“You know, Hogni, Svana is still in the mortuary at the National Hospital. I know your father identified her, because I was with him. He’d already told me that you and your mother couldn’t face it, which was one of the reasons I made sure I was there as well. It’s not an easy thing to do, and it’s a lot harder on your own,” she said, quickly stifling the expected but unwelcome pangs of loss that fought their way to the surface of her mind.
Hogni’s eyes were blank pools, staring at his hands in front of him. “Are you aware, Hogni, how she earned a living and could afford to live in a place like that?”
“Yeah,” he muttered, looking down, his voice barely audible. “Mum and Dad don’t know.”
“I think we’ll try and keep it that way,” Gunna said. “Did you know any of the men, or ever see any of them?”
“Svana knew tons of people and she was always hanging about with someone different. I never knew who most of them were.”
“You left the flat. You didn’t think to call the police or an ambulance?”
“No. I was just really confused. I knew she was dead and an ambulance wouldn’t be able to help her. I was scared it looked like I might have done it…” His voice tailed off into silence.
“Why’s that?” Gunna asked softly.
“Because we’d had an argument a few days before. It was when she told me how she really made her money with those guys. She said she’d tried being married and didn’t like it, so this was like being married to four rich men at the same time but without having to cook or wash smelly underwear.” He sighed. “We had a real screaming argument in the street outside Fit Club. I yelled at her that she was a slag and she screamed back that I was an idiot who should go back to the fish factory where I belonged.”
“When was this?”
“I’m not sure exactly. A few days before.”
“So you made up?”
“Sort of,” Hogni said. “She called me and asked if I’d come round in the afternoon. She said she had some good news and wanted to tell me, said she was going to be back on TV and she could pack in the rich men. She said she’d see if she could find herself some toyboy who would cook and wash her underwear for her.”
“So what did you do with her phone?”
“Dropped it, maybe. I don’t remember.”
“You closed the door of the flat?”
“Don’t know. Don’t think so.”
“Did you see anyone on your way out of the building?”
“Nah. Don’t think so. Or there could have been the cleaner on the bottom floor. I’m not sure.”
“Did you go anywhere else in the flat, or notice anything out of place? Anything unusual?”
“I don’t think so,” Hogni said. “But the rose wasn’t there, neither was the bat,” he added darkly.
“Bat?”
“Yeah. She kept an old baseball bat behind the front door, just in case, she said.”
“What was that about a rose?”
“She had a little porcelain rose on a plate, about so big,” he explained, making a ring of his thumb and finger. “When she didn’t want to be disturbed, the rose was hung on the door.”
“You mean when one of the syndicate was there?”
Hogni nodded. “Yeah. I suppose the only ones who knew about that were me and the … men,” he said with hesitation. “But I didn’t know why until the day before we had our argument. I went to see her and rang the bell, but didn’t get an answer. I didn’t have much to do, so I thought I’d wait, and sat outside. Then she came out, hanging on this guy’s arm, an old bastard, way too old for Svana.”
“What do you call old?”
“Shit. As old as my dad, I guess, and he’s past sixty. This guy was a stocky feller, bald and old.”
Jonas Valur, Gunna thought, recognizing instantly the description of the man’s domed forehead.
“Did you know any of Svana’s rich men? Did you ever see any of them?”
“Nah, only that old bastard,” Hogni said, and for the first time Gunna heard a note of uncertainty in his voice. “I just knew there were four of them, because she said so, and she said she was going to stop seeing them soon.”
“Do you know if the men themselves were aware that she was planning to bring this arrangement to an end?”
“Dunno. Don’t think so.”
“Do you think she’d tell you or them first?” Gunna probed. “Dunno,” Hogni repeated. “But I’d have thought she’d have told me first after we’d had that argument.”
“Right. Thank you, Hogni. That will do for the moment. You’re free to go now, but I’ll certainly need to speak to you again tomorrow. Will you go home?”
“Yeah.” Hogni looked down at his hands.
“Go and get some rest. I’ll call you in the morning.”
“Will I go to jail?” he asked in a small voice.
“WHAT’S THE RUSH this time?” Helgi demanded, stifling his irritation at being bundled out of the building and into a car.
“Nothing like striking while the iron’s hot,” Gunna replied with determination in her voice. “Listen up. According to that greasy pudding, Svana Geirs was about to bring the syndicate to an end and give all her sugar daddies notice to quit.”
“Right?” Helgi said, an eyebrow shooting up. “Win the lottery or something, did she?”
“Nope, not that good,” Gunna told him, slipping the car into the stream of traffic. “It seems she was getting a second chance at TV, so I reckon that between Fit Club and telly, she reckoned she could afford to give up shagging for cash.”
“All right, so where are we going now?”
“You’re going to see Bjarki Steinsson. Push him hard on when he last saw Svana. Ask for all the details you can get, confiscate his laptop if you have to and get in touch with his internet provider if you think that might produce an alibi. Don’t forget that we know now that Hogni answered Svana’s phone at thirteen fifty-three and she was already dead then. I’d been working on the premise that she answered her own phone. Miss Cruz said between twelve and three, but now we know it was between twelve and thirteen fifty-three, which shoots down Hallur’s alibi in flames.”
“If I’m going to grill the accountant, where are you off to?”
“I’m going to go and pay Jonas Valur a visit and ask him just the same. Call me when you’re finished with Bjarki Steinsson and we’ll both go and see Hallur Hallbjornsson. All right?” Gunna asked, pulling up outside the office block where Bjarki Steinsson’s fourth-floor offices overlooked the building sites of Reykjavik’s Shadow District.
A few minutes later Gunna parked outside the modest old building that disguised Jonas Valur’s office.
The grim-face secretary looked her over with undisguised hostility, but gave way and rang through to Jonas Valur.
“He’ll see you now,” she informed Gunna primly.
Sitting in the half-dark behind his antique desk, Jonas Valur exuded gravitas. A desk lamp illuminated the papers in front of him and the light from the screen of a small but sleek laptop in front of him shone on the dome of his forehead.
“Good afternoon, Inspector,” he said smoothly as Gunna’s footfalls echoed on the wooden floor towards him.
“Sergeant, actually,” she said, taking a seat.
“For the moment,” Jonas Valur said with a smile, quickly extinguished. “How’s my old friend Chief Inspector Orlygur Sveinsson?” he asked, stressing the Chief Inspector.
“If you know him well, then I suppose you’d know he’s still on sick leave. I’ve no idea how serious his condition is, but we’re hoping he’ll be back soon. How come you know Orlygur? I wouldn’t have thought someone like you would move in the same circles as a lowly copper,” Gunna said, looking down at the desk in front of her and noticing for the first time the red and gold Masonic ring and the man’s surprisingly long and delicate fingers.
A musician’s hands, or a craftsman’s, Gunna thought, suddenly recalling her father’s shovel-like hands that
