JON JOHANNSSON STRODE through the dusk and the drizzle. He had thought hard about how to do this, and knew that short and sweet would be best. His feet crunched on the gravel of the garden path and he saw with amusement the blackened door of the garage and the smart 4 x 4 parked in front of it.
He stood at the door and rang the bell, hearing it chime sonorously deep inside the house and taking a step back. The door opened and light flooded out. A barefoot Bjartmar Arnarson, dressed in a white shirt and suit trousers, glared back at him.
“Yes?”
“You don’t know me …” Jon began.
“So I don’t know you. What do you want?”
He’s pissed, Jon thought, and stepped forward to put a foot inside the door as Bjartmar took in Jon’s bulk and clear menace and retreated instinctively.
“It’s because of you that I’m fucking bankrupt, you thieving bastard,” Jon snarled, unable to stop himself even though he had vowed that he would say nothing.
“Look, get out of here, will you?” Bjartmar protested angrily. “I’ll have the police here in two minutes.”
“Two minutes is fine with me,” Jon said calmly, drawing the shotgun from inside his coat and watching alarm dart across Bjartmar’s face.
He pointed it downwards and pulled the trigger. The report was louder than he had expected and echoed in the lobby of the house. The lead pellets sprayed Bjartmar’s bare feet and ricocheted off the tiled floor as he howled and collapsed back against the wall.
Screams like a girl, Jon thought, stepping forward. He grabbed a handful of Bjartmar’s shirt and hauled him sideways so that he lay on his back. The floor was already slippery with blood and he remembered to be careful not to lose his footing. He levelled the shotgun and looked into Bjartmar’s eyes a second time.
“Hell is packed with shitbags like you,” he said quietly, and wondered why he had said it as he pulled the trigger and sent the load of pellets into Bjartmar’s chest.
With the numb feeling of a job well done, he stowed the shotgun under his coat and stepped back into the garden. The man was clearly dead, his feet mangled by the first shot and his chest a mess of blood and torn flesh surrounded by ribbons of charred white shirt.
He took care to walk over the damp grass this time. As he crossed the street, he heard doors bang and saw lights appearing in the doorways of neighbouring houses. He walked up the slope, keeping to the gutter, where rainwater flowed steadily downhill, washing his shoes clean of blood. A few hundred metres ahead he ducked along a footpath between the houses that took him back downhill, emerging into another quiet street. A second footpath took him further down the slope to where the van was parked.
The engine grumbled into life and he drove slowly along the residential street to turn into the main road towards town, pulling over on the way to let two police cars with wailing sirens and flashing lights overtake and hurtle past.
Instead of going back to Sammi’s flat, Jon stopped off at the workshop, where he lit the stove with some scraps of paper and threw on handfuls of sawdust and woodchips. When the fire was burning merrily, he took off his trainers and added them to it, wrinkling his nose at the smell of melting rubber. It was only then that the pent-up tension reached him and his hands began to shake uncontrollably. He drew his legs under him in the workshop’s ragged armchair and hugged his arms around them, letting the heat of the stove bring some warmth back to his chilled bones.
GUNNA LAY BACK and wiggled her toes, her feet perched on the edge of the table. Her head was against Steini’s chest, the two of them lying against each other on the sofa, and she could hear his heartbeat. She could tell by his breathing that he was almost asleep. The TV burbled beyond her feet; she had stopped paying attention to it as her eyelids began to droop. If she hadn’t been so comfortable, she would have suggested turning it off and going to bed.
“It’s been a long day,” she said lazily.
“Nothing but excitement for the guardians of law and order,” Steini agreed, opening one eye and shifting slightly to settle himself even deeper into the sofa.
“Sarcasm is a an offence you can be arrested for, you know.”
“Ah, but you don’t have any proof. No jury would convict me.”
“That’s what you think, mate.”
“Early night, maybe, after all that excitement?”
“I’ll take it into consideration.”
Her phone began to buzz and flash on the table in front of them, and Gunna hauled herself upright.
“?i, don’t answer it,” Steini mumbled, opening the other eye.
“It might be Laufey,” Gunna said.
“Isn’t she at Sigrun’s?”
“Yeah. I’ll just check,” she said, and was surprised to see Eirikur’s number on the display. Before she could answer it, the buzzing stopped and the “missed call” message was displayed. Gunna lay back.
“Who was it?”
“Eirikur. If it’s important, he’ll call back,” she said just as the phone began to buzz again.
“Must be important,” Steini said.
“Eirikur. What’s up?” Gunna asked crisply. “I’m off duty, and you should be as well—”
“It’s Bjartmar, chief,” Eirikur interrupted. “Dead. He’s been shot.” Steini sat up, registering the expression on Gunna’s face as she listened.
“Bloody hell. Where?”
“At his house. It seems he opened the front door and bang, bang.”
“Where are you?”
“On the way there now.”
“All right. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” she said, closing her phone and rummaging in the pile of clean laundry for fresh socks.
“Anything serious?” Steini asked.
“A villain we’ve been investigating with all sorts of nastiness in his past. It seems someone knocked on his front door and gave him both barrels.”
She scooped up her phone and pulled on a thick fleece, stuffing the phone into one pocket and casting around for her shoes.
“I’ve no idea how long I’ll be,” she said, lacing up one shoe and reaching for the other. She stood up. “Damn and blast it. Firearms. It was always going to be a case of when and not if,” she said furiously to herself.
By the door she picked up a thick green parka and turned to Steini. She took a couple of steps across the floor and planted a kiss on his forehead.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can. Keep the bed warm for me, will you?”
JON RANG THE bell and waited. Rain pelted down in the darkness and he huddled under the shelter outside the house in the western end of town. The concrete of the shelter was crumbling and the rusted iron rods that reinforced it were poking out. He could see there was a light on upstairs, otherwise he wouldn’t have rung the bell. It was past midnight and he couldn’t face going back to his brother’s flat.
“Hello?”
The door opened a crack and the woman’s face appeared in the narrow opening.
“Hi. I, er, I’m really sorry to be calling so late. You remember me? Jon the plumber?”
The door opened a little wider as she stared out at him.
“What do you want this late?” she asked suspiciously.
“Look, I’m really, really sorry. I’m in a bit of trouble and was wondering if I could come in for a minute?”
She stared back with her lips pursed, then closed the door. Jon heard a chain rattle and a second later it opened again. This time he could see that she was wrapped in a dressing gown that had once been white, with shapeless slippers on her feet and a quizzical look on her narrow face.
Wordlessly she stood aside to let him in. Another door behind her squealed as it opened and an elderly man looked out at them, a grey-faced woman peering over his shoulder.
“Another new boyfriend, Elin?” the man asked salaciously, while the woman scowled behind him.
“Oh go back to sleep, you nosy old bastard,” Elin Harpa snarled, slamming the front door and turning to climb
