‘I’m asking you as an expert in your field.’
Kolbeinn looked Gunna directly in the eye. ‘Ultimately, global capitalism. But immediately, I’d say it was one of InterAlu’s people, a man called Horst. I have no doubt he was the one who gave the instructions. But who actually did the deed, I have no idea. Maybe this guy here?’ And he looked sideways through narrowed eyes at the picture of Harde on the desk.
***
Everyone watched as Gunna brooded. She wondered briefly if Bjossi or any of the other older officers had mentioned anything about her background to these young police officers who had started their careers well after her return from extended sick leave to take over the quiet backwater of Hvalvik.
‘Any sightings of Matti Kristjans?’ she demanded, brushing aside irrelevant thoughts.
‘Nothing so far,’ Snorri said. ‘According to Nonni the Taxi, Matti has two phones, one of his own and one that he uses for taxi work. Both are switched off. There have been no sightings that we’re aware of, except that the taxi went through the Hvalfjordur tunnel last Sunday and hasn’t been logged coming back.’
Gunna breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Our Matti has a long history of taking to his heels when it comes to trouble. We can assume that he’s at least still alive and is somewhere outside the city,’ she replied, aware that the others would now be wondering how she knew so much about a taxi driver’s personal habits. ‘I might even hazard a guess as to where he’s gone. Bara, Borgarnes?’
‘Nothing yet. The Borgarnes force is still knocking on doors in the area, but unfortunately they’re a bit stretched right now.’
‘Just like every bloody force,’ Bjossi said sombrely.
‘Yeah, but they’ve also just found a dope farm and investigating that is taking a good bit of their time right now.’
‘Now,’ Gunna continued. ‘Progress on our man, the elusive Mr Harde. What do we have? Snorri?’
‘His credit cards are all in order. He’s been here quite legally as an EU citizen and he seems to travel under his own name and on a valid passport. We have no idea where he is right now.’
‘What else?’ Gunna asked, seeing a smile forming at the corners of his mouth.
‘I was up at the Lagoon site yesterday to go through the traffic schedule and as I was talking to the foreman there, I thought I’d show him the picture of our man. And what do you think? He’s working there as some kind of security adviser. Turns up unexpectedly every day or three, makes a few phone calls and then disappears again.’
‘Right under our noses? Bloody hell.’
‘Yeah. Seems he’s pretty discreet about his movements. But the foreman reckons he’s British or American, calls himself Hardy with a Y on the end. Shouldn’t we put a full-scale search into action and see if he can be flushed out?’
Gunna tapped the table with her fingertips in an irregular rhythm. Only Bjossi smiled at the reminder of Gunna thinking hard that he hadn’t seen for a long time.
‘No. I don’t want to spook him, and it’s not as if we have the manpower to sustain a full-scale search for more than a couple of days. Great if it works, but a disaster if it doesn’t. The man knows what he’s doing and I’m concerned that if we put pressure on, he’ll vanish.’
‘How?’ Snorri asked. ‘There’s only one airport and we can keep watch on all the flights.’
‘There may only be one airport, but there are plenty of ways in and out of this country, particularly for someone with this man’s experience and links to a company like InterAlu. They’re the next people we need to have a word with. Snorri, would you investigate and set up a meeting?’
‘Actually, I already have,’ he said shyly. ‘Investigated, that is. InterAlu themselves aren’t part of the picture at all, except as shareholders. The smelter is owned by a company called Bay Metals, which they own forty-nine per cent of and possibly more under other guises as there are quite a few foreign shareholders. The biggest local shareholder is a trading company called Spear Investments, which is owned by—’
‘Sigurjona Huldudottir?’ Gunna asked.
‘Well, her and her husband. The same company’s also the largest single shareholder in ESC and the Hvalvik Lagoon power plant.’
‘You know, we keep coming back to this bloody woman all the time. I think it’s time we had another chat with her.’
‘Shall I arrange it?’ Bara asked.
‘No. I feel it might be better to just show up unannounced tomorrow morning. Snorri and Bara, I’d like to have both of you with me on this one.’
‘You know who her husband is?’ Bjossi asked dubiously.
‘I’m very much aware that she’s married to the Minister for Environmental Affairs, but I’ve dealt with more unpleasant people than him in the past,’ Gunna replied, to sharp intakes of breath from around the table. ‘But I’m also sure that if anyone has an idea where our Mr Harde is, then she does.’
Sigurjona stepped through the Gullfoss Hotel’s side door with her sister Erna unsteady on her feet at her side and Hardy padding silently behind.
He kept to one side as they were greeted with flurries of kisses. Hardy flinched as cameras flashed and he watched as liveried waiters brought trays of glasses, choosing fruit juice for himself while Sigurjona and Erna made short work of successive deliveries.
Boredom was something Hardy handled well. Military training had taught him to keep quiet until something needed to be said, and in prison he had learned to keep within his own thoughts for as long as necessary. Hunting for prey of four- and two-legged varieties had given him patience greater than that of any prey he had outwaited. Sitting at Sigurjona’s and Erna’s table at an awards ceremony was not quite the same thing, but he still was able to call on old skills as the people around him chattered in Icelandic interspersed with odd English words, occasionally breaking into shrill laughter.
The food was acceptable, although cold, and in a restaurant he would have sent it back. But prison and the military had taught him not to pass up a meal, so he ate the fragrant but rapidly cooling lamb and potatoes, sipped his drink and enjoyed the sight of Sigurjona, Erna and the rest of their group becoming progressively more raucous as the bottles of wine on the table were systematically drained. He wondered how capable Jon Oddur, the sweating young man detailed to assist him, would be in the morning.
‘Are you enjoying yourself, darling?’ Erna yelled into his ear, draping an arm loosely around his neck and pummelling his shoulder with her free hand.
‘Of course,’ Hardy replied smoothly.
‘You’re not drinking?’
‘I don’t drink. At least not alcohol.’
‘Drying out?’
‘No. I just don’t drink.’
‘Everyone drinks. Unless they’re drying out,’ Erna said with finality.
Sigurjona’s name was called out and she lurched upright to walk falteringly towards the stage where a young man with a head as shiny as his suit was waiting for her and clapping.
‘What’s the award for?’ Hardy asked Erna, who had a hand on his shoulder again.
‘I don’t fucking know. Best advert for decaffeinated yoghurt or something like that. Nobody goes away from here without a prize,’ she yelled back at him over the storm of applause that greeted Sigurjona’s arrival on stage.
Sigurjona grabbed the microphone ahead of the shiny-suited compere and launched into the impromptu speech that one of the office staff had carefully crafted for her that afternoon. The room quietened as she began, but the speech lasted a long time for something made up on the spur of the moment and the level of chatter rose steadily, moving gradually forward from the back tables.
‘What’s your sister saying?’ Hardy asked.
‘Just bullshit. She’s thanking everybody she’s ever met, including the postman, the girl she sat next to in primary school, her personal trainer, and her husband.’
‘Where is he tonight?’
‘Hell, I don’t know where high-and-mighty Bjarni Jon is,’ she snarled. Hardy was interested to see she disliked
