‘It’s something odd,’ she said finally. ‘Some contract cleaners turned up at a house in Kópavogur to spring clean a house that had been rented, so it would be all fresh and clean for the next tenants. But in the basement they found a smashed-up chair, bits of duct tape and a lot of bloodstains on the floor.’
‘That sounds unpleasant. Torture of some kind, do you think?’
‘I don’t know what to think. Forensics have been over it and taken every sample they can think of. It screams dubious to me, but unless there’s a DNA match or something else, I doubt we’ll ever get to the bottom of it.’
‘So you have no victim, no idea what happened or when, and you don’t know where to look? Sounds good to me,’ Eiríkur said brightly. ‘How about . . . ?’ he pointed a finger towards the ceiling. ‘What does the Laxdal say about it?’
‘I’m going to ask a few more questions before I mention it to him. The really odd thing about it is that one of the cleaners, the one who found the stuff in the basement, seems to have had a fit and was taken away in an ambulance. I’m getting the feeling there’s more to this than meets the eye, and that these Reindeer Cleaners aren’t telling me everything.’
‘Reindeer Cleaners? Is that what they’re called?’
‘Yup. Tasteful, isn’t it? It goes without saying that they’re all immigrants.’
Gunna stood up and pulled on her jacket. ‘I’ll leave you to continue with Vilhelm Thorleifsson’s background. Can you see what else you can find out about Elvar Pálsson as well? I’m going to ask the manager at Reindeer Cleaners a few pointed questions.’
‘Another immigrant?’
‘Not this guy. I gather he’s the only one working there who isn’t foreign.’
‘All these foreigners, nothing but trouble,’ Eiríkur sniffed.
‘What do you expect when Icelanders don’t want to do shit work and import people who are prepared to do it?’
‘People would do these jobs if they were paid properly, surely?’
Gunna looked out of the window to check the weather before leaving the building. ‘And there you have the other half of the problem. If you pay shit wages, then you’ll find yourself employing the people who, for whatever reason, can’t find anything better.’
‘A bit like working for the government, you mean?’ Eiríkur asked with a faint smile and Gunna was taken aback for a moment by the first hint of a rebellious comment from him.
‘Getting that way, Eiríkur, I guess,’ she said, hiding her surprise.
The young man with the big ears was far from pleased to get an unannounced visit from the police.
‘Viggó Jakobsson?’ Gunna asked, knowing already that she had the right person. ‘Gunnhildur Gísladóttir. I’m with CID and we’re investigating Kópavogsbakki fifty, where a squad of your cleaners found something unpleasant in the basement.’
‘I don’t see what this has to do with me,’ Viggó said, not bothering to conceal his impatience as he spun a set of car keys on his finger. ‘And I do have an important meeting in a few minutes.’
With almost twenty years as a police officer behind her, Gunna had almost managed to suppress the instinct for making instant decisions about people, but it was difficult not to take an on-the-spot dislike to Viggó Jakobsson as he stood up behind his desk.
‘I understand that the company belongs to your father, so I guess if he’s the one who runs things, he’s the one I ought to be talking to,’ she suggested.
Viggó sat down quickly and dropped his keys into his jacket pocket. ‘No, you don’t want to be doing that,’ he said hurriedly. ‘I can tell you anything you need to know.’
‘Can you now? Who owns Kópavogsbakki fifty? You do contract work, don’t you? So you’re working for the owner, I take it?’
‘I . . . er. I’m not sure I can tell you that,’ Viggó stammered and Gunna raised a questioning eyebrow. ‘We have a contract with an estate agent. Actually, we look after about fifty houses and apartments on behalf of that agency, and four of then are on Kópavogsbakki. I’m not sure, but I think fifty belongs to someone who has been out of the country for a few years. Who owns these agency places isn’t our affair.’
‘So how frequently do these houses get cleaned?’
‘Normally at the end of the lease, and again before they’re let if there’s a gap of more than a week or so between people moving out and others moving in. Some tenants also take up the option of having the place cleaned for them once or twice a week, but not this one.’
‘And Kópavogsbakki fifty? Had people moved out or were they about to move in?’
Viggó looked blank. ‘You’ll have to ask the agent. We just get a call asking for a cleaning squad.’
‘I thought you said you could tell me anything I need to know?’ Gunna said and watched Viggó’s face turn pink. She opened her folder. ‘All right, let’s try another tack, shall we? The three cleaners who were there, Valmira Vukoja, Natalia Rodriguez and Emilija Plaudis. All reliable staff, are they? They’ve all been with you for some years?’
