‘Come on, Matti. Let’s keep this friendly, shall we? If needs be, we can go to the station.’
Gunna could almost sense the cogs ticking over in Matti’s mind as he stared through the windscreen at the queue of lunchtime traffic idling impatiently at the lights.
‘All right, then. I’ve got ten minutes, then I need to be back on the rank.’
‘Tell me about March, will you? Were you working?’
‘That was bloody months ago!’ Matti exploded.
‘The ninth of March. Where were you then?’
‘How the hell should I remember that far back? Of course I was working, busy time of the year, that was, before everything started to go quiet.’
Matti’s fingers fidgeted in his lap, thumbs circling each other nervously. He fumbled in the pocket of the car door and shook a cigarette from its packet.
‘Open the windows if you’re going to light up, will you?’ Gunna asked sharply.
‘Yeah. Nothing like an ex-smoker, is there?’ Matti retorted even more sharply, lighting up and blowing smoke out of the now wide open window.
‘March, Matti. What were you up to?’
‘Hell, I don’t know. Ferrying drunks around in this thing, probably.’
‘All right,’ Gunna said in her calmest voice. ‘I’ll jog your memory. What was this taxi doing in Sandeyri on the ninth of March?’
If Gunna hadn’t been looking directly at him, she would have missed seeing Matti’s eyes bulge slightly for a moment.
‘Er. Might have had a fare. I can’t remember. I go all over, I’m often out there round the airport.’
‘All right,’ Gunna said calmly. ‘Let’s jog your memory a bit further, shall we?’ From her jacket pocket she extracted fresh printouts of the webcam pictures that Snorri had obtained, unfolded them carefully and passed them across to Matti, who held them up, shaking his head as he did so.
‘Nope, sorry. Can’t see the number. Not my taxi.’
‘It’s your taxi. It’s the only Mercedes taxi of this model in the entire country. And if you look carefully at that second picture, you’ll see the dent in the wing that you got from a scrape with a yuppie’s caravan on Snorrabraut last summer, which you still haven’t bothered to get fixed.’
‘Yeah, well. It’s Nonni’s car, so it’s his problem. He can get it fixed.’
Matti’s phone squawked. He picked it up and squinted to read the incoming number before stabbing at the phone to reject the call.
‘So. That night in March. Tell me about it.’
‘Look, Gunna, I remember now I had a day off and Nonni let one of the other lads take this car out that night. It was my birthday. I had a night off and a couple of drinks.’
‘Cousin Matti, don’t try to bamboozle me. I know perfectly well your birthday’s in September and with you there’s no such thing as a couple of drinks. It’s a week or nothing.’
‘Hell, Gunna,’ Matti groaned. ‘Get off my back, will you? I’ve got to get back to work.’
‘When you tell me what this is all about.’
‘Look. It’s nothing illegal, all right? A bit dodgy, maybe, but nothing bad. OK?’
‘Tell me more.’
‘OK, OK. Look, sometimes I take ladies for a drive. They want a ride and I don’t ask what they do when they get there. This one wanted to go to Sandeyri. I dropped her off outside the shop and picked her up there a bit later. Don’t know where she went and what she did there is her business.’
‘And I assume it was business?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t ask and I don’t get told lies. All right?’
Gunna flipped open a notebook and wrote down a few lines, more to add to Matti’s discomfort than to aid her own memory. ‘And this, er, lady’s name?’
‘No idea. Like I said, I don’t ask.’
‘Was she a local?’
‘Dunno.’
‘Don’t bugger about. Icelandic or foreign?’
‘Foreign.’
‘From?’
‘Dunno. East. Russia or somewhere like that.’
‘If I were you, cousin Matti, I’d make an effort to remember this girl’s name and see if you can find her.’
‘Like you think I can find her again?’
Gunna yanked the door handle and swung a leg out. ‘You might need the alibi. See you soon, Matti.’
