‘I’ll make some calls. Ask a few questions.’
Logi slapped his shoulder. Thanks, Tadeusz. You’re a real friend.’
There was no choice but to leave Aníta Sól at the station in the custody of an officer given the thankless task of taking her statement.
Gunna clicked her communicator as she got in the car-pool Polo and made for the gate.
‘Zero-two-sixty, ninety-five-fifty,’ she called and wanted to grind her teeth as Helgi failed to reply. She stopped the car in the entrance and waited. She was scrolling through to find his number on her phone when he replied.
‘Ninety-five-fifty, zero-two-sixty.’
‘Where are you, Helgi?’
‘Njálsgata. Problem?’
‘Are you on foot?’
‘Yep.’
‘Two minutes. I’ll pick you up on the corner of Snorrabraut.’
In fact it was less than a minute before she was there and rattling her fingers on the steering wheel, waiting for Helgi to appear.
‘It’s Alli the Cornershop, no two ways about it. That’s who these two jokers have been working for,’ he said as Gunna put her foot down, taking the Polo away into the traffic before taking a sharp right, lifting a single middle finger through the open window at the driver of a heavy 4x4 behind her, who brayed his horn as he passed. ‘What’s the panic?’
‘A thug answering Stefán’s description turned up at a flat on Laugalækur twenty minutes ago. There are uniforms there, but it seems he’s already been and gone. What was that about Alli the Cornershop?’
‘He used to be a loan shark until the legal loan sharks came in and more or less killed his business.’
‘What?’
‘The pay-day loan companies, the ones who advertise on the TV all the time. They took most of that business, but Alli and others are still about and they will make sure you get a debt collected in return for a percentage.’
‘A hefty percentage, I’d guess.’
‘Fifty per cent, I’m told. Anyway, I can pin Axel Rútur and Stefán to Alli’s enforcement activities.’
‘Perfect. Do you know if these two were doing some enforcement on Thursday?’
‘I was just off to see if I could corner Alli when you called.’
Gunna took the Polo along Bergthórugata and Frakkastígur, and sat impatiently at the crossing on Laugavegur as tourists in anoraks and hats, in spite of the summer sunshine, ambled past, until she was able to gun the car down the hill and onto Sæbraut, catching every green light for a change. The squad car was already outside the block of flats on Laugalækur, a normally quiet neighbourhood of newish blocks of flats and detached houses among young trees and sprouting hedges. Upstairs they found one officer taking notes and the second one having a discreet look around.
A tearful woman sat at the kitchen table. She was wearing a sleeveless T-shirt that showed raw red marks on her upper arms that would soon become livid bruises. Gunna raised an eyebrow as the officer taking notes looked up.
‘Answers the description we were given,’ he said. ‘This lady is Brynja Salvör Jónsdóttir, and she lives here with her two sons, who are with their father this weekend. She says that the suspect knocked on the door and she answered it without bothering to look through the spyhole; then once he was inside the apartment, he assaulted her.’
‘What happened, Brynja?’ Gunna asked.
‘He hit me.’
Brynja moved the drying cloth she was holding over her mouth and nose, and Gunna could see that blood and snot were still dribbling from a nose that looked as if it had been squashed flat against her face.
‘Hell, what happened? This guy must have had a reason to come here? You owe someone money?’
‘No, of course not,’ Brynja spluttered through the mess her face had become. ‘He said he was looking for my boyfriend.’
‘Name?’
‘Logi Gunnarsson,’ she said. ‘Did I say boyfriend? Well, I suppose he was,’ she added bitterly.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘He walked out this morning and I haven’t seen him since.’
‘Helgi?’ Gunna called and held out her hand. ‘You have those photos?’
She placed Stefán’s picture in front of Brynja where she could see it, but kept it clear of the pool of blood on the kitchen table.
‘That’s him. Totally sure.’
‘Good. That’s straightforward enough. And this character?’
Brynja shook her head at Axel Rútur’s picture. ‘No, never seen this one.’
