‘As for your husband and the allegations about his relationship with ESC and InterAlu—’
‘As I said, it’s all lies and fabrication.’
Although she was keeping her famous temper in check, Dagga was sure that Sigurjona was about to explode. Dagga saw her eyes flicker over the desk and settle for a moment on the tiny recorder with its red light. She suddenly calmed and returned to her normal manner.
‘I’m terribly sorry. You must forgive me, but you have to understand that the last few weeks and months have been . . . stressful, shall we say?’
‘I understand that it’s been difficult for you and for quite a few other people. Your husband—’
‘Isn’t here,’ Sigurjona interrupted. ‘He will have to speak on his own behalf and I’m sure he’ll be happy to do so. But I can say that he is deeply disturbed and hurt by allegations that he has behaved less than entirely honestly.’
‘And InterAlu? They have been portrayed very unfavourably. As Spearpoint is InterAlu’s public relations agency, surely you can comment for them?’
‘I’ll have one of my staff email you a statement this afternoon,’ Sigurjona replied with an icy dismissiveness in her voice that Dagga realized indicated the interview was almost at an end.
‘Before we finish, I’d like to ask about the young man Skandalblog-ger alleges was murdered a few weeks ago?’
‘An extremely unfortunate matter. The police investigation, as far as I’m aware, has found nothing to indicate any kind of foul play.’
‘You don’t believe he was killed deliberately?’
‘Of course not. I’d like to know how he found his way out there to that place in wherever-it-was . . .’
‘Hvalvik,’ Dagga supplied.
‘Wherever. But that’s all the mystery there is. Look, the internet and the blog world are full of all kinds of conspiracy theories and lunatic ideas. It’s not a great source for a journalist from a serious newspaper to be using for research.’
Well, meow, Dagga thought. ‘And Skandalblogger’s comment that he was ‘‘very much one of us’’? He was a Spearpoint employee, wasn’t he?’ she asked, imagining that she could hear the enamel on Sigurjona’s perfect teeth being ground to dust.
‘I’m sorry,’ Sigurjona said, barely controlling the urge to let fly. ‘That’s something that has already been commented on, and out of respect for Einar Eyjolfur Einarsson’s family I would prefer not to comment further. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m very busy.’
Dagga picked up her recorder and they both stood up. Sigurjona came around the desk, fury gone, smiling again.
‘Thank you so much. By the way, are you happy at
‘I know.’
‘Of course, I can see you’ve done more research than you wanted to let on. Let me know when you feel like moving on from
It was only when Spearpoint’s door closed behind her that Dagga checked her recorder and saw with relief that it was still running.
Gunna looked the old house up and down. With three storeys clad in corrugated iron and perched on a concrete basement, it was typical for the area, which was gradually becoming fashionable once again. Doubtless it would be sold sooner or later to an entrepreneur who would tear it down and replace it or else fill the old house with pine and dimmed lights.
But today Gunna was interested in the list of names on the array of doorbells and doubted that any of them would work. One of the fading slips of paper had been altered in the not too distant past, with the occupant’s real name scratched out and ‘Ugly Tota’ scrawled across instead.
Gunna guessed that the flat the bell belonged to would be in the upper part of the house. She pressed the button, heard nothing and shoved the door, which, unsurprisingly when she saw the smashed lock hanging by a single screw, opened in front of her.
The stairs were dark and the first landing showed her a row of closed doors, but when she heard the sound of a television from behind the first one, she rapped at it. She heard the springs of a sofa complain inside and shuffling feet approach. The door opened and Gunna recognized Tota immediately.
‘What?’ Tota demanded, smoke from the stub of cigarette between her lips curling past half-closed eyes.
‘Good morning, Tota. I’m sure you remember me. This is what you might call a friendly visit.’
‘Since when have coppers been friendly’s what I want to know?’
‘Well, you were happy enough every time we carted that lad of yours off to cool down in the cells.’
‘Yeah, well. He was a bit high-spirited when he was younger, my Pesi was. Anyway, what does the law want round here?’
Gunna looked over Tota’s shoulder at the dingy room behind her, curtains drawn to keep out summer sun, and a large flatscreen TV gabbling to itself in the corner, the only new thing in the room. ‘Aren’t you going to ask me in, then?’
Tota shrugged. ‘Suit yourself.’
Tota settled herself back in the corner of the sofa that fitted her snugly and finally took the cigarette from between her lips. ‘This can’t be anything that serious, otherwise there’d be two of you,’ she growled.
‘Like I said, just a friendly visit. I’m looking for Matti Kristjans. I understand he’s living here at the moment.’
‘Yeah, Fatso lives here.’
‘And where is he now?’
Tota shrugged and lit another cigarette from the glowing stub of the first. ‘Dunno. He went out.’
‘When?’
Another shrug. ‘Yesterday, maybe?’
‘Was it or wasn’t it?’
‘Dunno. Can’t be sure.’
Gunna took a deep breath and counted to ten. ‘So, Tota, has your bloke still got his little hobby going in the cellar, or has he given that up?’
Tota looked away from the TV for the first time and glowered.
‘You’re not going to make trouble for an old man, are you? What difference does a bottle of moonshine here and there make?’
‘Hard to say. I might not look too closely here and there. Depends how helpful you are. Where’s Matti?’
‘Dunno. He went out yesterday. Paid his rent and was gone. That’s all.’
‘All right. So now you’re sure it was yesterday. Early? Afternoon? Evening?’
‘Morning,’ Tota said. ‘Morning-ish. I don’t know.’
‘Any idea where he went?’
Tota didn’t even shrug, just spread her hands wide. Gunna levered herself thankfully from the chair.
‘Right. I need to see his room.’
‘Upstairs.’ Tota pointed vaguely towards the door.
‘Show me.’
Tota trudged ahead of her up the flight of narrow steps, slippers a size too big flapping against cracked heels, and fished for a set of keys in the pocket of her housecoat. She tried several before the right one clicked into the lock and the door swung open.
‘You ought to have a warrant,’ Tota said dubiously as Gunna snapped on surgical gloves and went into the room.
‘If you want a warrant, I can get one of my colleagues to be here with one in half an hour and I’ll wait in your living room until he gets here. If that’s what you want? Hm?’
Tota lapsed back into insolent silence and watched from the doorway, scattering ash on the carpet.
