‘At least we have a face and a time now. 17.07 on the eighth of March. The engine must have still been warm. The cheeky bastard.’
Gunna turned to the car park manager ‘Judging from that, is there any way we can find more footage of this?’
The man sighed and mentally wrote off his afternoon’s golf for good. ‘No, that’s it.’
‘All right, any payment details?’
‘Do you mind? Can I get to my desk and I’ll see what I can find for you?’
He tapped at the keyboard, opened new documents and studied them carefully.
‘Like you saw, it came in at 13.25 on the eighth of March, and left at 17.07 the same day. Paid by credit card. I’d have to go to head office for the card details. We don’t have that information here.’
Snorri scrolled back to the point where the man stood by the car door and was preparing to get inside.
‘Now, can we see the man there any more clearly?’
The man’s blocky image filled the screen.
‘That’s about the best I can manage. The system’s only really designed to record number plates,’ the manager apologized.
‘All right. We’ll just have to live with what you’ve got, if that’s all there is. Was there anyone on duty that night?’
‘The whole thing’s automatic. If something goes wrong at night, then it sends a message to one of our phones so we can get down here and sort it out. But that never happens unless the computer crashes, and even then it switches to a backup first.’
Gunna wished the man would stop sounding so apologetic. It was making her want to snap at him.
‘Snorri, do we need to confiscate this computer?’
A look of abject horror appeared on the manager’s face.
‘Or can you copy the files you need?’ Gunna asked, taking pity on the man.
‘I’m doing it already, or the screen grabs anyway,’ he said, reaching under the desk to remove a flash stick from the computer. ‘But I’ll come back in the morning with a laptop and download all the surveillance files for those dates.’
‘In that case, we can leave you to it. Thanks for your help.’
Gunna was already outside and getting into the car as Snorri loped down the steps and joined her.
‘What was that all about, chief?’
‘You mean your suspicious mind hasn’t figured anything out?’
‘I don’t have a suspicious mind.’
Gunna started the engine and the Volvo spat gravel from beneath its wheels as it left the car park.
‘Remember months ago there was an alert about a blue car that might have been involved in a fatal hit and run incident?’
‘Vaguely,’ Snorri admitted.
‘The victim was a man called Egill Grimsson. Helgi Skaftason investigated and came up with absolutely nothing beyond the idea that a blue jeep might have been involved. Hence the alert back in March.’
‘I get it. Now you find a blue car?’
‘That’s it. A blue car that was stolen very professionally the day before the hit and run, and which looks as if it had been carefully hidden. If it hadn’t been for the earthquake, the dock at Sandeyri might not have been checked for years and that car could have stayed there quietly for, well, anybody’s guess how long before it was found.’
‘Very suspicious.’
‘It’s beyond suspicious,’ Gunna said grimly. ‘This deserves some looking into, whatever Vilhjalmur Traustason thinks.’
‘I see. You’re not going to pass this on to CID?’
‘No. Not for the moment. Bjossi doesn’t have any spare time to do anything on top of what he’s already doing and I can’t see Helgi Skaftason welcoming us telling him to dig the case notes out again.’
‘Which means?’
‘That we’re going to do a little discreet investigation of our own until there’s more to work on, especially if I tell you that Egill Grimsson was a close friend of Einar Eyjolfur Einarsson.’
Snorri’s eyebrows knitted together in a frown of concentration. ‘Sounds very suspicious.’
‘Doesn’t it just?’
Snorri admired the scenery as Gunna slowed to take the turnoff for Hvalvik.
‘I thought that chap was going to have a heart attack when you said something about confiscating his computer,’ he said with admiration.
‘So? You’ve just done your first aid refresher, haven’t you? Now, you’re in tomorrow. Haddi’s off so I’d like you to maintain law and order for an hour or two in the morning while I have another little jaunt to the airport.’
12
Monday, 8 September
What their editor liked to think of as the key elements of
‘The host of which television quiz show has a predilection for dirty baby-talk in the sack?’ Jonni asked, reading off the screen in a mock-serious news anchor voice.
‘No idea. Does it say which show?’ Dagga asked.
‘Nope. That would be taking it a bit far.’
‘That looks interesting there.’ Skuli pointed, reading out loud. ‘A political gunslinger and former ‘‘non-paying guest’’ at Kviabryggja prison has just come home from a three-week stay in California. Friends say that he has come home with a west coast accent, a deep belief in the power of crystal energy, a tan and a suspiciously fuller head of hair than he left with.’
‘Only one person that can be!’ Dagga whooped.
‘Hell, yeah. Everyone’s favourite.’
‘He’ll be furious.’
‘He’ll be on the warpath over this one. His lawyers would already be choosing themselves second homes in the Canaries on this one if they knew who to sue,’ Jonni guffawed, reading further as he scrolled down. ‘Friends are concerned and speculation in the Parliamentary canteen is rife. Has he gone for a transplant, or has he just bought a succession of wigs so that he can wear a short one after having a ‘‘haircut’’, then a slightly longer one, then a full-length hairpiece so he can comment loudly that it’s about time for a trim? Bets are being taken on the transplant theory. Click here for the before and after pics. Skandalblogger welcomes inside info — anonymity guaranteed!’
Jonni clicked the page shut, sensing the approach of the editor without having to look behind him, a skill that Skuli and Dagga had been trying unsuccessfully to cultivate.
‘Five minutes!’ Reynir Oli Vilhjalmsson snapped as he swept past and into a vacant meeting room, papers under one arm and a sleek laptop under the other.
The three looked from one to the other. Jonni raised an eyebrow.
‘He looks smart today. Anything special happening?’
‘He doesn’t look happy, though, does he?’ Dagga said.
‘We’ll see . . .’
‘Good morning. Margret?’ Gunna asked. ‘I spoke to you this morning.’
‘Yes.’ The fresh-faced woman behind the desk wore a hoodie sweater and looked as if she would be more at
