been away, not the other way around.’
‘Come on, Haddi. I’m never going to win any perfect housewife prizes, am I?’
Haddi spluttered with what Gunna’s long experience told her was laughter. ‘God, no. Which reminds me, there was a bloke here this morning looking for you while you were over at Keflavik hobnobbing with the chiefs.’
Gunna straightened her stack of papers and placed them in the middle of her desk.
‘Who was that?’ she asked.
‘Haven’t a clue. Old bloke. Moustache. Said it was just a personal call and he’d drop in again later.’
‘Can’t have been important, then,’ Gunna said, squaring her cap. ‘Are you on duty tomorrow, or is it Snorri?’
‘Me tomorrow. Snorri’s off until Monday.’
Haddi waved and retreated as the phone began to ring, while Gunna debated whether or not to answer it, well knowing that she would.
‘Gunnhildur.’
‘Hi, sweetheart.’
At the sound of the familiar voice, she pushed the chair back and lifted her feet on to the upturned waste paper bin that had taken on a new role as a footrest. ‘Get stuffed, Bjossi.’
‘Come on, what kind of language is that?’
‘Bjossi, my dear friend, it’s the only language that you understand. Don’t forget that I’m a tough country girl from the westfjords and I’ve sorted out bigger and nastier men than you.’
Bjossi sighed.
‘You say the nicest things, Gunna.’
‘All part of the Hvalvik force’s service. Being rude to outsiders is what we do best. Now. What do you want?’
‘That blue jeep from the harbour at Sandeyri. Just as you thought, it’s the one that was reported missing.’
‘I knew that already, so what do you have that’s new?’
Bjossi continued, oblivious of Gunna’s interruption. ‘Owner, Rognvaldur Jonsson, aged thirty-four, Eggertsgata eighty-seven, Akranes. Left it parked at the airport while he went to get pissed in Tenerife. Got off the plane with his straw donkey, and there it was, gone.’
‘Are you going to stop telling me stuff I already know?’
‘Probably not. Forensics have given it a going-over. There are a few dents that the owner couldn’t be sure about, says they might have been there before. Apart from that, no fingerprints. Nothing out of the ordinary apart from those binoculars you found. Good quality ones, the sort that serious bird-watchers use.’
‘Do you really think some twitcher stole a jeep to go bird-watching and then rolled it off the quay at Sandeyri?’
‘Haven’t a clue. We’re up to our ears in it here and I’m going to have to leave it with you. I’ll email you the report. All right?’
‘All right. What are you so busy with over there, if you’ve got better things to do than give us a hand?’
Bjossi groaned. ‘Don’t ask.’
‘Go on. What is it?’
‘The usual, trying to interrogate dodgy Eastern Europeans who don’t speak Icelandic and pretend they don’t speak English either.’
‘Fair enough. Rather you than me.’
‘You said it. See you tomorrow morning if you’re here for the briefing.’
‘Briefing? On a Saturday? Nobody’s told me.’
‘Vilhjalmur Traustason’s new efficiency review procedures. You’re better off out of it, believe me,’ Bjossi told her. ‘Bye, sweetheart.’
Gunna sat back again with her hands behind her head as she thought. She looked at the clock, saw that she had time in hand and prodded the computer into life. Ten minutes later she locked up behind her, nodded to the woman in the post office next door and walked up the hill towards home with a thick printout under one arm.
05-09-2008, 0216
Skandalblogger writes:
Don’t say we didn’t tell you.
It seems it’s all starting to unravel at last, and don’t forget we warned you all a long time ago that these guys weren’t to be trusted.
We know that the Ministry of Environmental Affairs set up a small think-tank a few years ago, under the innocuous name of Energy Supply Consultation, otherwise known as ES Consult, or just plain old ESC. But has anyone noticed that ESC is now a limited company listed on the stock exchange?
Have a look, click here* for the stock exchange website and dig a little further to find out who the main shareholders are. It’s enlightening reading.
But the really interesting reading would be the internal report commissioned a month or two ago by the major lender set to bankroll ESC, which it now seems is too explosive for anyone but a couple of the top dogs to see. Come on, guys, what did the economists from London have to say about you? And why don’t you want your shareholders to know about it?
Well, enough of the corruption in high places, as we can hear you baying for us to get back to the usual filth. So here it is, in an easily digested format.
Which owner of a fashionable downtown tanning parlour has been laying off some of her staff, replacing them with fit young things from further east? It seems that some of the local staff weren’t too happy about the ‘executive happy finish’ service that the place likes to offer its exclusive (for ‘exclusive’, read ‘rich’) customers, and walked out. Luckily, Eastern Europe is awash with leggy beauties who can’t afford scruples. So business as usual, even with the krona taking a dive!
And which presenter of a primetime popular slot on national TV was this week observed making his way along Laugarvegur in odd socks and bumping into walls, people, parked cars, etc? There’s nothing unusual about this extremely thirsty motormouth, well known for a flamboyant lifestyle, becoming . . . what shall we say, overwrought after extensive hospitality, but at 10.30 on a Tuesday morning? Incidentally, it seems that the odd socks were particularly visible, as our presenter friend was clearly wearing someone else’s trousers and the someone else must be a good bit shorter than our flamboyant friend.
It’ll all come out in the wash . . .
B?jo!
‘Can I go out, Mum?’
‘No, my love. It’s late.’
‘But the others are out.’
‘I know, but it’s gone ten.’
‘Aw.’
Laufey Ragnarsdottir frequently found it difficult to be a police officer’s daughter. Other parents could let their children stay outside until after dark. But Gunna knew that there would be whisperings and complaints if she were to do the same and she wondered how long her authority would remain unchallenged.
‘Half an hour, Mum? There’s no school tomorrow.’
‘Laufey, I said no. All right? Come on, you’d better be off to bed soon. Aren’t you going riding with Sigrun tomorrow? Get your stuff ready now and you can have the TV on for a while,’ Gunna added as gently as she could.
Laufey shrugged and began slowly picking up schoolbooks scattered across the living room.
‘Make sure you’ve got clean clothes for the morning,’ Gunna instructed.
‘I’m not thick, Mum.’
Gunna bit back a sharp reply. She left Laufey to get on with it and went to the kitchen to read the report on Egill Grimsson which she had printed out from the police records and which had been waiting for her all evening on
