The lobby was empty but there was a great deal of activity in the ministry’s office wing. Sober-looking employees hurried down the long corridor, appeared in doorways and dis-appeared into others, their arms full of papers. The reception desk was empty. ‘Should we call Einvarður and let him know we’re waiting in reception?’ Matthew looked around for the receptionist but saw no one likely, or at least no one who paid them any attention.
‘No, no. Let’s just go in. I know where his office is.’ This was yet another example of their difference in attitudes – he said nothing, but his expression made clear that in his opinion you should respect protocol in a government ministry, even if it might prevent you from reaching your goal. She smiled at him. ‘Come on, otherwise we’ll stand here until we’re swept out with the rubbish at the end of the day.’ He opened his mouth to say something but stopped and followed her.
The door to Einvarður’s office was open and inside they could hear him and a woman discussing the formatting of a report, with which he seemed unhappy. Thóra peeked in but neither of them noticed her. He seemed irritated at how the woman was unable to do it like someone called Begga, and Thóra felt sorry for her for having to suffer this comparison. If this Begga was so good, why didn’t he just get her to do it? She wondered how he’d like to have Bella as his assistant and briefly fantasised that the woman he was chastising would quit and he would hire Bella inadvertently. But rather than clear her throat or draw their attention some other way, she decided simply to wait. Thóra and Matthew listened quietly to their conversation about margins, fonts and colour schemes on bar graphs until the woman hurried past without glancing at them, her cheeks flushed, and joined the flow of people hurrying along the corridor. Thóra knocked gently on the door. ‘Hello, Einvarður, I see that you’re very busy, but could you spare us a minute?’
He glanced up from the report and an involuntary look of panic flashed across his face before he regained his composure and assumed the expression of someone with all the time in the world. He stood up and motioned to them to sit. When Matthew shut the door behind them, Einvarður seemed surprised, but tried to maintain his nonchalance. ‘Please excuse the commotion – we’re finishing up a project that needs to be completed by tomorrow.’ He sat down and smiled at them politely, his neatly combed hair and impeccably knotted tie suggesting that despite his earlier agitation, he was a man who handled pressure as easily as taking a drink of water.
‘We’ll try to be quick.’ Thóra took a seat. ‘Right, so since I took on Jakob’s case, I’ve been receiving text messages from an anonymous individual who appears to have information about it.’
‘What?’ His shock seemed sincere.
‘The source of the messages has been traced and the IP number of the computer they were sent from is registered here, at the ministry.’
‘What?’ His surprise hadn’t diminished.
‘Since the case involves your son, you’re the obvious candidate. Other ministry employees are unlikely to know such in-depth details about the fire.’
‘Yes, that’s true.’ Einvarður sat there silently. For the first time since they’d met him there was a trace of insecurity in his demeanour. His smooth, manicured hands trembled slightly on the desk. ‘I don’t know what to say. I didn’t send any messages.’
‘Then who did?’ Matthew looked at the computer on the desk. ‘Does anyone else have access to this computer, for instance?’
Einvarður shook his head. ‘No, that’s impossible. I access it with a login name and password that nobody else knows.’ He grabbed the mouse and jiggled it nervously. ‘It might be possible to log in to the machine under other names, but not to my account. I must confess, I’m not that clued up on how it works. And it’s probably worth mentioning that my office isn’t locked when I leave at the end of the day.’
‘The messages weren’t necessarily sent from your office or even from someone else’s here in this building. I understand from the Telecom technician that there are actually two IP addresses involved; one is called an external IP address and is the same for all the computers connected to a particular network such as yours. The other is called the MAC address and is assigned to the network interface card itself. Just to reiterate, the access to the Internet that we’re concerned with was not through the network in this building, but rather through a 3G Internet key that’s registered at Telecom to the ministry. The man I spoke to didn’t have any information about the MAC addresses so we don’t know which computer it was. The Internet key is one of ten purchased by the ministry, and they weren’t assigned to specific employees.’
‘Then was it a laptop?’
‘No, not necessarily, but it seems likely. It is possible to use this kind of key to access the Internet on a desktop computer, but I don’t know who would, when desktops are generally connected to the Internet in the conventional way.’ Thóra watched the man squirm and couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. He didn’t look at all as if he was involved in this, but maybe he was just a good actor. ‘Do you have a laptop from the ministry or a key like the one I’ve just described?’
‘Yes, I do.’ Then he added hurriedly: ‘But I never actually use the key. And I mean never, not for ages. I have a wireless connection at home and on trips abroad for the ministry I use the hotel networks. And besides, I’m so busy with work I hardly ever have time to look at the Internet. To tell you the truth I don’t remember when I last used the key, but it’s been quite a long time.’
‘Who’s your IT person? Would it be possible to compare MAC addresses with him or her and work out which computer was actually used?’ asked Thóra. ‘I have the number with me, as well as the external IP address.’
‘Er…’ Einvarður reached for the phone and dialled, then got straight to the point without any preamble: ‘Guðrún, who looks after our computers? We don’t have a dedicated IT person in-house, do we?’ He listened to the woman, scribbled something down on a sheet of paper, thanked her and said goodbye. ‘We use a computer service in town. I have the name of the company, as well as the person responsible for our network. Wouldn’t it be best to talk to him about this?’ He pushed the piece of paper towards Thóra. ‘Definitely call him and figure this out. I have nothing to hide and I’d like this sorted out immediately.’ He looked Thóra in the eye. ‘Believe me, I haven’t sent you any text messages.’
She called the computer company straight away and after a few moments she was put in touch with the right person, who acceded happily to her request and asked no questions. Perhaps they got a lot of odd enquiries and had stopped being surprised by them. He didn’t question her calling on behalf of the ministry, but simply turned immediately to tracing the MAC address. ‘It’s an IBM laptop that we have registered to an employee at the ministry, Einvarður Tryggvason. At least the original request for its setup is registered to him. Of course that was some time ago – nearly five years.’ Thóra wrote down the information about the make of the computer, then hung up.