deserted. A knot of smokers gathered outside for a few minutes before the boiler suits and boots disappeared to the workshops and factories around the harbour. Only a group of retired men sat at a table in the far corner of the long room, looking wistfully at the small boats at the quayside over the road and idly flipping through the day’s newspapers as they wished there was still work for them.
“The long and the short of it is that we have something that’s more than a little sensitive on our plates right now,” Gunna explained. “And you’re right. I wanted to get away from flapping ears for an hour or so.”
“Svana Geirs?”
“Got it in one. I had a chat with Ivar Laxdal. I don’t reckon Orlygur’s coming back from sick leave, and we’re reporting direct to Laxdal himself on this.”
Helgi guffawed. “I can just imagine Orlygur nursing his bad back at home, hoping it won’t get better. I’ll bet he’s scared shitless he might have to return to work.”
“Well, Orlygur’s bad back aside, we don’t have a senior officer in charge of this department and we probably won’t for a while.”
“Are you going to put in for it, Gunna?” Eirikur asked, taking her by surprise with such a direct question.
“No comment’s all I can say. Let’s just say it’s doubtful,” she said finally.
“A bar to a star’s a bit of a jump,” Helgi observed, referring to the one bar of a sergeant and the star a chief inspector would carry on each shoulder.
“Well put, Helgi. Now, Svana Geirs. The word from Ivar Laxdal is that this has to be under wraps, which is why we’re here and not in the canteen at Hverfisgata. No publicity, no leaks, no charging in without some very good reasons. Other stuff has to go on the back burner for a few days.”
“All right. Is it just us, or do we get any help?” Helgi asked doubtfully.
“It’s down to us for the moment. We still have uniforms knocking on doors around Svana’s flat and searching bins and whatnot for a possible murder weapon, but we have to concentrate on her private life. We’ve been over this already, but to make sure we all have the basics, Svana Geirs was the shared squeeze of a group of prominent men who between them contributed to keeping her in a pretty comfortable lifestyle,” Gunna explained.
“Names?” Helgi asked.
“There’s Bjartmar Arnarson to begin with, which throws a whole new light on a few things.”
“And Svana’s flat and car are owned by one of his companies,” Eirikur chipped in.
“By the way, did you know that Bjartmar and Long Ommi have a bit of history as well?” Helgi added thoughtfully.
Gunna raised an eyebrow.
“That’s right,” Helgi continued. “Before Bjartmar became respectable, Ommi was some kind of freelance muscle for him.”
“So maybe we can ask Ommi, when we catch up with him. Which might not be for a while if we have to devote every waking moment to Svana Geirs. Anyway, these are the others,” Gunna said grimly. “Our big hitters are Jonas Valur Hjaltason, chairman of Kleifar, shareholder in shipping and transport businesses, as well as running his own export operation. He’s a grandfather and older than the others, in his midfifties, separated, lives alone. Then there’s Bjarki Steinsson, who runs an accountancy firm. Bjarki sold a whole raft of holdings in one of the banks weeks before the crash and made a packet out of it. Bjorgvin at Financial says that everything he owned has been transferred to a company in his wife’s name. It’s already part of a wider investigation, so we have to be extra careful not to muddy the water there.”
Gunna paused.
“Any more?” Eirikur asked.
“Plus Hallur Hallbjornsson, and as far as we know, that’s all. Right. We’d better divvy these magnificent specimens up between us and see what we come up with. Start with any records we already hold, I’ll check with Financial, and we go on from there.”
“So who wants what?” Helgi asked.
“We might be best taking some of them in pairs, I reckon,” Gunna decided. “Eirikur, can you chase up the phone records and suchlike? I can continue to be brutal with Hallur as I’ve already had two goes at the slimy bastard and he’s not as squeaky clean as he wants me to think. Helgi can come with me to see Bjartmar, Bjarki and old Jonas. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” Helgi said, rattling his mug on the table. “You know you get a free refill here, don’t you?”
KLEIFAR’S OFFICES OCCUPIED half the ground floor of a squat old building with little to indicate that it housed a successful export company with a subsidiary in Portugal. It was a stone’s throw from what Gunna still thought of as the old Morgunbladid building overlooking the open space of Ingolfstorg with its skateboard rink that fizzed with life during the long summer days. But on a chill winter’s afternoon the square and the empty restaurants surrounding it exuded a forlorn air, with only a handful of hiking-booted tourists to be seen, going from one shop window to another huddled into their thick parkas, tutting over the prices of Icelandic woollen sweaters.
Kleifar’s outer office was pleasantly warm, and a secretary with an air of discipline about her looked up as Gunna entered with Helgi behind her.
“Can I help you?” she asked, head back and eyes heavylidded. She took off a pair of black-rimmed glasses and let them fall to hang on a chain around her neck.
“We’re here to speak to Jonas Valur Hjaltason. Is he in?” Gunna said, trying to sound friendly in the face of this clearly unfriendly woman.
“I’m afraid Jonas Valur has a busy schedule and is occupied in a meeting all afternoon. Could I ask who you are?”
“Police,” Gunna replied. “His name has been mentioned in connection with an investigation and we need to go over a few points with him.”
“Can I ask what it concerns?” the woman asked in a razor voice. “I handle all of Jonas Valur’s appointments.”
Gunna was aware that Helgi was showing a great deal of interest in the antique maps hung on the walls of the office, standing with hands behind his back and bending forward to peer at the faded gothic lettering of some place names.
“I’m afraid that I can’t tell you. But I assure you it’s a serious matter and it’s important that we speak to him.”
“And I’m afraid he’s not available.”
“His car’s outside,” Gunna pointed out, reasoning that the Mercedes with the personalized number had to be his. “So I assume he’s here.”
The woman’s face remained a mask. “Jonas Valur sees people by appointment only.”
“People like Svana Geirs?” Gunna asked in the sweetest voice she could manage.
The woman’s eyes bulged for a fraction of a second.
“Wait,” she ordered, and disappeared through a door behind her. Helgi stood behind Gunna, lifted himself on tiptoe and leaned forward to whisper in her ear.
“You’re going to get in trouble again,” he half sang, stepping back and exhibiting an innocent smile by the time she had turned round to frown at him. She burst into a grin just as an animated but muffled conversation could be heard through the panelling of the wall.
“I’ll say it was you,” she decided.
“And I’ll say you told me to,” Helgi responded, smothering his crooked smile as the secretary slipped in through the door, as if she had wheels instead of feet.
“Jonas Valur will see you shortly, if you’d like to wait.”
Gunna could almost imagine icicles cracking and falling from her voice. The woman indicated an uncomfortablelooking sofa against the far wall, the cracked leather of its ancient covering not designed to encourage waiting.
“We’ll stand, thanks. I’m sure he won’t be long.”
IN CONTRAST TO Jonas Valur Hjaltason’s smooth confidence, Bjarki Steinsson blinked like a small animal caught in the beam of a headlight. He hardly looked like a high-flying accountant, dressed in faded jeans and a polo shirt embroidered with a discreet logo that quietly proclaimed the name of the company he worked for and ostensibly owned a substantial share of.
“You’re here about Svana?” he asked before Helgi even had the opportunity to open his mouth, and Gunna