Cold Comfort (36 page)

“If I’m going to grill the accountant, where are you off to?”

“I’m going to go and pay Jónas 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 Hallbjörnsson. All right?” Gunna asked, pulling up outside the office block where Bjarki Steinsson’s fourth-floor offices overlooked the building sites of Reykjavík’s Shadow District.

A few minutes later Gunna parked outside the modest old building that disguised Jónas Valur’s office.

The grim-face secretary looked her over with undisguised hostility, but gave way and rang through to Jónas Valur.

“He’ll see you now,” she informed Gunna primly.

Sitting in the half-dark behind his antique desk, Jónas 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,” Jónas Valur said with a smile, quickly extinguished. “How’s my old friend Chief Inspector Örlygur 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 Örlygur? 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 could nonetheless repair the most delicate machinery with a skill and patience that she would have loved to be able to master herself.

“When was your last contact with Svana Geirs?” she asked bluntly.

“I thought we’d already been through this?”

“Maybe we need to go through it again.”

Jónas Valur reached for a diary on the desk in front of him. “The sixth. That was the last time I saw her.”

“Five days before she died?”

“Precisely.”

“How long did you spend together? Did you go anywhere you might have been seen or where someone else could confirm this?”

“Officer, our last meeting consisted of a disappointing DVD of some slushy film that Svana wanted to see, a reasonable takeaway from Ning’s and some rather energetic sex—not necessarily in that order. We spent the night at her apartment and I left in the morning,” Jónas Valur said with the return of his narrow smile.

“So you last saw her on the morning of the seventh? I asked what your last contact with her was. Emails, phone calls, maybe?” Jónas Valur shook his head with a show of regret. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you with anything subsequent.”

“I see,” Gunna said. “I was wondering who could be the JVH she called on the ninth and had an eight-minute conversation with?”

A sudden spasm of anger flashed in his eyes and was instantly suppressed.

“I have no idea, officer. There are surely plenty of people in Iceland with those same initials.”

“Actually, you’d be surprised just how few there are, according to the National Registry. It seems a coincidence too striking to ignore that Svana Geirs would know two people with the same initials. It also seems odd that she wouldn’t have your name and number in her phone memory when the rest of the syndicate are all there.”

With one hand in her pocket, she pressed the green button on her phone that her thumb had been hovering over, while looking Jónas Valur in the eyes.

“It may well seem odd…” he began, shutting his mouth suddenly as a faint buzz could be heard from his jacket hanging on an old-fashioned hatstand in the corner. His eyes narrowed and Gunna immediately sensed the man’s fury.

“I take it that’s your phone ringing over there?” she asked sweetly, lifting her own phone from her pocket. “If you answer it, you’ll find yourself talking to me.”

“Probably nothing important,” Jónas Valur said dismissively. “I receive dozens of calls every day.”

“But you don’t,” Gunna corrected him. “I happen to know that your personal mobile number is carefully given out to only a few selected friends and your business calls come here to be screened by the witch next door.”

Jónas Valur stood up and leaned forward with his knuckles on the surface of the desk. “I think I’ve told you everything I have to say without a lawyer present. So if you don’t mind, I’m a busy man.”

His eyes indicated the door.

“What did Svana talk to you about?” Gunna asked, remaining seated as he loomed over her.

“I have said everything I’m prepared to say.”

“Did she call you to let you know that the syndicate was being closed down?”

“What the hell are you talking about, you stupid woman? Don’t you know what’s good for you?” Jónas Valur hissed, lifting his knuckles from the desk and impotently balling his fists.

“If I’m expected to take that as a threat, then it might be as well to continue this conversation at Hverfisgata,” Gunna said in a voice that she did her best to keep even.

“On what grounds?” he sneered. “Sleeping with a murder victim? That doesn’t mean that I had any hand in her death.”

“Or Steindór Hjálmarsson’s?”

Jónas Valur sank back into his chair and his face hardened. “What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

“I had nothing whatsoever to do with that.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard.”

