feeling better now?’
‘Yes, thanks.’
Hardy put the tray down on his lap and passed her one of the mugs.
‘My mother told me not to accept drinks from strange men.’
‘Maybe I’m not a strange man any more?’
Erna sipped and gulped down the two little white tablets.
‘What time did we get back here?’ she asked.
‘Around two.’
‘An early night, then. What time is it now?’
‘Ten.’
‘Have a good time last night?’ she asked, crunching toast over the tray to catch crumbs.
‘Of course. I take it you mean the ceremony, or do you mean the party afterwards?’
‘Was there a party afterwards?’ Erna asked blankly.
‘The party that you and I had here.’
‘Oh, that.’
‘Both of them were pretty good.’
‘That’s good.’ Erna yawned, curling back beneath the covers and sending exploring fingers towards Hardy’s thigh. ‘I need to get up but I’m too lazy. It’s great to stay in bed for a change.’
‘When are you usually up?’
‘Never later than seven on normal days. Maybe eight on a weekend. Depends on the kids.’
‘How many do you have?’
‘Two.’ Erna yawned again.
‘They’re not here today?’
‘They’re with their fathers for a change for a couple of weeks. One lives in Chicago, the other one’s here in town.’
‘Peace and quiet then?’
‘For the moment. But I’ll miss them soon, I expect. How about you? Children? Girlfriend? Wife, maybe?’
Hardy chuckled. Erna placed her head on his chest and could hear his laughter deep inside.
‘Nothing. Nobody. There’s just me. A single man with no ties.’
‘Then there must be something wrong with you if no woman has snapped you up yet.’
The hair of his chest tickled her nose and she ran a hand through it.
‘I like this,’ she said softly. ‘Icelandic men shave everything. They think it’s sexy but some of us like a man who has some hair. It’s more, y’know . . .’ She struggled for the English word. ‘Like a cave man, you know what I mean?’
‘Primeval?’
‘I guess so. Hey, I have to shower. Do you want to fuck again before or after?’
***
Bára cupped the phone in her hand, pursing her lips in irritation. She shook her head as Gunna lifted a questioning eyebrow.
‘Yes, I am fully aware of that,’ Bára continued. ‘And no, I didn’t know that the PR Federation awards were held last night. Look, I’m sorry that your boss may have a hangover, but this is an important investigation into a serious matter . . .’
Bára paused and listened for a moment to a flood of complaint before she cut through the voice again. ‘Excuse me, but this is a police investigation. I need to speak to Sigurjóna Huldudóttir urgently. Now, are you going to tell me where I can find her?’