outwards to indicate that he did not intend to take part other than to listen.
‘Who spoke to the snapper, Armann?’
‘Me, chief,’ Snorri replied quickly. ‘Nothing much to tell, really. He didn’t notice Erna and Harde particularly, just snapped off the photo of every table and got as many names as he could.’
‘Nothing, then?’
‘Nothing we didn’t know already. He showed me the whole file of pictures he took, and our two can only be seen in a couple of them. He left before the party really got going. But he said he saw all the awards being presented and also Sigurjona dropping hers on the floor.’
‘How did that happen?’ Gunna asked.
‘Just pissed, I think. Armann also did some video and he admitted he’d posted the clip of Sigurjona dropping her statue on to YouTube, the one that Skandalblogger linked to.’
‘Any significance there? Does this guy have a link to the Skandalblogger?’ Gunna asked.
‘Could be. But if so, he’s not saying anything, which is hardly surprising. Is that relevant at this stage?’
‘Probably not,’ Gunna decided. ‘Making a fool of yourself in public generally isn’t a criminal offence. I just want to know where that bloody Harde is and if Sigurjona’s fruitcake sister is still in the land of the living. Who dug up the flight ticket info?’
‘Me again, chief.’ Snorri’s hand went up. ‘17.35 flight this afternoon to Madrid, booked in the names of Erna Danielsdottir and Gunnar Hadre.’
‘Hadre?’
‘Well, close enough to Harde. I checked back with the airline. It was booked over the net using a credit card that checks back to Erna Dan.’
Gunna leaned back and stretched her legs out in front under the table. ‘What I’m wondering is this, did Erna book this and maybe type in Harde’s name wrong? Or did maybe Harde book this using her computer and credit card? I have to admit, I’m getting a nasty feeling that we’re going to find a seriously dead Erna somewhere sooner or later.’
‘Ah, I’ll see if I can check,’ Snorri said. He seated himself in front of one of the semi-dormant computers and tapped at the keyboard to wake it.
‘What does anybody think?’ Gunna asked. ‘I reckon it stinks.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘The man knows we’re looking for him.’
‘How would he know that?’ Vilhjalmur asked quietly.
‘Because Sigurjona bloody Huldudottir told him so. Anyhow, it seems too easy. Watch the airport and wait for him to show up. It’s too simple. A man like Harde doesn’t get caught out like this.’
‘Where else could he go?’ Bara asked.
‘Hell, I don’t know. There are private aircraft coming in and out, more than ever now that Iceland has more billionaires per square metre than anywhere else in Europe. There are other airports, shipping, the ferry in the east. Or he might lie low until the heat’s off.’
‘Where, though? He’d be noticed, surely?’ Snorri suggested.
Gunna opened her mouth to speak, but closed it as the door banged open and Bjossi came in.
‘I thought you were at Hverfisgata practising police brutality on Sigurjona?’ he said, as Gunna watched deep disapproval register on Vilhjalmur Traustason’s face.
‘Gave up. She flatly refuses to say anything at all without her lawyer present. I left her in an interview room with old Viggo Bjorgvins to bore the crap out of her.’
‘That’ll do the trick. People have been known to admit to all sorts rather than listen to that old fart drone on for hours on end,’ Bjossi agreed. ‘Oh, and there’s a young man down in reception, wants to speak to you and says it’s urgent.’
‘What? Who’s that?’
‘Don’t know. Said his name’s Skuli. Does that mean anything to you?’
‘Ah. Yes. In that case, ten minutes for a coffee and a fag for the puffers. Back here at . . .’ She looked up at the clock, registering that any chance of a lunch break had been and gone. ‘Back at five past.’
‘Getting anywhere, Snorri?’ Gunna called across the room as she opened the door.
‘The technical bloke at the airline says he’s sure enough that the flights were booked using the Icelandic version of the web page. Also, whoever booked it got all the accents right in Erna’s name, but got Harde’s name wrong.’
‘Well, I suppose that indicates Erna was alive when the flights were booked,’ Gunna rumbled.
‘Yeah, but that’s not all. There’s a Gunnvald Strom booked on a flight to Billund this afternoon as well.’
‘Bluff? Coincidence? We’d best have a presence at the airport and look out for Mr Strom and hopefully eliminate him.’
Skuli was sitting in the police station’s lobby with Lara at his side.
‘What brings you here?’ Gunna asked as she sat down next to them.
‘The guy. We’ve seen him.’
‘Which guy? Who do you mean?’
‘The one you’re looking for. The one on the
‘Harde?’
‘I don’t know his name. But the one who was sitting at the table in that picture.’
‘He was on the march,’ Lara added.
‘Where? When?’
‘About twenty minutes ago. At the check-in desk at the airport.’
‘You’re sure? What was he up to?’
‘He was in the queue to check in for a flight, I suppose.’
‘Bloody hell. What were you doing up there, anyway?’
Skuli grimaced. ‘A shot in the dark. Bjarni Jon Bjarnason was arriving from Berlin. We were supposed to try and get a comment from him if we could, now that the InterAlu withdrawal seems to be happening, but he must have been whisked away through the VIP lounge. Which is what we’d expected anyway. Instead of going straight back, we decided to go for a coffee in the cafe by the departure desks and Lara almost walked into him.’
‘Did he see either of you?’
‘Don’t think so.’
‘Would he recognize either of you anyway?’
‘I doubt it. We only spoke for a few minutes.’
‘Good. Right. I have to run, as you can imagine, Skuli. I can’t tell you how grateful I am for the information, and if this comes off, I owe you an enormous favour.’
Skuli grinned broadly. ‘No problem.’
‘By the way,’ she murmured in a voice that wouldn’t carry, ‘maybe you ought to know that a certain prominent political figure’s wife is in a cell at Hverfisgata, not that you heard that from me.’
Skuli grinned. ‘Great. Thanks, chief.’
‘Call me tomorrow. OK?’ Gunna shot at him, departing at a trot.
‘Vilhjalmur!’ Gunna bellowed, bursting back into the incident room. ‘Where the hell is the bloody man when you need him?’
‘Here, Gunnhildur. If you’d slow down for a second, you’d find me right behind you,’ he said tartly.
‘Right. No time to fart about,’ she said briskly as the rest of them appeared, having heard Gunna’s bellow echo through the building. ‘Our man’s at Keflavik airport right now.’
‘And you thought he wouldn’t be?’ Snorri mumbled through a mouthful of sandwich.
‘I may be wrong. So fire me. I’m told he was at check-in twenty minutes ago, so he’s probably checked in by now and waiting for his flight. Vilhjalmur, I want the airport force alerted straight away.’
‘They’re already on standby for this person, but it hasn’t helped with the Minister going through and all the press they expected.’
‘I don’t give a stuff about the Minister. He’s long gone by now. Get them back on the ball and tell them that
