Giving in to temptation, Gunna put a lump of hard sugar between her teeth and filtered a mouthful of coffee through it.
“Don’t stare, Skuli,” she admonished.
“Sorry. I thought it was only old men who did that.”
“YOU’RE SURE?” THE National Commissioner’s deputy asked. For a second Gunna looked at Ivar Laxdal’s knitted brows and wondered how this thickset barrel of a man managed to wear a hat as ridiculous as a beret and still radiate authority.
“I’m sure enough. Sure enough to warrant leaning hard on some of these people.”
“What sort of people?”
Gunna ticked them off on her fingers. “The regulars are two businessmen, one accountant and one MP.”
“Which party?” Ivar Laxdal demanded.
“Social Democrat.”
He snorted. “Wishy-washy liberal types. But they’re part of the government right now and therefore able to kick us where it hurts. And they’ll close ranks to protect their own,” he rumbled. “These politicians worry about their own skins first and the rest of us afterwards.”
“It’s probably best I didn’t hear you say that,” Gunna said quietly to remind him that politics and policing should stay separate.
“No coppers on that list?”
“Not as far as I know.”
“That’s something to be grateful for. But I suppose even a chief superintendent wouldn’t be taking home enough to get him into that sort of club,” he said, almost as if to himself. Gunna reflected that she hadn’t given him names and he hadn’t asked for them.
In the park behind the Hverfisgata police station they stood next to her son Gisli’s treasured elderly Range Rover. Gunna frequently reminded herself that one day she would have to buy a car of her own, reliable enough to commute in, and stop borrowing Gisli’s car while he was at sea. Gunna had deliberately waylaid Ivar Laxdal outside to preclude any chance of being overheard. He stood in thought, one hand clasped in the other, then spun round and glared at Gunna as if she had dropped a hand grenade into his lap.
“If this is mishandled, it could be a disaster. I’m warning you, Gunnhildur.”
“Warning me of what, precisely?” she asked with a shiver of trepidation and anger.
“I’m warning you that if this isn’t dealt with sensitively, it could blight a lot of people’s careers. Yours included,” he added.
“By ‘dealt with sensitively,’ just what are you trying to tell me? Not to look too hard in any particular direction?”
“Hell, no,” Ivar Laxdal thundered. “It’s a bloody disgrace. And don’t be so damned suspicious. I mean you’re going to have to keep this very discreet and be sure of your ground. You know what this country’s like. Just a whisper out of place and everyone knows. Shit always sticks and I don’t want to see it sticking to anyone without good reason. Understand? You included.”
“Thanks. That’s what I thought you meant. Just wanted to be sure.”
Ivar Laxdal deflated slightly and Gunna felt there was a ghost of a smile about him for once. Maybe the man could thaw out occasionally, and she wondered idly what kind of life he led out of uniform.
“In that case, you’d better get on with it. All right?”
“Understood. Er …”
“What? Anything else?”
“The usual,” Gunna sighed. “Manpower. There’s only three of us in the department. My superior officer is on long-term sick leave. We’re all working flat out as it is.”
“Who’s your chief inspector?”
“Orlygur Sveinsson.”
“That old woman …” Ivar Laxdal grumbled, smacking one fist into the other hand as he thought. “Leave it with me. Report to me on this. I’ll square things with Orlygur if he comes back.”
Gunna noted the “if” rather than “when” and wondered whether there might be something that she should be aware of.
“Anything else?” he barked.
“Well, yes. I’m still a sergeant. I expected to be made up a grade with this post.”
“Still? Damn. Leave it with me and I’ll see what I can swing, but we’re going through tough times, you know, Gunnhildur. Tough times,” he repeated, marching across the car park towards his own car, which looked suspiciously like this year’s model.
FOR ONCE THERE was no wind, and a pall of black smoke hung in the still air. Gunna parked along the street and fought her way through a crowd gathered a respectful distance from the ambulances and fire engines that hid the house, set well back from the road in a well-heeled suburb.
A pale-faced young police officer was slowly unrolling Police—Do Not Cross tape and stringing it between the skinny trees in the front garden.
“You can’t go in there,” he barked as Gunna lifted the tape to step under it.
“Serious Crime Unit,” Gunna barked back, aware once again that being out of uniform was going to take some getting used to.
“In the garage at the side,” the young man advised her. “It’s not pretty,” he added, shaking his head.
“Thanks. Didn’t think it would be, somehow. Who’s here so far?”
“Fire, ambulance.”
“I can see that. Who’s the senior officer?”
“That’s me, I suppose, until Petur Juliusson gets here from the station,” he said ruefully. “We’re a bit short on manpower these days.”
Gunna nodded and crunched her way along a gravel path between scrubby lawns by the side of the house. A trampoline that looked as if it had spent all winter outside occupied the middle of one of the lawns in front of a thick hedge at the garden’s boundary.
No view, so no witnesses, I’ll bet, Gunna thought as she reached the double garage, one door closed, the other half open, the white paint on it blistered into bubbles and the ground in front of it scorched black. A paramedic and a fireman she recognized were standing by the garage’s open side door.
“Evening, Roggi,” Gunna offered. “I heard the F2 call on the way home. What do we have?”
“H?, Gunna. It’s a bloody mess,” the fireman replied grimly. “Garage went up in a right old fireball. Can’t have lasted more than a minute, but the heat must have been phenomenal.”
“Casualties?”
“One, in the ambulance. Not a happy lady, shock and smoke inhalation. Could have been a lot worse.”
“What happened, d’you reckon?”
Roggi spread his hands. “No idea. Absolutely no idea.”
“A massive fireball like that, could it have been an accident?”
“I’d say not. There’s nothing sensible you can keep in an ordinary garage that will produce that kind of thing.”
“Chemicals?”
“Could be. Or just petrol, a lot of petrol.”
Gunna nodded and thought. “I take it we can reckon this wasn’t an accident, unless it’s proved otherwise?”
“Sounds reasonable,” Roggi admitted. “There’ll be an investigation, and with a casualty involved, they won’t give up until they know what caused it, especially in a posh place like this.”
“Whose house is this?”
“Bjartmar Arnarson. You know, the businessman. I reckon that’s his missus they’re taking off to hospital.”
“Sounds interesting.” Gunna frowned, the name instantly setting off alarm bells in her head.
“You have a suspicious mind, Gunna.”
“It’s in the job description. What are you up to now?”
“We’ll stand one of the appliances down and send it off home. I’ll be here with the other one until the site’s
