“Yup,” Gunna agreed. “There’s a lot to be said for a bloke who’s old enough to be retired.”
“Not talking about men again, are you?” Steini asked, reappearing and shaking his head in mock despair.
“We are indeed. Tell me, Steini, how do you know Ivar Laxdal? He sends you his regards, by the way.”
Steini sat down, looked at the empty wine bottle and took a sip from Gunna’s glass.
“Little chap, built like a barrel? He joined the Coast Guard the same year I did. He was as sharp as a knife, certainly smarter than the rest of us and undoubtedly destined for great things.”
“So why did he end up as a copper?”
“He had a touch of colour blindness, nothing serious, but enough to put the lid on a career as a ship’s officer, as far as I remember. So I guess he decided to go elsewhere. What’s he doing in the police force?”
“He’s my boss at the moment, at least until Orlygur comes back from sick leave. If Orlygur comes back from sick leave.”
“Well say hello to him from me, will you? It must be twenty years since I saw him last. What’s he like to work for?”
“Y’know, I really don’t know yet. Like you said, he’s as sharp as a knife. But every time I have to talk to him, I feel like a schoolgirl who hasn’t done her homework properly. And tomorrow I have to see him for an official reprimand.”
“What for?” Steini and Sigrun asked simultaneously.
“Ach. Nothing serious. Just speaking my mind out of turn.”
“Well,” Sigrun said. “That’s something you’ve always had a talent for.”
GUNNA DIDN’T HAVE to find Ivar Laxdal. He was sitting at her desk when she arrived at seven.
“Good morning, Gunnhildur,” he said seriously.
“Good morning. Steini sends his regards, by the way.”
“Thank you. Now …”
“You need to give me a ticking-off.”
“That’s right. Just consider yourself reprimanded. This goes on your record and there’s nothing I can do about that, but I don’t think you’ll need to worry too much about it.”
“That’s fair enough. I should have known better than to yell at S?valdur in front of the others.”
Ivar Laxdal nodded wisely.
“That’s quite right. If you want to yell, do it in private,” he said. “What’s next on your agenda?”
“Depends. What did S?valdur’s team get out of whatsisname— Jon Johannsson—yesterday?”
“Very straightforward,” Ivar Laxdal said with a shrug. “The man admitted everything, from shooting Bjartmar to threatening the bank teller. The technical team have been through his workshop like a dose of salts. They found the barrels of his shotgun that he’d sawn off, and even splinters that match the floor in Bjartmar’s house.”
“How so?” Gunna asked, intrigued.
“His first shot was at Bjartmar’s feet and it also did a lot of damage to the floor, so there were fragments everywhere. It seems that Jon burned his shoes and overalls in a stove in his workshop, and there were splinters in them that were left in the ashes. Simple enough,” Ivar Laxdal said with satisfaction.
“Motive?”
“Ah, this is where you come in, and where you and S?valdur will have to be careful not to tread on each other’s toes too much. Jon Johannsson will undoubtedly be undergoing a whole barrage of psychological tests and it’s anybody’s guess what they’ll come up with. Certainly the man was under enormous pressure. He was up to his eyes in debt, had lost his house, and his wife had left, taking the child with her. In fact, she’s upstairs now as well. But what’s clear is that he was fixated on two people as the reason for all his misfortunes. One was the personal financial adviser who had become the face of the bank. The second was Bjartmar Arnarson.”
“And why was that?”
“Because Jon Johannsson did a great deal of work as a subcontractor for a subsidiary company of Rigel Investment called Arcturus Development.”
“The property development company.”
“That’s it. Arcturus built many of Rigel’s properties and went bankrupt leaving virtually all of its contractors high and dry, and some of those went under as well. Jon Johannsson came out of it very badly. That was six months’ work, and he reckons if it hadn’t gone sour on him, he’d probably still be in the black.”
“So he blames the late and unlamented Bjartmar personally for all his problems.”
“Pretty much,” Ivar Laxdal said. “And quite possibly with very good reason. What concerns me more than anything about this case is that it may well be impossible to find a jury that would convict him. My feeling is that the best we can hope for is a plea of insanity and a verdict that reflects that.”
“This is already a high-profile case. It was all over the news yesterday and again this morning,” Gunna observed. “It’s going to dominate everything for a few weeks, I’d expect.”
“Quite possibly, and it’s certainly going to divert attention away from Svana Geirs for a day or two.”
“More than likely,” Gunna agreed.
“Gives you some peace and quiet, in that case,” Ivar Laxdal said with a shadow of a smile. “But you might be interested to know that one of the Rigel Investment properties that Jon Johannsson worked on was the block on Lindargata where Svana Geirs lived. He’s a plumber, and he fitted her bathroom and kitchen, along with a great many others, of course. Thought you might want to know.”
“TELL ME, JON,” Helgi said softly. “What was it about Bjartmar?”
“Everything,” the big man replied quietly. A calm had come over him since the policewoman had led him from the bank with one hand on his elbow and the other holding his mutilated shotgun. Now he was relieved that he hadn’t harmed that stupid boy who worked there.
“You had a dispute with him?”
“Did I ever!”
“Did you speak to him?”
“Only on the phone a couple of times. Never face to face. But I saw him about often enough.”
“When was that?”
“At the block on Lindargata when I was fitting all those bathrooms and kitchens for Ingi Lar. We used to see him wandering about in his suit and wearing a helmet, looking like a twat. Then, after that, I used to notice him around his house. It’s only a street or two above my place.” He coughed. “What used to be our place until the bank had it off us,” he corrected himself. “Look, I’ve already been through this with your mate, the fat bloke. Why do I have to tell you as well? Not that I have other plans.”
“That’s because I’m working on another investigation that concerns Bjartmar. So was this the only time that you spoke to him face to face?”
“You mean when I told him just what a bastard he was and then shot him?”
“That’s it.”
“Yup. That was it. Never spoke to the man in person before.”
“So how did you know it was Bjartmar who was responsible for your financial problems?”
“Ingi Lar told me all about it,” Jon said with heat. “I know Ingi and he wouldn’t lie to me. He’s come out of it badly as well, poor old feller. His company went bust because Bjartmar’s company declared bankruptcy. Because Ingi didn’t get his bills paid, he couldn’t pay me, although he helped us out with what he could.”
He smacked the table with a palm. “Ingi’s broke as well now. He’s sixty and doesn’t have two pennies to rub together, so he’s doing odd jobs for people who used to work for him. Good, eh?”
He sat back and scowled.
“Who’s Elin Harpa?” Helgi asked.
Jon shrugged. “Some woman I did a job for. I think I left my phone there, but I figured I wasn’t going to need it in prison, so I didn’t bother going back for it.”
“Where does she live?”
“Off Hringbraut somewhere,” Jon said uncertainly.
“Where off Hringbraut?”