“That was all Bjartmar’s doing.”

“And he’s conveniently no longer with us.”

Jónas Valur’s eyes bulged with fury that he concealed with a humorless smile. “Nonetheless, it was Bjartmar’s affair entirely. He was a good friend, but the man had a temper that he sometimes found difficult to rein in. I knew nothing of this until long after the event, and then only through unreliable hearsay. Needless to say, I never asked Bjartmar about these rumours.”

This time Gunna stood up and towered over him.

“In that case you won’t have any objection to making a formal statement to that effect. Nine tomorrow morning at Hverfisgata? Ask for me at the main desk,” she said crisply, turning to leave Jónas Valur glaring at her as she closed his office door behind her.

G
UNNA HUNTED AROUND
for the car, cursing the department’s finances that left them short of vehicles and forced them to hire cars to fill the gap. She clicked the fob, saw lights flash and strode across the car park to where today’s Audi waited for her.

Her phone trilled as she started the engine, and she fumbled for it as the car began to bump forward through the puddles.

“Gunnhildur,” she barked without bothering to check the caller ID.

“Hæ, it’s me. Busy?”

“As always. What can I do for you, Skúli?”

“Ah. It’s more a case of what I can do for you.”

“Go on,” Gunna instructed, intrigued, letting the car come to a halt. She heard Skúli take a deep breath.

“It’s about Gulli Ólafs. I’ve been talking to a friend of a friend and thought you might be interested to know there’s a rumour around the news desk that he and Helena Rós are more than usually good friends. You know, Hallur Hallbjörnsson’s wife?”

“That’s very diplomatically put, Skúli. I don’t suppose you could name a source, could you?”

“I could, but I’d best not.”

Gunna put the car into gear and it jerked forward, splashing its way through a deeper than usual pool of rainwater.

“That certainly throws a new light on things. Thanks for letting me know, Skúli. It’s appreciated.”

“That’s not all, though. Listen …”

Gunna braked and the car ground to a halt a second time. “There was a journal meeting this morning and a load of the usual old stuff came up, but there was also a mention by one of the senior editors that he has someone sitting on a story about Svana Geirs and her little club. There was a bit of an argument about whether or not we should actually use it when it shows up, as it’s definitely going to upset her family.”

“And what was the verdict?”

“That we use it. If we don’t, someone else will, so we might as well have it,” Skúli said quickly. “It’ll have to be under an in-house byline, as the guy who’s done the legwork on it would probably be sacked if his employers find out he’s freelancing as well. So are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Gulli Ólafs?”

“I reckon you’d be right, especially taking the rumours about Helena Rós into account.”

“Thanks, Skúli. I’ll keep that to myself for the moment. But I’d really appreciate it if you let me know when this is going to hit any headlines. OK?”

“Will do. Got to go. There’s someone coming.”

The phone went dead in her hand and Gunna sat with a puzzled frown on her face as the raindrops started to rattle on the car’s roof.

“M
ESSAGE FROM THE
Laxdal,” Helgi said as he jumped into the car outside Bjarki Steinsson’s office building.

“Which is?” Gunna asked, letting out the clutch and roaring into the traffic.

“First, turn on your communicator. Second, he formally requested the Portuguese police pick up Sindri Valsson, but by the time they got round to knocking on his door, he’d done a bunk. He’s in Iceland, apparently, according to his neighbours.”

“Like hell,” Gunna grunted. “I’ll bet he’s sunning himself in Tortoiseland or whatever the bloody place is called.”

“Tortola, chief. It’s a tax haven in the British Virgin Islands.”

“I was just about to say that. But I suppose it’s out of our hands and he’ll surface eventually. What d’you reckon on Bjarki Steinsson?”

“Bloody hell, chief. The man’s distraught. He couldn’t have been more upset if had been his wife who had been murdered.”

“Still?”

“Yeah. Even more so because it seems Svana had gently given him the push, along with all the others.”

“Ah! Högni was telling the truth on that bit, at least.”