‘Helgi, could you get the lady another cloth, please, and dampen it first?’ Gunna suggested. Helgi opened cupboards until he found what he was looking for. ‘You said he was looking for your boyfriend, Logi Gunnarsson. Did he say what for, or do you suspect why he may have fallen out with this character?’
Helgi took the blood-soaked cloth from Brynja and handed her a clean one.
‘No, I don’t know why, he just said he was going to kill him when he finds him.’
‘You said Logi had walked out earlier today? You had an argument?’
‘No,’ Brynja wailed. ‘I wish we had. I know why he left; he just took his stuff and went while I was taking a shower.’
‘Next step is to find your guy before this troll does. Where does he live? You have a phone number?’
Brynja had to go to her phone to get Logi’s number from it and Helgi copied it down. ‘He’s driving, I suppose? What vehicle?’
‘A pickup. I don’t know what make.’
‘We’re done here,’ Gunna said to the two uniformed officers. ‘I’ll leave you gentlemen to look after this lady and take her statement, and then you can take her to A&E to get that nose looked at.’
The shadows were lengthening but darkness was still some way off as Logi drove past the house and turned the pickup around by the three boulders that had been placed in the road a hundred metres past his house to prevent people using it as a shortcut. The place seemed peaceful enough. The door was shut and the curtains were drawn, as he had left them. Reluctant to park right outside, he drove on, taking a couple of corners to double back in a circle onto the other half of the road below the three rocks. The house’s long and unkempt garden backed onto a small trading estate of half a dozen workshops and garages, where he was able to park in the shadows and from where he could see the house easily.
He sat in the car for a while, looking through the windscreen at the unchanging scene in front of him. He had to go inside to get some stuff for the week ahead, and he wondered if the gorilla looking for him knew where he lived. He guessed he probably did, especially if it was Sandra who’d placed the debt-collection contract.
Logi rummaged deep in the toolbox in the passenger-side footwell and took out the leather case. The revolver sat comfortably in his hand. He spun the chamber and listened to the mechanism, then clicked the safety catch off and on again. Logi left the leather case in the car, opened the revolver to be certain it was loaded, and regretted that he hadn’t troubled to find a secluded spot to try firing the thing.
He walked through the garden in the gathering gloom. There was nobody about and there was hardly any traffic. This area of the city was growing and there were plenty of new houses close by, but most of them were unfinished, so no one was likely to be within shouting distance if he was surprised.
He let himself in the back door and stopped himself from reaching for the light switch. In the bedroom, he stuffed shorts and underwear into a black rubbish bag, closing the cupboard doors after him. He took his passport and the wad of cash from the job he and the Polish boys had just finished. Then he looked around the kitchen and wondered if there was anything he ought to take with him, noticing with a chill the hammer that had made such a dent in the enforcer’s forehead. The incident felt as if it had happened years ago, and he had to remind himself that only a few days had passed. He carefully wiped the hammer with a cloth and placed it on top of the black bag. It would need to be disposed of, preferably in
the lake.
A rumble of tyres on the badly made road outside alerted him, and he stood with his back to the wall in order to sneak a look through the curtains of the tiny living room. A powder-blue Megane had stopped outside and Logi held his breath as the driver got out and looked about him. In the gloom he could see the man was broad-shouldered, and the light of a street lamp a hundred metres away glinted on his bald head. It was enough to tell him this was someone he definitely did not want to meet. He took the black bin bag and dropped it by the back door as the visitor rattled the front door.
‘Hello, anyone there?’ the visitor called, pushing open the letterbox before letting it fall back with a clack. Logi breathed deep and checked his pockets. The passport and wad of cash were stowed in his trouser pockets. All he needed to do was get out the back door and through the garden, and he would be away. All his tools and his nephew’s unwanted camping stuff were stowed under the pickup’s canvas cover. There was nothing else to take, he was sure of it.