He grunted and started the engine, then leaned his head back on the rest and ran a hand over his eyes. In the mirror he could see Gunna standing by the squad car talking to the young officer sitting inside. After a moment’s thought, he put his head out of the window and twisted his neck around.
‘Hey, Gunna.’
She looked up, said a word to the officer in the car and walked slowly over to him. ‘Yes, Matti?’
‘Well,’ he muttered, embarrassed, ‘I was, y’know, sorry to hear about your bloke. Bit of a rough old time for you, I reckon.’
‘Thanks. You know. You get over it.’
‘Yeah. Look after yourself,’ he grunted, sliding the big car into drive.
‘And you. Behave yourself, Matti.’
Gunna got into the squad car’s passenger seat, shaking her head.
‘How’d it go?’ Snorri asked, pulling out into the traffic and stopping at the first of many sets of lights before the open road over the heath to Hvalvík.
‘Well, my cousin has always had a problem telling the truth, and this time is no exception.’
Birna heard the screech as soon as the Minister put the phone to his ear. She felt briefly sorry for him but the feeling soon passed. Politicians are like pets, a senior official had told her in an expansive moment when she joined the civil service’s fast-track scheme as an outstandingly bright but nonetheless raw graduate.
‘Think of them as cute little puppies, it makes it so much easier to deal with their tantrums,’ the short of breath and soon-to-retire senior head of division had explained. ‘They come here keen and bright-eyed and wagging their little tails, anxious to please. Then they disappear to higher things or they just disappear. So there’s no point getting fond of them.’
Since then, she had classed incoming and outgoing ministers as those destined to disappear upstairs or those destined to disappear back to their rural constituencies for good. Privately she felt that Bjarni Jón Bjarnason deserved to disappear into obscurity, but had a nagging feeling all the same that the future would bring him bigger, but not necessarily better, things.
Bjarni Jón waved hurriedly at Birna to leave the room, but she was already on her discreet way out before he had even raised his hand.
‘What is it now?’ he grated into the phone and held it away from his ear to avoid premature deafness as Sigurjóna yelled with all the force of her considerable lungs into his ear.
‘Have you seen that fucking Skandalblogger? Have you? Have you seen what that fucking arsehole has said about my sister? Have you?’
‘No … Should I? It sounds like he’s been rude again, or am I getting mixed signals here?’
This time Bjarni Jón grimaced and held the earpiece even further away as a tirade erupted from it.
‘Jóna … Jóna, Sugarplum …’
‘How dare you? Call yourself a fucking minister? You’re a fucking useless piece of shit who can’t even shut up some lying bastard scumbag …’
‘Jóna. Calm down, please. Talk to me, will you?’
On the other end of the phone there was a respite as Sigurjóna’s sobs could be heard down the line and Bjarni Jón took a deep breath, relieved that she had at least shut up.
‘Jóna, my love? Are you listening to me?’
‘I’m here.’ She was back, steely again with her bout of tears quickly over.
‘I keep telling you, I’m doing everything I can. I’ve had meetings with the National Commissioner, the Minister of Justice, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, you name it, I’ve badgered them about it. I’ve had briefings from the head of the computer crime division, our own techno-nerd department and everyo
ne apart from the receptionist downstairs. And I can’t get any further.’
‘This has to stop.’ Sigurjóna’s voice had gone as cold as a winter’s night.
‘I agree, but I can’t see how.’
‘Offer the bastard money.’
‘What?’
‘You heard what I said. Buy the bastard off.’
‘How? If nobody can find him, how?’
‘Find a way.’
Bjarni Jón groaned. ‘Jóna, my love. Leave it. Let it ride. Ignore it. It’ll stop sooner or later. It isn’t as if we haven’t heard gossip before.’
‘Find a way, Bjarni.’
The phone went dead in his hand. Bjarni Jón took a deep breath and typed the Skandalblogger’s URL into his web browser. He gasped when he finished reading the latest entry, then a smile galloped around his face and he laughed out loud.