Helgi looked doubtful. ‘Who knows? I reckon he probably did it. They had a shouting match and he bashed his sister over the head in the heat of the moment. That’s what Sævaldur thinks, and I’m inclined to go along with him on this one.”

“Don’t bring Sævaldur Bogason into it. I don’t care if the man’s a chief inspector; he has neither imagination nor common sense.”

“Fair enough. Hallur next, then?”

“Yup, the oily bastard himself.”

“How was Jónas Valur?”

Gunna swerved to overtake a heavily loaded truck and cursed as the car behind flashed its lights.

“Yeah, piss off, or I’ll have you for dangerous driving,” Gunna yelled as the jeep sped past. “Let’s say that I’m more than likely not on Jónas Valur’s Christmas card list, nor likely to ever be on it, and my description is probably being circulated right now among the funny-handshake brigade with instructions to blight this bloody awkward old cow’s career at all costs.”

“A productive day’s work, then?”

“We’ll see a bit later on what happens. We’ll have an Interpol alert out for Sindri Valsson. I’ve told Eiríkur already that I want Jónas Valur tailed to see where he goes, and hopefully we’ll be able to track his mobile as well.”

“Serious stuff. Where are we seeing Hallur?”

“We’ll try his office to start with.”

Gunna parked close to the City Hall, flashing her warrant card at a parking attendant who saw them walk away from the car without buying a ticket. Inside the old building they found only a secretary, who seemed pleased to have company.

“He was here this morning and said he’d be back soon, but I haven’t seen him since,” she said plaintively. “His diary’s blank for the afternoon.”

“No idea where he is?”

The girl shook her head. “Haven’t a clue. Maybe you could try his mobile?”

Gunna and Helgi sat outside in the car.

“What d’you reckon, chief?”

“No idea. He’s not in Parliament, he’s not in his cubbyhole, he has no official business, otherwise the secretary would have been aware of it. He’s not shagging Svana and I somehow doubt that he’s at Fit Club. So where’s the least likely place a man like Hallur would be?”

“At home, I reckon.”

“We’d best try there and then give it up as a bad job,” Gunna said, starting the car once more.

It was a ten minute drive to the leafy suburb where Hallur Hallbjörnsson lived in the Vogar district, but it could have been a different world. There was birdsong instead of the incessant grumble of traffic, and Gunna wound down a window to let in a little fresh air as she took the car gently along the deserted street, looking out for twitching curtains in kitchen windows.

“Someone’s going to call the police in a minute, I expect,” she said grimly. “That’s his place, there.”

She pointed and drove slowly past.

“Car’s there,” Helgi said, peering through the sparse hedge as they passed the house, and Gunna reversed into a driveway to turn around and go back. Helgi screwed up his eyes to see better, staring at the antique Mercedes tucked as far along the driveway as it would go.

“Is he in the car?” Gunna asked. “Can you see him, Helgi?”

She stopped where they could see along the length of the driveway to the car half hidden behind some bushes.

“He’s been sitting there a while now.”

Gunna switched off the engine and tapped the wheel with her fingertips as they waited for Hallur to either finish his call and get out of the car, or else drive away. After what seemed an age, her patience snapped.

“The bloody man must know we’re here by now, surely?”

“You’d have thought so,” Helgi said thoughtfully.

“Hell and damnation,” Gunna grated and got out of the car. Helgi rolled down his window and watched, expecting to see Hallur put his foot down and reverse out into the road, but nothing happened as Gunna approached. He watched her suddenly pick up her pace and run to the car door, where she pulled her scarf from inside her coat and turned towards him.

“Helgi! Quick! Ambulance!”

“Control, zero-two-sixty. Request ambulance urgent to Hrìmvogur 44,” he said as calmly as he could into his communicator, watching Gunna wrap her scarf around her face as she opened the car’s door and dragged an unconscious Hallur Hallbjörnsson by his shoulders out of the driving seat to sprawl full-length on the gravel drive.