He winced as the floorboards in the hall squeaked under his feet. He’d been meaning to screw them down tight, but had never got round to it. The front door rattled again as the man outside hammered a second time. He sighed with relief and stood stock still for a long time, listening out for any movement outside. He peered slantwise through the windows of the living room and the road seemed clear, so he eased the back door open a crack, listened again and peered out before opening it fully.
Logi jumped as the man stepped into the doorway, filling the door frame from one side to the other.
‘Logi Gunnarsson?’ he asked with a grin.
‘Who?’
‘Don’t fuck with me, boy,’ the man spat, and grabbed the front of Logi’s jacket with both hands, lifting him and throwing him back in a heap on the floor, among the wreckage of a wooden chair that disintegrated as he landed on it.
He stepped inside while Logi spluttered and fought to get his breath back.
‘Logi, we have to have a little talk,’ the man said, picking up a chair leg from the floor. ‘You don’t know me but I know all about you. And now you’re going to come up with a handful of cash to start with. After that you’re going to tell me exactly what happened to my pal Axel Rútur, and then I might snap off your thumbs and stick them up your arse. How does that sound?’
He whirled the chair leg around, testing its weight, and brought it down with a thwack against the wall. Logi shifted on the ground and managed to bring himself to a half-sitting position.
‘I really don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he gasped. ‘Who the hell are you?’ He felt in his jacket pocket, grateful that the gorilla’s need to gloat had given him breathing space.
‘I’m your worst nightmare,’ the man sneered, looking around the little house and taking stock of the living room. ‘Wooden house, is it? It’ll go up like a bonfire when I’m done with you, except I might leave you in here to watch the fireworks.’
Logi steadied himself and the revolver was in his hand.
‘You were saying?’ Logi asked as the big man’s face went pale and he began to back away.
Helgi looked tired and Gunna felt as tired as he looked.
‘Let her go?’
‘Of course. Her mother’s waiting downstairs.’
Gunna was exhausted after listening to Aníta Sól contradict herself a dozen times. Even the lawyer had shaken his head in despair.
‘Go home, Helgi.’
‘And you.’
‘Early tomorrow, and we’d best forget about shifts for the next day or so, at least until we have some more manpower,’ Gunna said. ‘We could really do with Eiríkur here as well; even Sævaldur would be a help with something like this.’
Helgi cackled to himself. ‘Can you imagine him listening to Barbie upstairs tying herself in knots.’
‘I can. She’s either extraordinarily stupid, or very, very clever.’
‘Do you think she had anything to do with Axel Rútur’s death?’
Gunna hid a yawn. ‘My gut feeling says no. To my mind she’s too dim to not give herself away somehow, and although she’s gone round in circles, she’s kept to her story for the most part.’
‘I get the feeling the thing she’s most worried about is her mother finding out she’s been fucking that other beefcake on the quiet.’
‘Speaking of which, he appears to have vanished off the face of the planet, as has the invisible Logi Gunnarsson. Any news of either of them?’
‘Nope.’ Helgi sighed. ‘The Land Cruiser has vanished. If it had been on the move, traffic would have spotted it by now, and Logi’s vehicle is a Toyota pickup. That hasn’t been clocked anywhere either.’
‘Switched cars, d’you think?’
‘Possible. I tried Logi’s phone just now. No reply.’
Gunna yawned again. ‘Right, I’m off home. I need a word with the Laxdal first to see if he can mobilize warrants to track Logi’s and Stefán’s phones.’
Helgi levered himself out of his chair and poured half a mug of lukewarm coffee down his throat.
‘I’ll sign Aníta Sól out and deliver her to her mother, all right?’
‘Do that. Just make sure she knows we’ll be wanting to speak to her tomorrow and that we’ll need her to identify Axel Rútur’s body once Miss Cruz has finished. Then go home, Helgi. Tell Halla it’s all my fault that you lost your day off and I’ll organize a day in lieu for you.’
‘You’re kidding me,’ Stefán said, slowly dropping his hands. ‘Fire that thing and the law will be here in five minutes.’
‘You think I have anything to lose? And nobody lives around here, so there’s nobody to hear a shot or your scream.’
