again, isn’t sure. The woman at the car hire desk reckons she’d recognize him if she saw him, but Ib Torbensen’s credit card and driving licence pretty much nail him down there anyway.’
‘And his phone?’
‘Still switched off.’
‘The man knows what he’s doing. I’ll bet you anything you like he’s ditched that phone and he’s using another one by now. Right, Bjossi, my man. Are you going to get out and let a lady dress in peace and quiet?’
She gestured towards her shirt and uniform trousers folded over the back of the cell’s only chair.
‘I suppose so,’ Bjossi sighed. ‘Of course, if I’d known you were scantily clad under that duvet, I’d have crawled in before I woke you up.’
‘Get away, you randy old goat,’ Gunna retorted. ‘If I didn’t know better I’d think your Dora wasn’t giving you any.’
Ten minutes later they met again in the incident room. Vilhjalmur Traustason put his head around the door and withdrew quickly.
‘What do we know?’ Gunna asked, yawning.
‘Last sighting of our man prior to the airport yesterday was at the InterAlu compound in Hvalvik. The operations manager there said he left before eleven. Maybe he went there yesterday to deliver the bad news.’
‘Bad news?’
Bjossi put morning newspapers on the table and spread them out in a fan. Each one had a picture of Bjarni Jon Bjarnason on the cover, except for
‘Has that bloody woman been let out?’ Gunna demanded.
‘I’m afraid so,’ Bjossi confirmed tentatively. ‘Orders from high up, or so we’re told. It’s handy to have friends in high places.’
‘Shit,’ Gunna cursed as the door opened and Vilhjalmur Traustason came in soundlessly. ‘Vilhjalmur, those idiots in Reykjavik have let that bloody woman out.’
It wasn’t a question and Gunna’s tone made it into an accusation.
‘No choice in the matter. She’s not to leave Reykjavik, though.’
‘Larus Johann?’
Vilhjalmur Traustason allowed himself the thinnest of smiles.
‘No,’ he said softly. ‘I have a feeling that Bjarni Jon Bjarnason’s influence isn’t quite as strong as it was a few days ago. Sigurjona Huldudottir’s lawyers made a case for release that we couldn’t give a good reason for opposing. However, I have passed on your information to the narcotics squad and it’s being investigated. That’s all I know right now.’
‘I hope they hang the bloody woman out to dry,’ Gunna grated.
‘Are you telling me, Gunnhildur, my dear, that you don’t care for the lady?’ Bjossi asked with exaggerated courtesy.
‘Quite right. Now, business. Where’s Harde now?’
‘Still in Iceland,’ Bjossi said. ‘We can be sure that unless he managed to disguise himself pretty fantastically, he didn’t leave through the airport yesterday and it’s so heavily monitored now that he daren’t even try.’
‘How good is the monitoring over there? I’m wondering how long he’ll have to lie low before things cool off and he can try again? Or try another route? Where do we look next?’
‘Do we need to?’ Bjossi asked.
‘What do you mean?’
‘The man knows what he’s doing, but he has to have some kind of contact with other people. The longer he’s in the country, the more chance he’ll show up or at least be noticed. He’s not a local and as soon as he opens his mouth he certainly can’t pass for one. His face was all over the TV last night and today it’s all over the papers. If he’s not aware of that already, he will be soon and he’ll know someone’s going to recognize him.’
‘So, you’re saying that he’ll have to move quickly?’
‘Exactly,’ Bjossi said thoughtfully. ‘We may have forced him to act faster than he would have wanted to.’
He carefully spread out the sheaf of newspapers across the table. Alongside the main news of the day, including Bjarni Jon Bjarnason’s early return from a conference overseas to face the growing financial crisis, Harde’s face could be seen somewhere on every one, leading to a story inside.
Only
‘Right. I want everything watched that can be watched. We’ll have every force in the country alerted about Harde, especially anywhere with an airfield. I’d like to see some additional monitoring at Akureyri and Egilstadir airports as I believe there are a few international flights from there, aren’t there?’
‘Yeah, one or two a week, I think,’ Vilhjalmur hazarded.
‘And Reykjavik airport as well. There are all kinds of oddballs going in and out through there what with all the private jets and whatnot. I’d hate to think of him getting away in a private jet.’
‘That it?’ Bjossi asked, making notes on a pad in front of him.
‘I want every port authority warned as well, not that there are all that many to worry about. Keep on top of all the shipping movements, everything that’s going to an overseas port, no need to worry about fishing vessels, just cargo, especially anything going short-haul to Europe.’
As Bjossi took notes, Gunna spied Vilhjalmur, hands behind his back, looking doubtful. ‘Problem, Vilhjalmur?’
‘Costs. This is a level of activity that is normally handled by a larger force and I’m concerned that we cannot sustain it for long without possibly requesting additional funding. The overtime costs are already far too high.’
‘Can you talk to the Sheriff?’
‘I will do so this morning.’
‘Please do. I honestly don’t think this is going to take long. Our man’s in the open now and I’m sure he’ll be noticed soon enough if he’s still in the country. If he’s not here . . .’ Gunna shrugged and didn’t bother to finish her sentence.
‘What d’you reckon, Gunna?’ Bjossi asked when Vilhjalmur had left the room.
‘Hell, I don’t know. It’s like nothing we’ve ever had to deal with before.’
‘I reckon it’ll all be over by the weekend,’ Bjossi announced confidently and Gunna looked sideways at him.
‘You reckon?’
‘Yup. Unless he’s gone camping in the highlands and wants to live on berries and songbirds until the heat dies down. He has to be noticed by someone sooner or later. It’s a small country, Gunna. You can’t hide in Iceland.’
‘Yeah. I suppose you’re right. I hope you’re right.’
Sigurjona sat huddled in the armchair with the 24/7 television news on in front of her. She was again swathed in her dressing gown, hair greasy and red cheeks puffing her face.
Rain hammered on the windows behind the TV set from a pewter sky and the room was half dark. On the screen an elegant newsreader dropped her smile and announced that Minister for Environmental Affairs Bjarni Jon Bjarnason had returned unexpectedly early from a conference in Berlin to face the growing financial crisis.
The screen cut to a clip of Bjarni Jon alighting from a black official car outside the Ministry to be greeted by a knot of microphones.
‘I have no comment to make as things stand. You can expect a statement when I have discussed these issues with the Prime Minister,’ he snapped at the expectant throng, shaking raindrops from his coat as he disappeared into the maw of the building.
‘And have you issued a statement yet?’ Sigurjona asked blankly without looking round as her husband appeared behind her.
‘Of course not. Managed to get away from the Ministry without being seen by the scum.’
He knelt at her side and put an arm awkwardly around her shoulders. Sigurjona shook him off in irritation as the elegant newsreader returned, set her face to neutral and continued.
