‘You have a view over here. In fact, you’re probably the only person who does have a view of NesPlast, considering it’s the last place in the street. Have you noticed any movement over there? Any lights, anyone who comes and goes?’
‘I don’t spend my days looking out of the window, you know.’
Gunna laughed inwardly at the woman’s spiky retort. ‘Sure, I understand that. But every now and then you must stand up and go for a coffee or a pee or whatever, surely, and that takes you past the window?’
‘There’s only the guy who turns up every few weeks. He never stops there long. I know Jón Geir wants to speak to him when he gets a chance but we haven’t seen him for a while. I don’t know who he is, but he has a key to get in.’
‘Young? Old? What car does he drive?’
Lára’s impatience was clear. ‘I don’t know. Middle-aged, I guess. Thirties, maybe. There must have been a car but I didn’t notice one. That’s the kind of thing the boys would notice right away.’
‘This must be a quiet place, though — isn’t it?’
‘Too damned quiet. That’s one of our problems. This place is practically in the country,’ she said dismissively. ‘We’re at the end of the street at the far end of an industrial estate. There’s nothing that way but lava fields and the main road behind that. We only live over there,’ she said, pointing out of the window at some distant roofs. ‘But I practically have to drive into Hafnarfjördur to get here.’
Gunna leaned on the window frame and thought how pleasant it must be to work so far from traffic noise and pollution.
‘So not many people pass here, then?’
‘Hell, no. You see a few people wandering around, but not many.’
‘Such as?’
‘Kids on bikes and scooters sometimes. Occasionally there’s a drunk who comes by.’
‘A drunk? This far out of town?’ Gunna asked, immediately suspicious. ‘That’s unusual. Just the one?’
‘I’ve only seen him a few times. Like I said, I don’t spend my time staring out of the window.’
‘What does he look like?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t pay attention to passing tramps,’ she snapped.
‘Young? Old?’ Gunna continued, ignoring Lára’s impatience. ‘Short? Tall?’
‘A big guy,’ she conceded.
‘As big as Jón Geir?’
‘Maybe, but tubbier.’
‘Age?’
‘Honestly, I couldn’t say. I’ve seen him go past a handful of times in the last few months, that’s all.’
‘Hair? Beard? How was he dressed?’
‘I don’t know,’ she floundered. ‘He didn’t have a beard, but he had longish hair,’ she decided, putting the edge of her hand against her own neck as an indicator. ‘Dark clothes, as far as I remember.’
‘A shabby leather jacket, maybe?’
‘Could be,’ Lára said thoughtfully. ‘That sounds right.’
Gunna smiled. ‘It’s amazing how much detail people can recall when you push them a little.’
Gunna cursed, sensing instinctively that Sævaldur was waiting for her. He put out a hand to stop the door closing and she had no choice but to change course and join him in the lift instead of taking the stairs.
‘What’s happened up there?’ he asked as the lift started its stately upward progress.
‘Straightforward enough at first glance,’ Gunna said, studying the lift’s steel wall. ‘A guy’s had his head beaten in. Not a pretty sight.’
‘Nasty?’
‘The place looks like a modern art installation.’
‘What?’
‘You know. There’s blood everywhere. Redecoration in red.’
Sævaldur curled a lip. ‘Messy, then? Who’s the victim?’
‘Name of Borgar Jónsson, or so it seems.’
‘Ah.’
‘Ah, what? You know something I don’t?’
Sævaldur radiated satisfaction. ‘I may do. What do you want to know?’
The lift creaked to a standstill and the doors opened, but Sævaldur stood still, making no move to leave. Gunna pressed the ‘close doors’ button.
‘Sævaldur, I’ve no real desire to be stuck in a lift between floors with you. But I have a dead man, a nutcase on the loose somewhere, the chief superintendent wanting to be briefed as soon as possible so he can hold a press conference and I’m a man down with Eiríkur on leave. So if you have anything to tell me, I’d really prefer it if you’d spit it out and not play games.’
‘Hell, Gunna,’ Sævaldur said, backing as far away from her as the lift’s steel wall would allow. ‘There’s no need to throw all your toys out of the pram — not this early, anyway. Open the doors, will you?’
Gunna punched the button and the doors hissed open again. ‘Speak up. I’m listening.’
‘Borgar Jónsson was a weird character, and it was me and old Thorfinnur Markússon who arrested him, steaming drunk.’
‘What for?’
Sævaldur’s usually deadpan expression softened. ‘It was really unpleasant. He’d been on an afternoon drinking spree, tried to drive himself home in his monster GMC truck and went through a red light on Sudurlandsbraut. He managed to knock a lad off his bike in the process and drove right over him. Open and shut, all caught on CCTV. I don’t suppose he even knew what he’d done and he didn’t stop. Thorfinnur and I arrested him about an hour after the accident and he couldn’t understand why we were there. It wasn’t until he’d sobered up and seen the CCTV footage that he realized.’
‘And he got eight years?’
‘That’s it. I didn’t know he was out.’
‘He’s been at that hostel near the Grand Hotel for the last month.’
Sævaldur nodded slowly. ‘The bastard,’ he said with uncharacteristic feeling. ‘If I had my way. .’
‘I know. You’d throw away the key, but only after you’d taken off his balls with an angle grinder.’
‘That hostel’s only a few hundred metres from where the boy was hit. So I hope it might have jogged his memory.’
‘We can live in hope. So, plenty of people who might have a grievance?’
‘Shit, dozens, I’d say. Borgar Jónsson had pissed off a lot of people in business as well. You know the type, he’d been bankrupt more times than you’ve. . Well,’ Sævaldur coughed. ‘Let’s not go there. But you know what I mean.’
‘I can imagine. Anyway, thanks for the potted digest,’ Gunna said, stepping aside to let Sævaldur escape from the lift.
‘News, Gunnhildur?’ Ívar Laxdal asked, appearing suddenly next to her within minutes of taking a seat at her desk.
‘Dead man, multiple blows to the head. Looks like his name is Borgar Jónsson, or that’s the name on the out-of-date bank card he had in his pocket, and it seems there’s some history there if this does turn out to be the same guy. Helgi’s chasing the bank to try and find out the man’s identity number.’
‘It’s not on the card?’
‘It’s a card that was issued a dozen years ago by a savings bank that doesn’t exist any more.’
‘Ah. Keep me informed, would you?’ he instructed and left as silently as he had appeared.
‘Any joy with the bank, Helgi?’
Helgi lifted his glasses so that they were jammed firm against his forehead. ‘The savings bank was taken over by another one after the crash,’ he said dolefully. ‘I’m assured they have the details, but it might take an hour to find them. They’ll call back,’ he added in a tone that indicated his lack of faith in that statement.
‘Give them ten minutes and chase them again,’ Gunna instructed, her attention on her computer. ‘In any case, I have a feeling I may have found our man already,’ she said slowly, scrolling through the list on her own screen.
‘Already?’ he echoed.
Gunna scribbled on a pad at her side, tore off the series of numbers and passed it over to Helgi.
‘There’s only one Borgar Jónsson in the national registry who could fit our candidate as far as age goes. Call the bank again, would you? Give them that number and date of birth, and just ask them to confirm if it’s the same character.’