‘Don’t be stupid, pal. I might have been a bit hasty just now.’
‘I’m deadly serious. Keep your hands where I can see them and don’t fuck about.’
Stefán took a step nearer. Logi looked down the sight of the revolver and Stefán hesitated as he saw the barrel loom like a tunnel.
‘Back off. This is loaded,’ Logi warned as he got to his feet, keeping the weapon trained on the big man’s chest. ‘Undo your trousers.’
‘What?’
‘You heard me. Undo your trousers. Slowly.’
Stefán complied, undoing the belt buckle and making no sudden moves. Then came the button and the zip.
‘Now push them down. That’s far enough.’
With his trousers bunched around his knees, Stefán found himself no longer capable of any sudden moves and he growled at Logi.
‘Into the living room, and sit in the armchair. Hands above your head, don’t forget.’
Hobbled like a horse, he shuffled into the living room. Logi was tempted to move closer to give the man a kick, but caution prevailed and he stayed out of reach.
‘Who are you?’
‘Stefán.’
‘Stefán who?’
‘Ingason.’
‘And what brings you here?’
There was a moment of silence as Stefán thought.
‘Come on, fat boy. I don’t have all night,’ Logi snarled.
‘I’m collecting a debt. A guy called Logi Gunnarsson. I was told he lives here.’
‘A shame you met me instead, isn’t it?’
‘What? Logi doesn’t live here any more?’
‘No, he’s gone abroad. That’s probably why you can’t find him. He went to Brazil,’ Logi said, taking the first idea that came to mind.
‘So who sent you?’
There was a stubborn silence.
‘Who sent you?’ Logi repeated, his thumb on the hammer, which clicked as he pulled it back.
‘Alli the Cornershop,’ Stefán said at last.
‘A debt collector, is he?’
‘You don’t know Alli the Cornershop? You do me any damage and he’ll hunt you down and make you squeal.’
Stefán leaned forward in the chair and made to stand up.
‘Then it’s a shame you won’t be here to gloat, isn’t it?’ Logi
said as coldly as he could and forced himself to smile. ‘Is that your car outside?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Keys.’
‘What?’
‘Give me the keys.’
‘They’re in my trousers.’
‘Get them, and keep it slow.’
Stefán leaned forward and put a hand in the pocket of his trousers, which were in a bunch around his calves, slowly withdrawing his hand with the keys nestling in his palm. His momentary half-smile was a mistake. He tossed the keys high in the air, expecting Logi’s eyes to follow them, and launching himself forward at the same moment. Expecting the man to try something, Logi kept his eyes fixed on his face, and as soon as he saw him pull his feet close for a better purchase, he squeezed the trigger.
The report in the little room was deafening and there was a cloud of acrid smoke that hung in the air. Logi saw the big man slump back in the chair in shock.
‘Five more where that came from, fat boy,’ he hissed, backing into the hall and keeping the weapon aimed at Stefán. He wanted to know if the man was hurt or not. Had he killed him?
‘I didn’t think . . .’ Stefán said slowly, putting his right hand to his left arm where the bullet had chewed a hole in the muscle. Logi was relieved when the man’s hand came away sticky with blood. ‘I need to get to a hospital.’ There was a querulous note to his voice.
‘You’ll live,’ Logi told him, reaching for the keys on the floor without taking his eyes off Stefán. He motioned to Stefán to stand up again. ‘Out the door at the back.’
He made him stand outside while he picked up the bag in his free hand and dropped it by the back door.
‘Now round to the front,’ he ordered and Stefán complied sulkily. ‘Get in the car.’
Slumped in the seat and with his face grey, Stefán pleaded. ‘Let me have the keys, man. I need to get to a doctor.’
Logi clicked the fob and lights flashed twice. Still with the revolver in his outstretched arm, he stood by the open door and looked down at Stefán, who gazed back at him with dull eyes.
‘Come on, you’ve had your fun. I’m in trouble here.’
‘Pop the boot.’
‘What?’
‘Open the boot. There’s a catch by the door.’
Summerchill Page 9
