27-09-2008 1551
Skandalblogger writes:
Oh, people! 0 tempora, 0 mores, as the poet said and as a very few of Skandalblogger’s classically educated readers will recognize. The rest of you, just google for it.
Sigurjona, what were you thinking with that post-awards bash in someone else’s suite at Hotel Gullfoss? And there was us thinking that white powder was going out of fashion. Which high-ranking Ministry official, which well- known media guru and which fashionable designer were photographed enthusiastically partaking of Sigurjona’s largesse with the cheese grater?
Click here* for the photos — a few details obscured to protect the guilty. Or here* for the video clip of Sigurjona dropping and smashing the exclusive and ludicrously expensive award statue, an individually handcrafted glass artwork by Hanna Kugga.
And where’s the old man? Gallivanting overseas again at the taxpayers’ expense? But, hell and damnation, that’s what we pay our politicians for, to get the hell out of the country for as long and as often as possible so the staff can get on with running the show without interference.
Still, who knows? He’s supposed to be there for the full week, but Skandalblogger hears on the grapevine that there might well be a good reason to come scuttling home early from the conference in Berlin where he’s holed up in the Bristol Hotel, definitely a step up from the Gruesome Gullfoss and its Latvian hookers. At least at the Bristol there’s a bit more variety to choose from.
Well, Bjarni Jon . . . See you on . . . Wednesday? Maybe Thursday?
The call icon winked on the screen of Bjarni Jon Bjarnason’s laptop. Birna raised a questioning eyebrow and he nodded to her. She silently stood up from her side of the vast dining table scattered with papers.
Bjarni Jon clicked on the accept call button and Sigurjona’s voice erupted through the speaker at the same time as an imperfect image of her appeared in a box below the internet phone’s control panel. He could see that she was dressed smartly, as if for the office.
‘Hi, darling. How are you? Everything OK at home?’
‘Of course,’ Sigurjona snapped back. ‘Are you alone? Why can’t I see you on-screen?’
Bjarni Jon sighed. Birna looked at him inquiringly from the sofa on the far side of the suite where she had retreated with a pile of paperwork. The inquiring look asked if she should leave them to speak privately.
‘Birna’s here. We’re preparing for the meeting with Horst. You can’t see me because I don’t have a camera on this computer.’
‘All right. Listen.’
Bjarni Jon could make out his wife’s pinched features. ‘What is it, love? How did the awards go? I take it they gave you something?’
‘Yeah. Most forward-thinking company, or some such crap. There was a hideous statue that came with it, so I dumped that,’ Sigurjona said quickly. ‘Listen, I can’t get in touch with my sister. She doesn’t answer her phone.’
Bjarni Jon drummed the desk with his fingers. ‘So? There’s nothing new about that.’
‘And I’ve had the police here this morning asking about Hardy. They want to question him about that boy who was found dead in Hvalvik. I’m worried about this and I can’t reach Hardy either.’
‘Shit,’ Bjarni Jon hissed to himself and fumbled for a headset that he plugged into the computer. Sigurjona’s voice broke into his ears and would at least keep half of the conversation private. ‘Have you called the compound?’
‘Of course I did, and his mobile,’ Sigurjona snarled. ‘I’m not an idiot.’
‘I never said you were,’ Bjarni Jon said hastily. ‘Where did you see Hardy last?’
‘At the awards last night.’
‘He was there? Why?’
‘Because I invited him.’
‘Good grief.’
‘The police have some idea that he has a violent past.’
‘We knew that already. Horst told us.’
‘Not directly.’
‘No. He hinted. He said that Hardy was very competent,’ Bjarni Jon said, looking over the top of the screen to see if Birna was paying any attention, but she appeared to be engrossed in paperwork now spread across the sofa.
‘Where are you, anyway?’ Sigurjona demanded.
‘Hotel Bristol.’
‘Yeah, but where?’
‘Berlin.’
‘Again?’
‘Yup, again. Environment Ministers’ conference.’
‘God.’
Bjarni Jon could see Sigurjona’s face on the screen looking down at the keyboard as she typed. She looked strained, he thought, more tense than usual. He peered at the image of her beamed from the camera on top of her laptop.
‘Are you all right, Sugarplum?’ he asked tenderly.
‘What?’
He saw her sit up straight, startled.
‘Are you all right?’ he repeated.
‘Yes, yes,’ she replied quickly. ‘You’re meeting Horst this afternoon?’
‘Tomorrow.’
‘Anything special?’
‘Not that I’m aware of. Just a routine chat, I suppose. He asked for this meeting. What do you want me to do about— you know?’ he asked, avoiding mentioning the police out loud with Birna in the room.
‘Will you call Larus?’
‘Larus Johann? Again?’
‘Yes.’
‘And talk about what?’
‘Just call him and ask him what’s going on.’
‘Look, how can I?’
‘He’s the Justice Minister. He ought to have some bloody clue about what his police force is doing.’
‘He’s done us a lot of favours already. It’s not even as if we’re the same party. I can’t call on him too often.’
Bjarni Jon saw Sigurjona’s face grimace with anger, fuzzed by the time-lapse imaging of the internet phone.
‘Just do it, will you?’ she snapped and Bjarni Jon was relieved that he had had the foresight to plug in the headset.
‘I’ll do what I can,’ he replied smoothly for Birna’s benefit, suppressing the irritation building up inside.
‘OK. Do that. I’m going to try Erna again. It’s not like her to not answer me.’
‘All right, darling, let me know, won’t you?’
‘Yeah. And you’ll let me know when you’ve spoken to Larus. Bye.’
The stop sign appeared in the connection box on the screen and Bjarni Jon wondered what he was going to say to the Minister of Justice.
30
