He walked right round the squat modern church, leaned on the parapet of the bridge over the main road and watched the traffic hurtle past, strolled past the shops on Hamraborg, looked in the windows of the bakery and toyed with the idea of a quiet coffee somewhere. He decided against it as he felt the bulk of the shotgun under his coat. Instead he crossed the street and pushed open the glass door of the bank seconds after it had been unlocked at nine thirty.
“I have an appointment with Hrannar Antonsson,” he gruffly told a cashier, who choked back a yawn and tried to smile.
“I’m not sure he’s in yet. If you take a seat, I’ll ask where he is.”
Jon grunted and lowered himself into a chair from which he could see the doors as well as the desk where the personal financial adviser normally sat in that stupid pink shirt.
It was warm in the bank and the sun beating down on the front window promised to superheat the lobby later in the day.
“He’ll be here in ten minutes,” a voice said, taking him by surprise. Jon looked round to see the yawning cashier standing next to his chair.
“Oh. That’s OK. I’m probably a bit early anyway,” he said apologetically.
“No problem. He’ll be right with you,” the youth said, disappearing into the distance.
A GENERAL ALERT for Jon Johannsson’s white van was circulated immediately. Helgi set to work as soon as they returned from their anticlimax of a visit to the house in Hafnarfjordur to try and trace the man’s whereabouts, starting with the National Registry, while Gunna tackled the bank.
“That’s right, Jon Johannsson,” she repeated, and reeled off his ID number for the second time without having to look at the slip of paper it was written on.
“One moment, please. I’ll put you through to Data,” a disembodied voice said, and Gunna fumed while muzak echoed tinnily in her ear.
“Data. Hello?” a second voice asked.
Gunna introduced herself for the third time and continued before the man on the end of the line could put her on hold or send the call on to someone else. “I’m trying to trace one of your clients and need to get as much information as possible about this person. It’s extremely urgent.”
“I’ll have to call you back. Security,” the voice said dubiously.
Gunna snapped out her direct number, put the phone down and cursed, certain that it would take at least half an hour for the bank to return the call. To her surprise, it rang almost instantly.
“Gunnhildur?” the voice asked. “All right. This is Arni at the bank again, sorry about that. Procedures, I’m sure you understand. Now, who are you looking for information on? There’s only so much I can tell you, I’m afraid.”
“The man’s name is Jon Johannsson,” she repeated and again reeled off his ID number, listening to the rattling of a keyboard at the other end as she spoke.
“All right then. This isn’t being recorded or anything, is it?” asked Arni with a nervous laugh.
“No, of course not. But it’s urgent, so do you have an address, contact number or anything for him?”
“The only address we have is the one we know he doesn’t live at any more, as that house was repossessed and has been sold, but he hasn’t changed his legal residence, so that’s where any post for him is still going.”
Gunna wanted to grit her teeth. “Phone number, maybe?”
“Er, yes. There’s a mobile number.”
“Which is?”
“Look, I’m not sure I can release that sort of information. Data protection and all that, you know.”
Gunna breathed deep. “Where’s your office?”
“Excuse me?”
“I said, where’s your office?”
“Well, I’m in Borgartun, but I don’t see what—”
“You will if I show up in front of your desk in ten minutes’ time. Look, this is not a trivial case in any way. What’s the guy’s phone number?”
Arni reeled off seven digits that Gunna scribbled down.
“Thank you. How long is it since there was any contact with him? I mean direct contact, not just you sending out a letter.” The man’s keyboard rattled again.
“Last week. His personal financial adviser spoke to him last week and I can see from the notes that they have a meeting scheduled for today.”
“When and where?”
“I presume it’ll be Kopavogur, as that’s the branch he uses, but I couldn’t tell you when for sure. You’d have to speak to the personal financial adviser yourself.”
Gunna drummed the desk with her fingers. “And do you have a name and a number for this person?”
“It’s Hrannar Antonsson, and his direct line is the bank’s usual number, but the last three digits are 967.”
“Thanks very much, you’ve been a great help,” Gunna said, putting the phone down. “Eventually.”
She wondered whether to call Hrannar Antonsson’s number or the mobile number for Jon Johannsson. A call to him could alert him to the hunt, but surely the man would know already that he was being searched for— assuming he had been responsible for Bjartmar’s death. She quickly punched the seven digits of the mobile number and listened to it ring for a long time before a small voice spoke at the far end.
“Hello …?”
“Hello. Who am I speaking to, please?” Gunna enquired politely. “Elin Harpa.
Who’s this?”
“This is Gunnhildur Gisladottir at the CID Serious Crime Unit. I’m looking for Jon Johannsson.”
“Police?”
“That’s right.”
“He’s gone out and he forgot to take his phone,” Elin Harpa said defensively. “Why? What’s he done?”
“This number came up in connection with an investigation and I just need to make some checks,” Gunna said carefully, wondering who this woman was. “Are you his wife?” she asked, hoping that this would elicit an explanation.
“No. He just stayed here a few nights.”
“Elin, look, I don’t want to alarm you, but this could be in connection with a serious incident and there’s a possibility that you could be at risk. I’d very much like to talk to you, but face to face would be better. Can you tell me where you live? I can be there right away,” Gunna said, trying to keep her voice calm.
But the connection closed and the dialling tone wailed in her ear.
“Damn and blast …”
“What’s up, chief?” Helgi asked. “Just been speaking to our man’s wife, a nice enough lady, understandably worried about him. Says it takes a while to wind him up, but when he’s angry, he has a right temper on him.”
“Anything that sheds light on all this?”
“The man’s a plumber, had his own business but they lost a load of money when a big customer went tits up. In a nutshell, they lost the house, the jeep, all the rest of it, and the bank’s still pursuing them for this and that, all bought on foreign currency loans, even though they don’t have anything left.”
“That bloke at the bank I spoke to didn’t tell me any of this,” Gunna said angrily.
“Well I don’t suppose they want to tell the whole world what a bunch of grasping bastards they are,” Helgi observed. “Anyway, Jon and Linda went their separate ways around the time the house was repossessed. She took the kid and went back to her mother’s, who lives in Hella, and she hasn’t heard a lot from him since then. She reckons he’s been staying with his half-brother, doesn’t know where the man lives, but he’s a schoolteacher called Samuel Olafsson.”
“Eirikur!” Gunna called.
“Yes, chief?”
“One for you. Can you track down a schoolteacher called Samuel Olafsson? No idea which school, but do your best. Looks like he’s our boy’s brother and that’s where he’s been living.” Gunna turned back to Helgi. “But I’d like to know who this Elin Harpa is and why she answered his phone.”
Helgi raised an eyebrow. “No idea …”