‘Bloody hell. How do they find out this stuff?’ he asked himself, pressing the buzzer for Birna’s desk.
‘Minister?’
‘Birna, would you make me an appointment with the National Commissioner, please?’
‘Again, Minister?’
‘Yes, again. And as soon as is convenient,’ he said, wondering if Birna and the rest of the department would also be logging on to the Skandalblogger’s page to read the latest titbit that had upset the Minister’s wife.
21
Friday, 19 September
19-09-2008, 0223
Skandalblogger writes:
You do the hokey-cokey and …
And now for the sexual aberration of the week. Which well-known and highly exclusive city hairdresser to the rich, especially to the rich, has a penchant for back door fun with a difference? What is it with these sisters and their arses? Anyway, this lady likes it rough and Skandalblogger is reliably informed that she asks her gentlemen friends to use the following recipe.
Step 1. Roll on heavily ribbed condom, any flavour.
Step 2. Sprinkle todger with finest organic marching powder.
Step 3. Get stuck in.
Word has it that if the fun dust does to her arse what we’re told it’s already doing to her nose, she’s going to be crapping in a bag long before she gets shunted off to the old folks’ home.
… and you shake it all about …!
‘Hi. Skúli.’
‘So I hear, young man. And just why are you calling at this time of night? Sorry, didn’t have time to meet you in Reykjavík yesterday.’
‘That’s all right. Didn’t wake you up or anything, did I?’
Gunna laughed hollowly. ‘It’s all right. I’ve only just come in. Been round the village to make sure the local bad guys are all behaving themselves.’
‘OK. Have you got the TV on?’
‘Why?’ Gunna asked curiously.
‘I think you ought to watch the news. And buy a paper in the morning.’
Something in Skúli’s voice told her that he was serious and she rooted through the pile of old newspapers on the table for the TV remote control, jamming her phone between shoulder and ear while she did so. ‘Something important, is it?’
‘Yeah. Einar Eyjólfur Einarsson? I reckon you’ll need to see this. It was on the 19.19 news, but I reckon it’ll be on the ten o’clock news in a few minutes as well, and it’s our front page tomorrow.’
Gunna looked at her watch. ‘Right. That gives me ten minutes to find the remote and when the news is over I’m going to get some sleep.’
‘Hope so. I’ll see you next week, I expect.’
‘Goodnight, young man.’
‘G’night.’
Gunna put the phone down and finally found the remote on the floor under the table. The TV flickered into life and she sat back to watch the news, easing her boots off and putting them neatly by the side of the armchair. She wondered briefly why Skúli had said he would see her next week.
As the news bulletin began, the screen filled with a blurred picture of Einar Eyjólfur Einarsson, wearing a colourful shirt and a goofy smile. He was the main story and as the newsreader switched to an item about forthcoming local elections, she heard the phone start to ring again.
22
Saturday, 20 September
‘Gunnhildur, you’re here because this is your area and your case,’ began Vilhjálmur Traustason, still shaken from last night’s TV report. Everyone in the room remained silent and waited for him to continue. A police station on a Saturday morning is no less busy than at any other time and phones could be heard ringing in other rooms and traffic hummed past outside the window.
‘What we have is a somewhat untrustworthy allegation that the death of this young man who was found unfortunately deceased in –’ he peered at the report in front of him – ‘the harbour at Hvalvík, was deliberately perpetrated.’
Vilhjálmur Traustason spread his hands flat on the table in front of him and squared his shoulders. ‘Having gone over the reports in detail and read carefully through the information from forensics and pathology, to my mind it is absolutely clear that the young man suffered death by drowning while intoxicated.’
‘I don’t disagree with that,’ Gunna broke in. ‘But what we didn’t manage to establish was how he managed to get, dead drunk, from Reykjavík to be found floating in the dock at Hvalvík, especially after our investigation came to an end and Sævaldur took it over.’
