‘What do you want?’ Valur asked Elínborg. ‘Are you accusing me of topping him?’
‘Well, did you?’ she asked.
‘No,’ replied Valur. ‘I didn’t know the man.’
‘We think you knew him well,’ said Sigurdur Óli. ‘Shouldn’t you tidy up in here?’ he added, looking around.
‘Says who?’
‘Just look at this place. It’s a pigsty,’ said Sigurdur Óli.
‘Are you retarded, or what?’ exclaimed Valur. ‘Who says I knew him well?’
‘Information received,’ said Elínborg.
‘Someone’s spinning you a line.’
‘It’s a reliable source,’ she replied, trying not to think about Shorty.
‘Says who? Who is it?’
‘None of your business,’ snapped Sigurdur Óli. ‘We’ve been told you knew Runólfur and sold him stuff, supplied him with this and that.’
‘Maybe he owed you money,’ said Elínborg. ‘Maybe you went round to collect, and things got out of hand.’
Valur stared at her, open-mouthed. ‘Hey, hang on, what the hell is this? Who says that? I didn’t know the bloke, didn’t know him at all. Someone’s telling lies about me. And you’re saying I’m supposed to have killed him? Absolutely not! I had nothing to do with it. Don’t even go there.’
The child looked up at her father and stopped chewing.
‘We can take you down to the station,’ said Elínborg. ‘We can lock you up. We can treat you as a suspect and read you your rights. OK, we haven’t got much evidence yet, but we have to start somewhere. We can hold you in custody for a few days. You’ll need a lawyer, which will cost you. The papers and the telly will report that we’ve made an arrest, and they’ll dig up pictures of you. Information tends to leak out — you know how it is. The tabloids will publish a front-page interview with your girlfriend in the weekend edition: there’ll be a photo of her with your little girl here. I can see the headline: My Valur Is No Killer!’
‘Why do you think I know something?’
‘Please,’ said Elínborg, and bent down to pick up the baby from the floor. ‘You get doctors to prescribe all sorts of drugs for you, which you sell on at a much higher price. Prescription medications. Like roofies. You probably sell them mostly to coke users, who are out of stuff and scared of coming down. We’ve heard you supply the coke, too. So it’s a comprehensive service you provide. Maybe you use coke yourself? You look as if you probably do. Must be expensive. How do you find the cash?’
‘What are you doing with the kid?’
‘Then there’s the odd one who uses roofies to-’
‘Give her here,’ said Valur, snatching the baby.
‘Sorry. Then there’s the odd one who uses roofies to spike women’s drinks and have sex with them when they’re helpless. That’s what we call a rapist. The question is: do you sell roofies to rapists?’
‘No,’ said Valur.
‘Quite sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘How can you be? You haven’t a clue what they do with it after you sell it to them.’
‘I just do. And I didn’t know that Runólfur bloke.’
‘Do you use roofies on women yourself?’
‘No, what …?’
‘Is that your flatscreen telly?’ Sigurdur Óli asked, pointing at a brand-new 42-inch plasma screen.
‘Yeah,’ said Valur, ‘it’s mine.’
‘Got the receipt, have you?’
‘Receipt?’
‘You must have a receipt for an expensive bit of kit like that.’
‘All right,’ said Valur. ‘I used to sell — you know about it, you’ve got it on file. But I’m not selling any more, and I never sold much prescription medicine anyway. The last time I sold any roofies was about six months ago. Some idiot I’ve never seen before, or since.’
‘Not Runólfur?’ asked Elínborg. She noticed that Valur was willing to talk about anything other than the plasma TV.
‘He was really nervous. He said his name was Runólfur. He was about to shake hands with me, as if we were at some important meeting or something. He said a relative had told him about me. He gave me a name, but I’d never heard of him. It was like he’d never done it before.’
‘Did he come back often?’
‘No, just that once. I didn’t know him. I usually know who they are. The punters. You build up a group of regulars. He was kind of a weirdo.’
‘And why did he want the roofies?’
‘He said he was buying them for a friend. That’s what they all say — when they’re new and don’t know what sad little losers they are.’
‘And it was definitely Rohypnol he bought?’
‘Yeah.’
‘How much did you sell him?’
‘One bottle. Ten pills.’
‘Did he come here? To your place?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Was he alone?’
‘Yeah.’
‘And was it Runólfur?’
‘Yes. No. Look, he said his name was Runólfur but it wasn’t him.’
‘Not the Runólfur who was murdered?’
‘No, it wasn’t that bloke whose picture was in the papers.’
‘So was he posing as Runólfur?’
‘How would I know? Maybe his name was Runólfur too. Maybe it’s a coincidence. Do you think I give a fuck?’
‘What did he look like?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘Try.’
‘About my height, probably thirty-something. Fat face, balding, with a bit of a beard. I don’t remember him very clearly.’
Elínborg looked at Valur. Suddenly she recalled the man she had interviewed in her office, Runólfur’s friend. Edvard. The description fitted him well.
‘Anything else?’ she asked.
‘No. I don’t know anything else.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Yeah, whatever. Now fuck off out of here.’
‘At least he takes good care of the baby,’ sighed Elínborg once they were back in the car. ‘Her nappy was dry, and she’d just been fed. She was fine with her daddy.’
‘He’s a piece of shit.’
‘No doubt.’
‘Have you heard from Erlendur at all?’ asked Sigurdur Óli.
‘No, he hasn’t been in touch. He said he was going to the east for a few days, didn’t he?’
‘How long’s he been gone?’
‘Must be over a week.’
‘How much holiday was he taking?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What was he planning to do there?’
‘He’s visiting the place where he lived as a boy.’
‘Have you heard anything from that woman he’s been seeing?’
‘Valgerdur? No. I probably ought to give her a ring. See if she’s heard from him.’
13
It was evening when Elínborg and Sigurdur Óli pulled up outside Edvard’s home, a dilapidated house on the west side of town. Edvard was unmarried, and childless. His car was parked beside the house — a Japanese hatchback, several years old. Elínborg knocked, and they heard movement from within. But nobody came to the door. Lights were visible in two windows and they had noticed the glow of a television, which was suddenly extinguished. They knocked again, then a third time. Sigurdur Óli hammered at the door, and finally Edvard appeared. He recognised Elínborg at once.
‘Is this a bad time?’ she asked.
‘No, well, it’s … is something the matter?’
‘We’ve got some more questions about Runólfur,’ explained Elínborg. ‘Can we come in?’
‘It’s really not convenient now,’ answered Edvard. ‘I was on my way out.’
‘It’ll only take a minute,’ said Sigurdur Óli.
They stood at the threshold while Edvard stubbornly blocked their way.
‘I really can’t invite you in at the moment,’ he protested. ‘I’d appreciate it if you could come back later — maybe tomorrow.’
‘Yes, well, no, I’m afraid that won’t be possible,’ Elínborg replied. ‘It’s to do with Runólfur, as I said, and we have to speak to you now.’