“He was in America,” Bjarki said, a look of misery on his pale face as he leaned back on the door.
Suddenly he lurched forward as the door opened and his wife appeared.
“D’you want coffee?” she demanded.
“No, Kristrun, of course not. We won’t be long, dear,” he added, flustered.
“Actually, I’d like a cup if you’re making some,” Gunna said with a sly smile. “You too, eh, Helgi?”
“Yeah, definitely, chief.”
With a look of fury, the woman departed to make the coffee that she had been certain nobody would want.
“Right. You have two minutes while your wife’s not listening at the door. Talk,” Gunna instructed.
“Svana had called us all. She said that she didn’t want to continue with the syndicate any longer as she was going to be back on TV. I was … upset, to say the least. The others didn’t seem too concerned, except Hallur. He was furious.”
“Why?”
“Svana told me that someone had been pestering her, someone who clearly knew about the … the arrangement.” He gulped. “I told Hallur and he went wild.”
Gunna looked at Bjarki expectantly.
“We were all terrified of publicity. Well, Hallur and I, at any rate. I can’t deny that … my wife …” He left the sentence unfinished. “Jonas Valur was almost amused, I think. He seemed to think that Svana was spinning us a yarn.”
“In what way?”
“He’s very shrewd and can be extremely suspicious. He seemed to think that Svana was looking for a payout.”
“Blackmailing you all?”
Bjarki blanched. “That’s an ugly word.”
“So is murder,” Gunna reminded him. “And Bjartmar?”
“I didn’t speak to him myself, but Jonas Valur had called him earlier in the day. He said that Bjartmar’s marriage was a wreck anyway, so he wasn’t concerned on that score, but if we wanted to split the price of her silence four ways, such as the flat she was living in, that was fine with him. That was the message, anyway.”
“So the ones with something to lose were you and Hallur?” Bjarki nodded miserably.
“Coffee!” called an angry voice beyond the door.
“Yes, dear,” Bjarki replied.
“Make it quick, before she comes to get you,” Gunna growled.
“If the story came out, it would wreck my marriage,” Bjarki said with wide eyes. “My wife … her social position, you understand …”
“Yes. Go on. And Hallur?”
“God, it would destroy his career. He’s always had ambitions, but he was fishing for something higher up the ladder and would probably have got it fairly soon.”
“Until he wound up in intensive care.”
“What … ?” Bjarki Steinsson’s eyes reminded Gunna of saucers. “On the news they said he’d been in an accident, and I couldn’t get through to Helena Ros last night. You mean … ? Will he be all right?”
“Who knows? What happened? What did you decide between yourselves?”
“We tried to talk it through with Jonas Valur, but he’d had a few drinks by then. Hallur was beside himself, asked what the hell they could do to keep Svana quiet, and he pressed Jonas Valur harder than I would have done, asking whether she would keep quiet even if she’d been paid off, whether the whole thing would start up again next time she ran out of money.”
“And?”
“Jonas Valur said we could …” He hesitated and looked up. “We could all start screwing her again if she hadn’t got too slack by then,” he quoted in a clear voice. “Hallur was beside himself, said that it was all right for the rest of us, but it was different for him with a career ahead of him to think about.
So Jonas Valur just said, ‘Well you’d better sort it out then.’ That was it. He left. I saw him sign the chit at the bar and that was it, the last I saw of him.”
“So who killed Svana Geirs?” Gunna asked, staring straight at him.
“I don’t know,” he whispered almost soundlessly as a tear threatened to overflow the corner of one eye.
TO BJARKI STEINSSON’S dismay, the dining table’s deep shine had been covered by a cloth, on which were arranged plates of cakes and biscuits, cups and little jugs of cream and milk.
“Please, now you’ll have to stay for a while,” he whispered to Gunna, staring at the table. She saw Helgi’s eyes light up and her heart softened.
“Certainly. Actually, there’s another matter I wanted to speak to you about,” she said, settling herself in one of the matching high-backed chairs as Bjarki Steinsson’s wife poured coffee into dainty cups and Helgi filled a delicate-looking plate with slices of cake.
“What’s that?” Bjarki asked, still blank-eyed after the conversation in his office.
“Kleifaberg. You did the accounts for Kleifaberg?”
“You mean Kleifar, Jonas Valur’s company?”
“No,” Gunna corrected, sipping the aromatic coffee and nodding her thanks to Bjarki’s wife, off whom anger still coming in waves. “The company that Jonas Valur, Bjartmar Arnarson and Sindri Valsson ran between them until a few years ago.”
“Oh, Kleifaberg,” Bjarki said, as if a ghost had come back to haunt him. “Yes. We prepared their accounts for several years.”
“Good. What really went on there? They bought property, developed it and it sold. Nothing unusual about that. But as far as I can make out, the real profits came from buying some plum sites at extremely low prices.”
“Yes …?” he said uncertainly. “I really think you’d have to speak to them about that.”
“Bjartmar is dead, Sindri Valsson has disappeared somewhere in southern Europe and Jonas Valur is far from inclined to be co-operative right now. Off the record, I’d like you to tell me what went on. It would be, let’s say, helpful on your part.”
“Strictly off the record?”
Gunna nodded and sipped while Helgi popped another delicate biscuit into his mouth and smiled his appreciation.
“Well,” Bjarki sighed. “It was one of those things that wasn’t strictly speaking illegal, but …” He tailed off sadly.
“Less than ethical?” Gunna finished for him, and watched him nod in glum agreement.
“Hallur was on a lot of committees and he made sure some sales of land went through quietly to Kleifaberg without being discussed or advertised. Like I said, it wasn’t illegal, but it wasn’t exactly acceptable either. Kleifaberg developed some sites themselves with housing complexes, and other parcels of land they just sold on after a while.”
“You did the accounting for this scam?”
“I don’t know if I’d call it a scam,” Bjarki said with the first sign of any kind of authority that Gunna had seen.
“What do you call it, then? What would the newspapers have called it if they had found out? What about Steindor Hjalmarsson?” she asked suddenly, and Helgi looked up quickly.
“Who?”
“Come on. A young man who was a bookkeeper at Kleifaberg. He died in 2000 after smelling a rat.”
“Oh, him. Very sad. Didn’t he get beaten up or something? It was a long time ago now.”
“It was sad. But he’s no less dead for it having been ten years ago.”
“I, er, I don’t know. It’s not something I could safely comment on.”
“I assume Kleifaberg made a considerable amount of money out of this,” Gunna said flatly, and Bjarki nodded.
“It was a highly profitable venture,” he said finally.
“Where did all the cash go?”
“That’s not for me to say.”
