“Yeah. I thought so.”
“Is he the father of all of your kids?” Jon asked, and his voice faltered. “I mean, I know it’s personal and I shouldn’t ask, really.”
“I don’t care. No, the eldest two are from boyfriend number one. We split up when the second one was born and I moved south to the refuge.”
“He beat you up?”
“A bit. Enough to get into the refuge, and then I got this place. Boyfriend number two moved in with me and it was fun to start with, while that lasted.”
“What went wrong, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“He’s only nineteen and couldn’t handle the whole kids thing, especially the baby. So he just went.”
“Do you see him?”
“Not since the day he left.”
“God, doesn’t he even want to see his baby?”
“I guess not.”
Jon’s mind wandered to Ragna Gusta and the thought brought tears to his eyes. They sat in silence as Jon drained his can and opened another.
“You can stay, if you want,” Elin Harpa said suddenly. “You’re quite a nice man.”
“Thanks. I’d like to but I don’t think it’ll be for long.”
“Why’s that?”
Jon hesitated. Because I shot a man in cold blood yesterday and tomorrow I’m going to shoot another one, he wanted to say. And after that I’ll be in prison for the rest of my life.
“?i, there’s just so much shit going on at the moment. I need to try and get my head straight,” he said lamely.
“Up to you. The offer’s there,” Elin Harpa said simply. “You were kind to me the other day, and it’s nice to return the favour.”
“I couldn’t do anything else,” Jon said helplessly.
“Whatever. The kids will be awake early and I have to get them to playschool in the morning. So I’m going to bed,” she said, pulling her shirt over her head. “You coming?”
• • •
LAUFEY WASHED THE pots while Steini loaded the dishwasher. Gunna sat herself back on the sofa and lifted her feet gratefully from the floor.
“What shall I do with the leftovers, Mum?” Laufey yelled from the kitchen.
“Put it all in the fridge, will you?”
The clattering from the kitchen came to a sudden end as the dishwasher hummed into life and Gunna heard the percolator start to hiss and spit to itself. She had never fully got to grips with the TV remote and its rows of buttons, sticking to the half-dozen that she needed, but finally she managed to find the evening news.
The chief constable looked tired as the picture cut to him from a view of the street where Bjartmar Arnarson had been shot the night before. The statement was short and sweet, naming Bjartmar as the victim of the shooting and stating very little other than that the police were following a number of positive leads towards apprehending the killer. Gunna knew vaguely that the chief constable normally enjoyed these encounters with banks of microphones, but this time he seemed less at ease. As he spoke in short, sharp sentences, she could make out the stocky figure of Ivar Laxdal behind him.
“Is that the case you’re on, Mum?” Laufey asked, appearing from the kitchen with a cloth still in her hand.
“It’s just one of many, sweetheart. But right now that one’s at the top of the list.”
“Are you going to catch him?”
“I expect so. When we find out who he is.”
“What makes people kill other people?”
Gunna looked up at Laufey, who still had her attention on the screen. “Why do you ask?”
“I’m just interested. Psychology. There must be reasons for it.”
“The theory is that there are a very small minority of people who are capable of committing violent acts just like that,” Gunna said, snapping her fingers. “Nobody really knows how many of these people there are, maybe only one per cent of the population, maybe less. The rest of us are fairly law-abiding. But when these supposedly normal people commit a serious crime, there are all sorts of reasons for it.”
“Are they sick?”
“Sometimes they are. Often they are desperate, and normally there are narcotics or addiction problems somewhere behind it all.”
“So these people are mentally ill?”
“As long as you see addiction as an illness, then yes.”
Laufey looked round at her mother. “Do you think addiction and stuff are an illness, or what?”
“It’s very hard to say. In general terms, yes, it’s a sickness. I’ve learned in the years on this job that there are no easy answers. Drugs are frequently a refuge from another problem that can be so deeply hidden that even the sufferer isn’t fully aware of it, problems of self-esteem, confidence, inadequacy, all sorts. But I’ve also learned that no two people are the same and every case has to be looked at on its own terms, especially something complex like this one.” Gunna gestured at the screen.
“You should have gone in for psychology, Mum,” Laufey said, heading back to the kitchen as Gunna’s phone began to ring.
“Maybe I will, sweetheart. Maybe I will,” she said to herself as she stabbed at the green button with a forefinger. “Gunnhildur.”
“H?. See Papa Smurf on TV, did you?” Helgi asked and Gunna had to stifle a laugh.
“Any progress after I left?”
“We have a few vans we’re checking out, all seen within half an hour of the incident and not too far away. Two look good, clear number plates, so shouldn’t be any problems. One didn’t have a number plate at all, and on two only half the registration could be made out.”
“So there’s a good bit of cross-checking to do there?”
“Yeah. Eirikur’s deep in the vehicle registry right now and S?valdur has a patrol car quietly checking out the addresses where the identified vans are registered. What time are you in tomorrow?”
“Early, I expect, hopefully before seven.”
“This is a weird one, chief.”
“You’re telling me. Normally a murder in this country is a straightforward affair, but this is baffling. Has this profiler turned up yet?”
Helgi chuckled. “Not yet. Seems the man’s flight was delayed and he won’t be here until tomorrow afternoon.”
“Ach. Won’t make a difference, I don’t think.”
“Didn’t get a chance to ask you earlier, how did you get on at Litla-Hraun this afternoon?”
“Ah, Ommi and I had a very useful chat,” Gunna said with some satisfaction. “I think we’ll be talking again in the next day or two. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“G’night, chief.”
The phone had hardly been replaced when it rang a second time, and Gunna swore as she picked it up.
“H?, Skuli. How goes it?”
“Getting a bit desperate right now, Gunna. Can you tell me what’s happening about Bjartmar Arnarson? I’ve been to the chief constable’s press briefing and he more or less said nothing at all, except that the man’s dead.”
“In that case he was very honest with you,” Gunna replied, flexing her toes as her feet rested on the edge of the coffee table. “Where are you, outside the station?”
“Yeah, and it’s just about to start chucking it down again,” he grumbled.
“I’m knocked off for the day now, back bright and early in the morning.”
“Any chance you could throw a dog a bone here?”
“If I had a bone to throw you, I would.”
