Sunday, 28 September
‘Hell, I’d just take the money and say thank you in your position,’ Bjossi said firmly. ‘I wouldn’t even consider turning that kind of thing down.’
‘Yeah, but it’s the moving part I’m not so keen on.’
‘Why? Cheap housing in the east and you can rent out your place here to some yuppie couple who can’t afford to live in Reykjavik. You’d be quids in, especially with an inspector’s pay grade. And the job might be more fun.’
Gunna had discouraged opinions from colleagues who had managed to hear of the offer of promotion and the transfer that would go with it. Bjossi was the latest and also the most forthright in his advice.
‘I know. But it’s Gisli and Laufey I’m concerned about. I really don’t want to uproot her from school, especially as she’s doing well and seems happy enough there.’
‘Gunna, my dear, I’m sorry to break this to you, but Gisli’s a big lad and he’ll want his own place soon enough. All right, Laufey’s thirteen, so how long do you think she’s going to want to stay with Mum?’
‘But Bjossi, I like living in Hvalvik. It suits me. It’s comfortable.’
Bjossi wanted to stamp his feet. ‘Just right. It’s too bloody comfortable, Gunna. You’re getting old and set in your ways before your time.’
‘Are you trying to get rid of me, or what?’ Gunna retorted. ‘To be honest with you, I had been wondering about leaving the force and giving something else a try.’
Bjossi laughed. ‘And do what? Gunna, I can’t see you working on the meat counter in the Co-op.’
‘Don’t talk such crap. My widow’s pension keeps the wolf from the door, and there’s security work, insurance claim stuff, that sort of thing.’
Bjossi stood up and shrugged himself into an outsized overcoat that Gunna had told him many times made him look like a flasher. ‘Well, it’s up to you. But times are going to be bloody tough in the next few years and working for the public sector at least has a bit of security about it. You’d be bloody mad to turn it down. Up a pay scale, a shift to plain clothes if you want it, cheap housing. Even if it’s just for a year or two, it’d be worth it,’ he said heavily. ‘Come on, apart from this case, what’s the most interesting piece of work you’ve had in the last year? Was it when Sigga Vesteins broke into the pharmacy and you had to follow the footprints in the snow to find out which low-life it was, or was it when you had to bust Albert Jonasson for 300 kilos of over-quota cod?’
‘Ach, Bjossi, I don’t know.’
‘Gunna, look, either take the job or get yourself a boyfriend. You deserve a little excitement for a change.’
‘Where are you?’ Sigurjona demanded immediately the phone was answered.
‘Reykjavik,’ Hardy replied. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘The police have been here looking for you. Where are you at the moment?’
‘Let’s just say I’m in Iceland. It may be best if you don’t know exactly where I am.’
Sigurjona paced up and down the black quarry tiles of her rarely used designer kitchen, and noticed that the cleaner had left smears on the stainless steel hood over the six-burner gas stove. She made a mental note to have words with the girl. ‘They know about you and are looking for you.’
‘That’s understandable. Do you know what information they have?’
‘No. They were very cagey and wouldn’t say anything except that it’s high-priority.’
Hardy looked up from the armchair enclosing him and listened to Erna singing tunelessly to herself in the bedroom. He was amazed at the woman’s energy. There was definitely something about these sisters, he thought to himself.
‘Listen, have you seen my sister?’ Sigurjona demanded suddenly.
‘Why?’
‘I can’t reach her and I haven’t seen her since the awards. Did she go home with you?’
‘She’s fine.’ Hardy chuckled. ‘I’ll ask her to call you.’
‘Shit. Well, that’s a relief anyway. At least I know why the randy old cow’s not answering her phone. I hope she hasn’t completely tired you out?’
‘Tell me about your visit from the police. What did they want, exactly?’
‘To know where you are. That’s all they’d say.’
‘A senior officer?’
‘There were three of them. A sergeant and two officers.’
‘Plain clothes or uniform?’
‘Uniform.’
‘Do you have the man’s name?’
‘It’s a woman. Gunnhildur. She used to be quite well known. She’s tough.’
‘We’ll see. I’m sure we can fix something,’ Hardy said with a chill in his voice. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, this isn’t a secure line and I have some things to arrange.’
‘OK. But get Erna to call me, all right? Hardy?’
‘Yes?’
Sigurjona was silent for a moment.
‘Was Einar Eyjolfur’s death anything to do with you?’ she asked, almost whispering the words and listening to Hardy’s silence.
‘That’s an unpleasant question,’ he replied eventually, smoothly. ‘But I take it his disappearing was useful for you?’
‘Well, it was. Yes.’
‘Then don’t worry about it.’
Bjarni Jon Bjarnason was learning how shock feels. His fingers and feet were numb, and he found himself observing his own reactions to the news with a detached objectivity that surprised him.
‘Jeeesus,’ he whispered silently to himself.
Horst meshed his fingers delicately together and planted his elbows on the glossy tabletop, so perfectly polished that his whole image was mirrored in the surface.
‘Are you all right, Mr Bjarnason? I am, of course, sorry to have to bring you such unwelcome news. Would you like a drink?’
‘Er, no thanks,’ Bjarni Jon stumbled, trying to keep an outward semblance of composure. ‘Can I ask the reasons for this?’
‘Certainly,’ Horst answered smoothly. ‘This seemed like a very positive project at the time when others were setting up geothermal and hydro-electric systems for powering smelters. We definitely saw this as a possibility, but when our Norwegian friends pulled out for reasons of their own—’
‘Ethical reasons,’ Bjarni Jon added sourly.
‘Exactly, ethical reasons.’
‘Surely you weren’t all that concerned about ethics?’
A narrow smile flashed across Horst’s face. ‘Not particularly, but our parent company, as you know, is looking at the long term and they are concerned about adverse publicity, as well as other aspects. To be quite blunt, we do not have confidence in your economy and we understand that the financial sector in your country is weakening.’
‘What?’ Bjarni Jon demanded. ‘Our banks are in a very strong position. I think you’re on the wrong track here.’
Horst’s face gave nothing away. ‘If you think so, Mr Bjarnason. But we have very reliable information to the effect that your bank does not have the funds to support your company’s activities.’
‘That’s absolutely ridiculous. There have been a few minor exchange rate problems, but our financial sector is one of the strongest in the world.’
‘We are fully aware of who your bankers are and what their real position is. If I were in your position, Mr Bjarnason, I would be concerned.’
Bjarni Jon realized that there was no menace in Horst’s voice. He had the feeling that he was being given unwanted advice by a wise uncle.
