“And Sindri Valsson?”
Anna Fjola glanced up sharply and immediately looked down at her cup.
“How did Sindri and Steindor get on?”
“Not well, but not badly. We could all see they didn’t like each other. Steindor thought Sindri was a spoiled brat and he didn’t do a very good job of hiding what he thought. Sindri thought that Steindor stuck his nose into things that didn’t concern him.”
She took another sip of tea and wiped her lips delicately on a handkerchief from her handbag.
“I daresay they were each partly right about the other,” she said with a thin smile.
“So why are you here today, Anna Fjola?” Gunna asked gently.
“It’s been nagging at me for days, what you said,” Anna Fjola said quietly. “The day that woman was murdered, Jonas Valur was out of the office for part of the morning.”
“What time was that?”
“He came in a little later than usual, around nine thirty, and left at eleven. He was back soon after twelve, as far as I remember.”
Gunna had no doubt that Anna Fjola remembered correctly. She frowned to herself and thought out the possibilities. The timing put Jonas Valur as able to have been at Svana’s flat at the edge of the time frame that Miss Cruz had given them. “You’re certain?”
“Yes,” Anna Fjola said in an icy voice, as if the possibility of her being mistaken was a ludicrous idea.
“You realize the implications?” Gunna asked grimly. “That’s why I want to be sure you’re certain of the timing.”
“I’m certain.”
Gunna sat back and finished her coffee while Anna Fjola sipped delicately.
“I’m just wondering why you’re telling me this, after all the years with Jonas Valur.”
Anna Fjola’s thin shoulders rose and fell with a barely perceptible shrug. “To set the record straight, I suppose. I have worked hard and honestly for all these years for a salary that’s reasonable, but no more than that. But next month I’ll be joining the unemployed and I suppose I’m, well, upset about that.”
“How come?” Gunna asked.
“Kleifar is being sold. Jonas Valur is selling his shares and I happen to know that Sindri has already sold his. Between them they owned eighty per cent of the company.”
“Who’s it being sold to?”
Anna Fjola smiled. “That’s just it. On paper it’s a fairly simple transaction. A few thousand euros change hands and Kleifar has new owners. But so that Jonas Valur can retire somewhere warm near his son, the new owners will quietly make over to him a couple of large villas in Portugal. That’s the real price of the company. The new owners get an established saltfish trading company in Iceland at a good price, and Jonas Valur gets the value of it without having to worry about currency restrictions.”
“And how do you know all this?”
“Please. After almost twenty years, I know Jonas Valur as well as I know my own husband—better, if anything. Jonas Valur has never been able to remember a password or a username, and if I didn’t have all that information at my fingertips, the company would come to a halt tomorrow. I check his emails, bank statements, everything, even the ones he thinks are secret.”
“And when is all this due to happen?”
“It’s been going on over the last few months. Jonas Valur thinks I don’t know what’s been happening under my nose. His friends Bjarki and Hallur are part of it as well, not to mention that Olafur Jacobsen.”
“The legal expert.”
“Yes, a vile man. Bjarki Steinsson has been falsifying figures for the last year to make the company look less profitable so that the low purchase price doesn’t appear suspicious, and Hallur Hallbjornsson arranged for the port authority to buy the office building. The port doesn’t need it and actually can’t afford it either, but you should never underestimate what Jonas Valur can get his friends to do for him.”
“And what happens to you? Don’t you get to work for the new owners?”
“I don’t think so,” Anna Fjola said with a thin smile. “They don’t want an old woman telling them how to run their business. Kleifar will officially cease to exist and may well even be insolvent if Bjarki Steinsson has done his work well. Its activities will be absorbed by a holding company, so there’s no need to worry about redundancy for an old woman.”
“Another quick visit to Jonas Valur might be in order,” Gunna mused, half to herself.
Anna Fjola drank the rest of her tea, put the cup down firmly in front of her and stood up. “In that case, I’d suggest you don’t wait too long. All the contracts have been signed and I don’t believe he has much left to wait around Reykjavik for.”
She marched out of the cafe with her mouth pursed and her nose in the air, leaving Gunna wondering what was in the thick envelope that she had discreetly left on the table where her handbag had rested.
GUNNA DROVE THE few kilometres to the Keflavik police station, where Bjossi lounged in his habitual smoking spot by the back door, chatting to Helgi. As she parked, he crushed out his cigarette and shook the last drops of coffee from a mug and let it hang on his little finger.
“Good morning, gentlemen. And how are you on this lovely day, Bjossi?” Gunna greeted him.
“Tired, got cold feet, my hair’s still falling out, I hate my job and it’s going to rain. Apart from that, fine,” Bjossi grumbled back at her as she marched into the station. A muffled angry mutter of distant shouts could be heard from deep inside the building.
“What’s the racket, Bjossi? Got the choir practising in there?”
“Bugger the choir. You know what that is,” Bjossi told her grimly.
“Ah. Our friend, is it?”
“I don’t know about our friend. Not the cleverest in the class, but he’s all yours.”
The volume of sound grew as they approached the cells, and the hammering on the steel door echoed throughout the building.
“?i, shut the fuck up, will you?” Bjossi yelled, banging on the door and lifting the flap to give Gunna a view inside. “You really want to go in there? He’s bouncing off the fucking walls.”
“Yeah. We’ll be all right.”
Bjossi shook his head in resignation as he slid back the bolt and the hammering inside faded away.
“About fucking time …” Skari rasped, falling silent as Gunna stalked into the cell with Helgi trying to look tough behind her and Bjossi standing by the door. The bruises on his face had subsided, but there were still livid patches across his cheekbones where the stitches had been taken out.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he challenged. “I told you before—”
“Sit down, Skari,” Gunna told him coldly.
“I don’t have anything to say to you. I told you that before, didn’t I?”
“For fuck’s sake, sit down and shut up for a few seconds, will you, you selfish twat?” Gunna spat at him.
Taken by surprise, Skari dropped onto the bunk and glowered back at her, muttering under his breath.
“What did you say?” he demanded, scowling. “Fucking … brutality, that’s what it is. Bastards …”
“Skari, give over, will you. Now listen. Two thousand, remember that year? I have you positively and reliably identified as issuing threats. There’s no ifs or buts here. Understand?”
“Is that what that bloke wanted yesterday?” He nodded towards Bjossi. “Asked me to read something out for him?”
“Precisely. Bang to rights, Skari.”
His brow darkened as he struggled to take it in. “That was fucking years back.”
“But it’s still an offence and the victim would be only too happy to press charges, even at this late stage. You could be looking at a year or two for this, even now.”
Skari’s hands curled into fists and the anger turning his face red was plain enough. Bjossi stepped forward and Helgi took his hands out of his coat pockets.
