“Goes without saying if he’s your son, Bjossi. Now, I’d appreciate it if you’d keep an eye on Skari. I’ll be back to have more words with him once we’ve given Ommi the third degree. Can I haul you in on that?”
“Pleasure, as always,” Bjossi said. “What was the case you were asking him about? What was it Long Ommi did?”
“Don’t you remember? Damn, I was on sick leave just then,” Gunna said, and the old feeling of loss came hurtling back.
“Of course. It was just after Raggi died, wasn’t it? Hard to believe it was that long ago.”
“Almost ten years,” Gunna said bleakly, and shook herself.
“It was a fight, wasn’t it? A young man got a hell of a beating and died of his injuries without regaining consciousness. There were only a few scared witnesses, who wouldn’t say much. Ommi fessed up, nice as pie, if I remember correctly. It was one of old Thorfinnur’s last cases before he retired.”
“Rumour has it that it wasn’t Ommi, though.”
Bjossi looked suddenly surprised. “Really? I just remember the petty crime rate went down quite sharply as soon as he was out of circulation.”
“By all accounts, Ommi was too co-operative: hands up and ‘it’s a fair cop’ sort of thing. I’ve been hearing whispers that he took the rap for someone else in return for being well looked after,” Gunna said grimly. “And I’d love to know who he’s been standing in for.”
“WANT THE GOOD news, chief?” Helgi grinned with unaccustomed joy.
“Orlygur Sveinsson’s decided to come and give us a hand for a couple of days?” Gunna hazarded.
“Not that good.”
“Go on, don’t keep a lady in suspense.”
“It’s the prints from Svana’s flat. Positively identified, the cleaner’s prints in the hallway.”
“Which we knew we would.”
“There’s Svana’s brother’s prints, and Tinna Sigvalds, the police officer who was first on the scene.” Helgi read from the printout in front of him, holding it at arm’s length so as to be able to see without having to fumble for his glasses.
“Again, we knew Tinna’s prints would be on the door at least. So what’s your bombshell, Sherlock?”
“We have Hallur Hallbjornsson all over the bathroom and the bedroom. Bjarki Steinsson’s prints in the kitchen, bathroom and bedroom, and the big fat man’s prints practically everywhere.”
“You mean Jonas Valur Hjaltason?”
“That’s the guy.”
“And the other miscreant?”
“Bjartmar Arnarson is conspicuous by his absence. But there’s a joker in the pack as well.”
“Which is?”
“Long Ommi.”
“What?”
“No doubt about it. Omar Magnusson’s prints were beyond question on the door of the fridge, the kitchen door, one of the worktops and the kitchen light switch.”
Gunna sat back and thought for a moment with knitted brows. “In the kitchen where Svana was killed. It puts a new angle on things, doesn’t it?”
“Doesn’t it just?” Helgi agreed. “According to the technical team, there are some blood spots on one of the kitchen cupboard doors, which ties in with what Miss Cruz came up with.”
“Which is what?”
“Three blows to the head, which looks very much like a single blow with something heavy to the back of the head, a blow to the forehead as she hit the counter on the way down and another one when she landed on the floor. She’s done the autopsy and those are the only injuries.”
Gunna nodded. “Sounds plausible enough. We’re just missing the heavy object for the moment. What else did Miss Cruz have to say? I’ll read it all later, but give me the gist of it, will you?”
“Svana was pretty fit, as you’d expect. Loads of plastic surgery, though, some liposuction and some false bits added on, notably tits, hips, cheeks and lips. She had all her own teeth, no other significant injuries apart from some minor bruising to one forearm that’s certainly a day or two older, marks on wrists that are consistent with handcuffs or a binding of some kind, but also several days old. Oh, and she’d had it off in the last few hours of her life.”
“DNA?”
“Working on it. Also traces from the sheets and clothing.”
“So Svana had been very friendly with someone that day. A quickie that morning, or maybe whoever she was friendly with knocked her on the head afterwards?” Gunna suggested.
Helgi shook his head. “Bjarki Steinsson admitted he was with her that morning.”
“Another talk with Bjarki is called for, I think. Where’s Ommi now?”
“Not going back to Kviabryggja, at any rate. They made a bit of space and he’ll be in solitary at Litla-Hraun tomorrow, but he’s in the cells here right now.”
“That’s handy. He has a lot of answers to come up with,” Gunna said grimly. “But as he’s not going anywhere, I’d like to let the bastard stew while we have a chat with Selma first.”
IT WASN’T A long drive to downtown Reykjavik, and Gunna reflected that she could have been quicker walking, with the added benefit of burning off a few calories. She parked near the lake and admired the reflection of the City Hall in the water, perfectly still for once, as she strode towards the old town house where Hallur Hallbjornsson had his office.
As she turned a corner, a familiar figure leaped down the steps three at a time and hurried towards the car park, fumbling for keys in one pocket while hugging an armful of folders. Gunna quickened her pace and reached Hallur’s parked Mercedes just as he was stacking files and folders on the back seat.
“Morning. Need a hand?”
“Good morning,” he shot back breezily, smiling as he looked up. “Ah, Sergeant,” he said, his smile fading away suddenly as he recognized her.
“Nice car. What year?”
“Seventy-two. An uncle of mine had it from new and looked after it. Never drove it during the winter, always kept it inside. So I’ve tried to do the same. First time I’ve had it out this year. Anything I can do for you, officer? I’m afraid I’m in a hurry.”
“A word, if you have time,” Gunna said in a tone that indicated that anything else would hardly do.
“I was just leaving. I have a meeting in a few minutes.”
“It won’t take long.”
“My office? I’m going to be late, and this is important,” Hallur said helplessly.
“We can sit in your car if that’s not a problem for you,” Gunna said, and half regretted the suggestion. She sank into the leather seat and Hallur sat behind the wheel, fiddling with his keys.
“Is this still about Svana?” he asked.
“Why? Is there something else you need to get off your chest?”
“Of course there isn’t.”
Hallur had spoken more irritably than he had intended.
“Sorry, Sergeant,” he said with a sigh. “It’s been, well, difficult these last few days.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Word gets around. Everyone there knows that you’ve been here to see me more than once.” He indicated with a dismissive nod the red corrugated-iron building where his office nestled in the eaves. “The rumours are flying already. I’ve had to explain myself twice to the party chairman and it’s being made pretty clear that my position could become untenable.”
His eyes flickered from the dashboard to the building on the other side of the car park and back to Gunna, who once again had the uncomfortable feeling that she was being sized up. She tugged the zip of her coat up past the cleavage line, even though her blouse was already buttoned almost to the neck.
“Results from the forensic examination of Svana and her flat. Your fingerprints are all over the bedroom and the bathroom.”
“I told you they might be, and don’t forget, I gave samples of my fingerprints willingly.”