Vilhjálmur looked at Gunna as if she were a recalcitrant child and sighed audibly. ‘There are other factors involved, Gunnhildur. We have to tread a delicate path on occasions and we also have to allocate resources where they are most needed. I don’t have to remind you that we are facing a very different enforcement environment to the one you might remember from before you took over in Hvalvík. Hm?’
‘That’s as may be, but now we have to reallocate some resources to this matter,’ broke in Ívar Laxdal, the National Commissioner’s deputy, who had been silent until now with a sheaf of newspapers in front of him, topped by a front page bearing the same picture of Einar Eyjólfur Einarsson as had already been on every TV report. Gunna knew Ívar Laxdal, who had already been a senior officer when she joined the force, only by his reputation for blunt speaking. Now he voiced everyone’s thoughts.
‘This Skandalblogger’s allegations have been picked up by the media and splashed over the front pages. Regardless of the circumstances of the case, it hardly reflects well that this could have been investigated more thoroughly at the time,’ he continued. Vilhjálmur Traustason looked hurt, as if he had been punched in the kidneys by a trusted colleague.
‘So what are we doing?’ Bjössi asked with ill-concealed irritation. Gunna could see that he was desperate to go outside for a smoke and sympathized with him.
Ívar Laxdal stood up. ‘There will be a press announcement this afternoon and I need you there for that, Vilhjálmur. I expect to see progress by the end of the day. I need to have an evaluation this afternoon, please,’ he said brusquely, putting on his gold-braided cap. ‘I’m sure I can leave you to organize everything and I’ll see you at headquarters at one. Email it through to me when you’re ready.’
He swept from the room, leaving Vilhjálmur pale with suppressed anger as he swiftly detailed three of his own officers to liaise with Gunna and CID, and followed his superior’s example by sweeping from the room, after having called a further meeting for that afternoon.
The tension relaxed as the door banged shut in his wake.
‘Right, then. So what the hell are we going to do?’ Bjössi asked, looking at Gunna. ‘You’re the man here with the experience, sweetheart.’
Gunna looked at Bjössi and Bára, the young woman Gunna had chosen Snorri over for secondment to Hvalvík.
‘How many people do we have to play with?’
‘Us,’ Bjössi said. ‘As well as your guys from Hvalvík, plus whatever Reykjavík decides to help us out with. We’ve already set aside an incident room.’
‘We can call on a couple of the guys here when they’re available for legwork,’ Bára a
dded.
‘OK. Let’s start with Reykjavík, we need liaison straight away with the computer crime division to try and track this oddball down. What is it he calls himself?’
‘Skandalblogger.’
‘Ideally we need to contact the person behind it and find out what else he or she knows. We need to go through the records of the original investigation and find out more about Einar Eyjólfur’s background. Bára, you can pull my reports off the system so you’re not going over the same ground twice. We already know quite a lot, but we haven’t gone as deep as we ought to. Anything on friends, colleagues, whatever. His girlfriend’s name is Dísa and she lives in Vogar. No idea if she still works at Spearpoint; find out. I have her full name and address at the station in Hvalvík and I can email those to you later.’
Gunna drew breath. She was already enjoying the buzz of running a team, wondering how long it would be before someone more senior would be assigned to the case.
‘Bjössi, will you please do your thing as far as you can with what’s available? Go through the pathology again and the forensics, then come back and tell me where the holes are. And if you feel like it, you can get on with that right now and go for a puff on the way.’
Bjössi needed no second invitation and was out of the room before Gunna had finished speaking.
‘Bára. Clean Iceland. Do we have any contact with these people? Do we have any intelligence on them? I’m sure there’s something, but it’s a question of which department is holding it. Einar Eyjólfur was involved with Clean Iceland, so we need to speak to them. Find out who to talk to and talk to them, who’s driving that bunch and what exactly was our boy’s role.’
Gunna’s words came out in a torrent and she could not restrain a fizz of excitement at the activity she was kicking off.
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