was wrecked and the security guards had seen nothing. His first phone call had been to the agency that had supplied them and his second had been to Spearpointto demand a more reliable replacement.
Gunna arrived with Haddi from Hvalvik to find Bjossi already at work. A couple of uniformed officers were looking over the burnt-out vehicles and Haddi went to keep them company. Bjossi was sitting in the site manager’s office interviewing the latest in a procession of the site staff.
‘Hi, Bjossi. How goes it?’
‘Ah, Gunna. At last,’ Bjorn replied, turning away from the miserable-looking man sitting opposite him. ‘Make us some coffee, will you? And a few doughnuts wouldn’t come amiss.’
‘You, dear friend, can kiss my arse and make your own coffee.’
‘No offence, Gunna. We few remaining male chauvinist pigs have to try and make a stand now and again.’
‘None taken. How are you getting on?’
‘Bloody terrible. They’re all Polish or Portuguese, or some such foreigners. Their Icelandic is as good as my Swahili, so it’s all in English.’
‘Your English is all right, isn’t it?’
‘My English is fine, but theirs isn’t,’ Bjossi grumbled. ‘Anyway, any luck your side?’
‘Not a peep. Nobody saw a thing last night between here and Hvalvik. I’ve spoken to every farmer along the way and there’s not a thing. Even that old nosy parker Johann at Fremribakki, who’s up at five every single morning in case he misses out on something, says he hasn’t seen or heard a soul since the march went past yesterday.’
Bjossi jerked a thumb at the door and the man sitting opposite him scuttled out without a backward glance.
‘So, what have we got, then?’ Gunna asked, examining the office noticeboard.
‘Nothing, it seems, unless forensics find something around the wreckage. I reckon they just used good old- fashioned rags soaked in petrol, lit a fire under each one and then got out quick.’
‘So, no witnesses, because the security guards were playing poker in one of the sheds all night, and not a hope of finding footprints or anything that could be definitely linked to these guys, not after the number of people who were tramping around here yesterday.’
‘It’s going to take a while, this one,’ Bjossi said with satisfaction, leaning his bulk back on two legs of the site manager’s chair so that it creaked in protest. ‘I expect we’ll come across them sooner or later, but it won’t be through anything we do here. Someone will blab or want to settle a score eventually.’
‘You know, I’m wondering how they got clear without being seen. The fires started around midnight, so it was pretty dark. It’s a good long walk from here even into Hvalvik. If we can find out how they did that, we’d be a step or two closer.’
‘Hm. If you think so. Ach, some idiot’ll have a drop too much to drink soon enough and spill the beans,’ Bjossi said with conviction. ‘Anyway, I’d better carry on with these numbskulls who see and hear nothing and don’t know anything either.’
14-09-2008, 2006
Skandalblogger writes:
What’s that freedom thing about, Grandad?
The march was exciting, wasn’t it just? The papers and the TV are telling us how peaceful it was, with Kolli Sverris doing his juggling and all the colourful people getting in tune with nature before they return to civilization in their 4 x 4s in time for the footie.
But a little bird whispers to the Skandalblogger that not everything went as sweetly as we’re being told. Just how did the fire in the InterAlu compound start? You know, the fire that nobody’s talking about that burned out every piece of heavy machinery on the site? What? You mean you didn’t know about it? All the news guys were there, even our cousins the Norwegians were good enough to send a TV crew, but unfortunately they’d all gone back to their hotels by the time the real business started.
And what happened to the overseas activists who were quietly herded off to one side at Keflavik, kept for a couple of hours and just as quietly deported without even leaving the terminal?
Well, damn me for a cranky old liberal with some strange ideas about freedom of speech and the right to protest, but I’d have thought that there might be a bit more to this than meets the eye.
Keep taking the pills, and watch this space!
B?jo!
Vilhjalmur Traustason hesitated, sparking Gunna’s curiosity. In spite of what she saw as his numerous failings, the man could generally be relied on to get straight to the point.
‘I, er, wanted to mention to you the investigation into the young man who was found outside Hvalvik.’
Gunna could imagine him twisting his fingers into knots as he spoke.
‘And? What? The lad was identified quite quickly and we’re making progress. At the moment it’s all about finding out how he got there from a bar in Reykjavik, even though S?valdur reckons he has a suspect.’
‘Yes, of course. Precisely. You don’t agree with him?’
‘Nope. Gusti the Gob may be a nasty piece of work, but he’s not going to kill someone for a few credit cards. Why, what’s your problem?’
‘Agust Asgeirsson has been bailed. No murder charge has been made, only theft and fraud.’
‘Aha. I told you he wouldn’t get it to stick.’
Vilhjalmur sighed. ‘I don’t want you to allocate too many resources to this case. I have asked Reykjavik to leave S?valdur in overall charge of the case and to liaise with you as and when.’
Gunna stopped her jaw from dropping. ‘Are you telling me to drop this?’
‘This isn’t a murder inquiry. The man drowned while drunk.’
‘He was pushed.’
Vilhjalmur continued as if Gunna had said nothing. ‘I’m instructing you not to put any effort into this. The city force will follow it up. You’re going to have enough to do with the InterAlu work going on in your area.’
‘So Reykjavik are going to be looking after this?’
‘Yes. That’s it.’
The phone clicked as the connection closed.
Matti was about to call it a night and go home to get some sleep when the door opened and a florid young man slumped into the passenger seat.
‘Where to, mate?’
‘Kopavogur.’
The young man slumped back in the seat and fumbled with his glasses. Matti caught the whiff of alcohol and the urge for a drink swept over him.
‘Women, they’re rubbish,’ the young man slurred. ‘You married?’
‘No. Not any more.’
‘Good for you, mate, good for you. They’re just . . .’ He floundered for words. ‘They’re just, rubbish. You know?’
‘Know what you mean. Girlfriend chucked you out, has she?’
‘Fuck, no. Worse.’
The taxi hummed past the lights at orange on to S?braut.
‘Who d’you work for?
‘Himself? Nonni the Taxi.’
‘Well, mate. Just you be glad you work for a bloke. That’s all I’m saying,’ he said with bitterness in his voice, rooting through the pockets of his jacket and bringing out a half bottle of vodka from an inside pocket.
‘Not in the taxi, please,’ Matti mumbled, every fibre of his body aching for a drink as the man spun off the top and swigged.
‘What? Oh, sorry. But, yeah. Bloody women, specially when your boss is a woman. Nothing worse, specially a bloody ball-breaker like mine. Evil cow.’
