‘Yup, it stinks. But fishermen and coppers will be fine, just you see,’ Gunna assured him.
Bjossi refilled his mug from the thermos. He wedged a hard lump of sugar between his teeth and sipped his fresh coffee through it.
‘I hope somebody’s going to be fine,’ Bjossi mumbled with the sugar lump still between his teeth. ‘The exchange rate’s up and down. I don’t care what the government tries to tell us, I can see prices of everything going up and Dora says it’s dearer just to live now. Half of the Poles and whatnot have already left, except the ones running lucrative dope businesses.’
‘You’re probably right, but what’s going to change? Nothing. Anyway, what’s keeping you so busy over at Keflavik that you can’t help an old colleague out for a few hours?’
‘Dope, dope and more dope.’ Bjossi sighed. ‘It’s just never-ending and I’m sick of it. It’s dealing with these bloody low-lifes that I’m fed up with, day in, day out.’
‘Well, you shouldn’t have joined the police in that case.’
‘Probably right,’ Bjossi said, standing up. ‘But I reckon we’re both stuck with it now, Gunna. Come and find me if you’re in Keflavik tomorrow. By the way, who’s the toyboy?’
‘What?’
‘Your young man.’
‘Oh, him. He’s a journalist on
‘Fun for you.’ Bjossi sniggered while Gunna glowered.
‘It was wished on me,’ she said. ‘Shit, that reminds me.’
‘Of what?’
‘I’ve just remembered I had a meeting with Vilhjalmur Traustason this morning.’
‘Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I told our glorious leader that you were a bit busy today.’
2
Wednesday, 27 August
Gunna’s flat soles slapped on the polished floor of the hospital corridor. Sigmar’s office was at the far end of the passage, marked only with a handwritten sign that indicated the occupant’s name and not his position.
Hearing voices within, she knocked and pushed the door open without waiting for a response. Sigmar swivelled round, the phone at his ear.
‘I’ll have to call you back. Sorry, I have a visitor. Yes, an hour at least.’
He dropped the phone on to its handset and smiled. ‘Good morning, sergeant. You’ve come to my rescue.’
‘Morning. In what way?’
‘One of the administrators,’ he said with distaste, glaring at the phone. ‘More cash-saving incentives needed, although obviously that wouldn’t extend to bureaucrats. But hopefully in an hour when the lady calls back, I’ll be on my way home for lunch,’ he added with satisfaction.
‘A result, then?’
‘Indeed. Now, our young man.’ He shuffled through papers and came up with a handwritten sheet. ‘Of course you’d have the full report tomorrow, but I understand that you’ll need to know as much as possible straight away.’
‘It helps.’
Sigmar consulted the sheet. ‘Actually I can’t tell you much more than I did yesterday at the scene, except to confirm he hadn’t been in the water for more than a few hours. Six, at most.’
‘The body was located at six thirty.’
‘Around midnight, not before. He was also extremely drunk, almost double the drink-driving limit. At any rate it’s not surprising that he may have missed his footing. He’d certainly have had trouble walking in a straight line at that level of intoxication. The cause of death was drowning.’
Gunna scribbled notes in a pad as Sigmar spoke. ‘So he was alive when he hit the water?’
‘Oh, yes. But apart from that, there’s not much to tell. He was in good health, didn’t smoke, or at least not often, wasn’t overweight. He clearly didn’t do any kind of manual work as his hands are as soft as a baby’s bottom.’
‘Any distinguishing marks?’ Gunna asked.
‘Ah, yes. We have a tattoo. On the left upper arm.’
Sigmar tapped at his computer keyboard and swivelled the monitor round so they could both see it.
‘There you are. Wonderful things, computers,’ he said appreciatively as Gunna looked at the magnified image of the young man’s pale skin and the stylized motif of a book with E3 on one open page and V2 on the page opposite.
‘Will you email me these pictures? E-three?’
‘E cubed, EEE. Someone’s initials, maybe?’ Sigmar mused. ‘Who knows? It could be anything. But that’s your job, sergeant.’
‘Of course.’ She made a note and moved on. ‘Any DNA evidence?’
Sigmar frowned. ‘This isn’t CSI, you know. If he has a criminal record, we’ll know in a couple of days. But if he’s an honest man, then the answer’s no.’
‘We’ll see, then.’
‘A little conundrum for you, sergeant?’ Sigmar smiled. ‘Now, I’ll give you my mobile number in case you have any more questions. But if you don’t mind, I’d really like to not be here when the financial controller calls back.’
27-08-2008, 1339
Skandalblogger writes:
Keeping our end up!
We’re still here, ladies and gentlemen, and we know how much you all appreciate the Skandalblogger’s efforts to keep youup to date with the great and the good.
The latest is that our last gem of gossip, brought to us by word of mouth from someone who knows, has resulted in the abject fury of a certain recently re-elected former jailbird, who has been going apeshit over our revelation that he’s had a hair transplant.
Strangely, he didn’t seem to mind too much about being called a disgraced convicted criminal. Well, you can’t argue with the truth . . . But, no, it’s the rug thing that’s really got his goat. That’s putting his priorities in the right place.
B?jo!
An hour later Gunna was at the police station in Keflavik. Like Sigmar at the hospital, Chief Inspector Vilhjalmur Traustason had a surprisingly small office and, at more than two metres in height, he seemed to fill most of it. No lightweight herself, Gunna felt that the room could burst if a third person were to try and squeeze in. She sipped weak coffee and placed the cup awkwardly on the corner of his desk.
‘Sorry about yesterday. It was something of a busy day,’ she apologized without a shred of remorse in her voice.
‘Understood. Investigation has to take precedence,’ he said stiffly. ‘Now, resources.’
‘Indeed. How much is there in the kitty for me to spend?’
‘Less than ever,’ he replied with a tiny sigh, finally looking up from the screen of the laptop on the desk.
‘I need—’
‘I know what you need.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because you tell me at every available opportunity exactly what you need, as does every other station officer in the county. And I have to keep telling you that there are fewer financial resources available. But . . .’ Vilhjalmur
