‘Bloody hope not,’ Haddi grumbled. ‘I’ve got enough on my plate as it is with all this traffic and whatnot going through the place. As for paperwork . . .’
His voice dropped to a mutter when he realized Gunna’s attention was on the computer as she quickly scrolled through her messages, deleting as she went.
Hi Gunna,
The article’s almost finished and I have just a couple of points I’d like to go over with you before I hand it over to the editor. Can we meet in the next few days? By the way, I’ve attached a few of Lara’s photos that we’d like to use with the feature. Can you let me know if these are OK? If there’s any you really hate, I’ll make sure they’re left out.
Thanks, regards, Skuli.
‘Hey, Haddi,’ Gunna called. ‘Come and have a look. We’re going to be famous,’ she said, clicking on the icons one at a time to open the picture files.
Haddi bustled in and stood behind her as she ran through the photos of the station, Haddi and Snorri sitting at their desks, both of them being briefed, Snorri manning a speed camera with Gunna scowling behind him.
‘Good grief, Gunna, my girl, you look like you’ve had a bag of sour lemons for breakfast there.’ Haddi guffawed.
‘And you look like one of the Keystone Kops.’
‘That’s a good one.’
‘I like that, the way they’ve got the whole village in the background.’
‘She’s bloody good with a camera, that girl is,’ Haddi had to admit.
Gunna clicked on the final picture and brought up an image of herself taken during the march on the InterAlu compound, from a low viewpoint and with the hills and some of the marchers reflected in her mirror sunglasses.
‘So’s that. Makes me look like a proper mean old cow. I hope they use that one.’
Haddi took off his glasses, polished them on his tie, put them back on and peered at the screen.
‘I’ve seen that bloke,’ he said, pointing to a man among the crowd behind Gunna’s shoulder in the picture, who was staring directly at the camera. She peered at the screen and found herself looking into the eyes of a man she had last seen on a car park surveillance camera.
‘Him?’ she asked, pointing.
‘That’s him. Fair-haired feller, the one in the pale leather jacket.’
‘All right. When did you see him?’
‘Saturday morning, I think. He was down at Hafnarkaffi, getting out of a taxi with a big fat bloke.’
‘Any reason you noticed him?’
Haddi scratched his head. ‘Not really. You don’t often see a Reykjavik taxi round here, that’s all, and the driver looked a right shady sort of character, didn’t like the look of him at all. I was going to check his tyres, but I’d just been down the quay and it would have made me late for coffee here. So I didn’t bother.’
‘A Reykjavik taxi? Did you get a number?’ Gunna asked sharply.
‘No. Didn’t bother. They were probably going to the aluminium place and stopped off to get petrol or something.’
‘What sort of car was it?’
‘Mercedes,’ Haddi replied instantly. ‘Green, station wagon. Dent in the passenger side front wing. Why do you ask?’
‘Just wondering. What about the driver? Big guy?’
‘Big, well, a fat bloke anyway.’
‘Big tache? One of those seventies ones like the Smokey and the Bandit guy?’
‘That’s it. Didn’t like the look of him at all.’
‘Not to worry, Haddi. Not to worry,’ Gunna said, reaching for the phone and stabbing at numbers.
‘Skuli Sn?dal, please,’ she said crisply to the receptionist who answered. ‘Yes, it is important. This is Gunnhildur Gisladottir at Hvalvik police and I don’t care in the least if he’s in a meeting.’
Matti opened his eyes and looked at the lumps on the ceiling that took him back to being a small boy again when he had been dispatched to Alfasteinn every summer, until he was precocious enough a teenager to spend the summer baiting lines and watching the slate-grey halibut flop over the gunwale instead.
He reached out, expecting Marika to be curled in a ball beside him, but his hand found only a cold depression in the mattress.
‘Marika!’
‘What?’
Matti hauled on his trousers and made his way blearily to the bathroom where he peed loudly and with great relief. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Nothing,’ she replied from the next room.
In Alfasteinn’s long kitchen, she sat in a ragged armchair with a large black and white cat perched on its arm. Both of them looked at Matti as he appeared, face puffed and the hair on one side of his head standing on end. Marika put the book she was reading on the other arm of the chair.
‘Where’s Loa?’
‘Gone out.’
‘Going to be long, d’you know?’
‘She say she be quick. An hour, maybe. She is nice lady, your cousin.’
‘Ach, she’s all right, is Loa. A bit of a monster sometimes. Any coffee?’ he asked through a yawn.
‘On cooker.’ Marika picked up the book and returned to it.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Reading.’
‘Reading what?’
‘English book.
‘Good?’
‘Yes.’
Matti shuffled over to the stove and poured coffee from the pot. He yawned again, scratched and drank. Marika looked up for a moment and shook her head briefly. Matti switched on the radio over the sink and listened for a minute to an announcer reading out a list of forthcoming funerals before he switched off again and wandered to the window to look out over the sea. Marika turned a page and carried on reading.
Suddenly the cat jumped down to the floor and went to sit expectantly by the door. Matti watched it drowsily and wondered if it had seen a mouse, but the door creaked open and a large collie loped in, greeting the cat before lying down on a square of carpet under the window. Behind the collie came the stocky figure of Loa, kicking off rubber boots at the door and padding in thick socks into the kitchen.
‘Ah, Matti my boy, so you’ve finally managed to drag your fat arse out of bed, have you? The whole bloody house was shaking, you were snoring so loud.’
‘Yes, Loa, dear cousin.’
She heaved a bag on to the worktop and a chunk of meat oozing blood could be seen inside.
‘What’s for dinner, then?’
‘Hallgrimur over at Einarsnes shot a seal yesterday and this is my share of it. Good of him, I think.’
She lowered herself with a groan into a chair.
‘Bad back still?’ Matti asked.
Loa nodded. ‘Now and again. Well, what brings you up here this time?’
‘Ach. You know. Needed to get away for a while.’
‘In trouble again?’
‘Sort of.’
‘What sort of?’
‘Nothing much. Just need to let the dust settle.’
‘That’s not what I gathered from your young lady.’
