pocket earnings.
Sitting in the morning rush hour traffic waiting for the lights to change at the Miklabraut junction, Matti turned down the radio, abruptly silencing yet another round of Channel 2’s celebrity gossip, and drummed the wheel with his thumbs. After weeks of driving Hardy back and forth across the south of Iceland, he still had only a hazy idea of what the man’s business was. The only point of contact was an anonymous mobile number, and Hardy rarely asked to be collected or dropped off at the same place more than once. This time their meeting place was on the Grensas taxi rank where Matti bullied the big car into a space on the end. He was starting to feel uncomfortable in the Mercedes since Gunna had questioned him. Normally he wasn’t inclined to worry too much about the law, but this time he felt as if everything on the road was watching him.
As usual, Hardy appeared within a few seconds, dropping into the passenger seat with the nearest he came to a smile.
‘Where to, boss?’ Matti asked.
‘Out of town today.’
‘OK. East? South? Which way?’
‘Hvalvik.’
Matti’s heart almost missed a beat and he was sure that Hardy immediately sensed it.
‘Hvalvik it is, then,’ he grunted, coaxing the car out into the road and scraping the bumper of the car double- parked in front.
They sailed through Reykjavik’s sunshine. It was a warm day and the dust rose thickly in the heat. Hardy was dressed as usual in spite of the temperature, the pale leather jacket making him look slimmer across the shoulders than he really was.
‘Everything all right, big man? You’re quiet today,’ Hardy said pleasantly as they left the city behind and began to climb the heath.
‘That guy. The one you went to talk to near Borgarnes. He’s dead.’
Hardy lifted an eyebrow. ‘How do you know?’
‘It was on the radio. Heart attack, they said.’
‘So? You didn’t see anything, did you?’
‘Not a thing,’ Matti assured him.
‘Then there’s nothing for you to worry about, is there?’
Hardy looked relaxed as he admired the landscape around him. His hands lay idle in his lap with fingers twined together.
‘You know, Matti,’ he said eventually. ‘The guy you work for?’
‘Nonni?’
‘No, big man. Not the taxi man. The other guy you work for, the one you need to be particularly discreet about.’
‘You, you mean?’
Irritation flashed over Hardy’s face. ‘No. The one with the establishment.’
‘Him? Why? I don’t do much for Mundi Gretars these days.’
‘Ah, but I’m sure you do. I have a little word of advice for you.’
‘Like what?’ Matti demanded.
‘It might be an idea to distance yourself from those activities for a little while.’
Matti did his best not to be angry. With the police already snooping into his business, he found it hard to accept that Hardy was also aware of his other sideline.
‘What’s this about, eh?’
‘I just thought you ought to know that your friend may have some problems in the next few weeks and that it might be useful if you’re not too closely involved with him and his ladies for a while.’
Bloody hell, Matti thought. The bloody man seems to know everything there is to know.
‘Especially the lady that you’re such good friends with. We wouldn’t want her to be in any trouble, would we?’ Hardy asked with an unmistakable note of iron in his tone.
Matti drove in shock and silence while Hardy examined his fingernails. Neither of them spoke until Hvalvik could be seen as a bundle of houses clustered around the shallow curve of its bay in the paler sunshine of the south coast.
‘Where to now?’ Matti asked gruffly, butterflies fluttering under his belt at the thought of Gunna or that other cop noticing his taxi going though the village.
‘This time we’re going out to the Lagoon site,’ Hardy said and Matti sighed with relief as this meant at least going straight through the village and out the other side without needing to stop. But his peace of mind was cut short as the fuel gauge light blinked red as they passed the ‘Hvalvik welcomes careful drivers’ sign.
‘Shit. Bastard.’
‘What’s up?’ Hardy asked quietly.
‘Ach, nothing. Just got to diesel up.’
The car rolled to a halt in front of the pumps outside Hafnarkaffi. Matti hurriedly pumped fuel, cursing the slow pace of the machine and staring out over the roof of the car to scan for anyone who might recognize him.
‘Shit. Fuck,’ he continued to mutter to himself as the pump clanged to a halt and he hurried inside to pay at the counter where there was nobody to take his money. For a moment he was tempted to jump back in the car and leave, but thought better of it. In a one-horse dump full of nosy parkers, somebody would be bound to notice.
‘Sorry, my love. Been waiting long, have you?’ cooed a woman who appeared suddenly behind the counter.
‘Er, no.’
‘Not a local, are you?’
‘No.’
‘Oh. And I was sure I recognized you from somewhere. Can’t for the life of me say where, though. From Reykjavik, are you?’
‘Yeah,’ Matti grunted, willing her to move faster as she tapped buttons on the computerized till.
‘I’ll never get the hang of this thing,’ she warbled. ‘The old till’s so much easier, but progress is progress and I suppose I’ll have to get used to it sooner or later. That’ll be six thousand two hundred, my dear.’
Matti dropped notes on the counter and made for the door. As he stepped out, a police car cruised up the street towards them and Matti swore to himself, looking down at the ground as he opened the car door.
Hardy looked out from his seat at the police car as it passed by. Matti lifted his head to follow his gaze and was relieved to see that rather than the cousin he definitely had no wish to run into, the driver was an older man with a kindly face who looked over at them curiously, but didn’t bother to stop.
‘Right. Let’s go then, shall we?’
Hardy pointed. ‘There’s a cafe there. Do you want to eat?’
‘No,’ Matti said brusquely. ‘Let’s get out to the compound, shall we? It’s a real dump, that place,’ he added lamely.
Dagga coaxed the television next to her desk into life as a sober newsreader was halfway through his item on the 19.19 news.
‘. . . morning and we are taking you straight over live to the press briefing that is already taking place.’
‘Smari Geir doing well for himself on TV, I see,’ Dagga observed as the young man’s face vanished and was replaced with a trio of senior police officers sitting behind a row of microphones.
‘We consider that, in the light of this serious allegation from a highly unusual source, a further investigation is justified,’ one of them read out from a prepared statement. Skuli stared at the group, his eyes going from the man speaking to one of the others next to him, and back.
‘These allegations are of an extremely grave nature, claiming that a very serious crime has been committed against an innocent young man, culminating in his death. We are issuing a general appeal for witnesses to come forward and to place at the disposal of the police any information that may identify the alleged perpetrator,’ Vilhjalmur Traustason read out in a tone as morbid as the grave.
Flashes flickered and he blinked repeatedly.
‘We have already identified persons who may or may not be involved in this incident. At present we are