‘Small, Medium and Large, I call them.’ Viggó laughed, but the laughter died on his lips as Gunna looked at him impassively. He coughed. ‘Small – Natalia – she’s been here the longest, seven or eight years. She started here when my old man was still running the company.’
‘Small?’ Gunna asked and Viggó quailed at the sight of her frown.
‘Yeah,’ he explained with a careless, forced laugh. ‘Those three always work together. Natalia’s the little one with the temper, Emilija’s a sort of normal shape and size, and Vala’s the big fat one.’ He laughed again while Gunna looked at him stone-faced.
‘I see,’ she said eventually as the grin faded from Viggó’s face. ‘Very flattering, I’m sure. I take it all their work permits and papers are in order?’
Viggó opened his mouth and closed it again. ‘I think so,’ he said. ‘They all have identity numbers and they pay tax, so they have to be legal,’ he added triumphantly.
‘How long have Emilija and Valmira worked for you?’ Gunna asked. She knew the answer but wanted to see if Viggó knew as well.
‘Since around 2009, I think. After the crash.’
‘You must have records of their employment history.’
‘You want me to look it up?’
‘That’s what I’m here for.’
Viggó opened a laptop in front of him and waited for it to whirr into life, leaning over it with his chin in one hand and an elbow on the desk. He tapped and prodded at the keyboard with his free hand.
‘Small started here in March 2006,’ he said.
‘Natalia, you mean?’
‘Yeah, Natalia. Large—’
‘Valmira?’
Viggó coughed. ‘Yeah. She started here in February 2009 and Medium. Sorry, Emilija, started in April.’
‘Any problems with any of them?’
Viggó’s eyes stayed on the screen in front of him. ‘No, not really. Small—’
‘Natalia.’
‘Yeah, Natalia,’ he corrected himself. ‘She’s late now and again, but that’s all. She can be a bit of a handful, and she has a temper. You know what these fiery Latin types are like.’ He laughed.
‘Not really, but I’ll take your word for it,’ Gunna said, taking notes. ‘And the other two?’
‘They’re no problem at all, work hard and no complaints.’
‘You mean from them or the customers?’
‘Of course I get complaints from them. I mean, they’re women, aren’t they?’ Viggó said and a second hollow laugh died in the face of Gunna’s stare. ‘No complaints from the clients, no. Never, in fact.’
‘Perfect staff, you might say?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘I’m sure they appreciate being referred to as Small, Medium and Large. Now, which agent lets the house on Kópavogsbakki fifty?’
‘Listen, I have a little job for you.’
Gunna heard Eiríkur sigh into the phone and carefully supp
ressed the urge to tell him to get a grip. Privately she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. He was tired after a month of paternity leave, the new baby’s arrival had been stressful – premature by several weeks – and Eiríkur’s wife had not had an easy time of it.
‘Go on.’
‘I need you to get on to the Directorate of Immigration and ask for details of some people. Nothing fancy, just how long they’ve lived here and if they’re fully legal. The names are Valmira Vukoja, Natalia Rodriguez and Emilija Plaudis,’ she said, and reeled off the three ten-digit national identity numbers.
‘All right. Want me to call you back with on that?’
‘Only if there’s anything that looks urgent. Otherwise it can wait until I’m back. You might want to run those names through our system as well, just to be sure.’
‘OK, will do,’ he said with a little more enthusiasm, indicating that the old Eiríkur might be back, and Gunna felt some relief as she looked at the floor-to-ceiling windows in smoked plate glass behind which she expected to find LuxRental.
The place didn’t look as busy as it might once have been, but she made allowances for it also being early in the day. The open-plan office stretched back into the distance, and as she walked through the nests of cubicles, it seemed that fewer than half of them were in use as pairs of curious eyes followed her.
‘Can I help you?’
The reception desk was situated in an odd position in the middle of the long room, an island in the midst of a sea of squares made up of four cubicles each. A young man with round glasses and hair that stuck up at an alarming angle looked expectant.
‘I’m interested in Kópavogsbakki fifty,’ Gunna said, giving him a smile. ‘I understand it’s empty.’
‘Er . . . Yes. I think so. If you wait a moment I’ll see if I can find someone to help you. Take a seat,’ he invited. ‘There’s fresh coffee in the flask,’ he added, indicating a small table next to a deep sofa against the wall.
Gunna sat back and waited, a cup of fragrant black coffee in her hand, as she flipped through her notes from the meeting with Viggó Jakobsson and looked up to see an older version of the young man in front of her, beaming a chiselled smile at her from beneath coiffured grey hair instead of a gelled-up quiff.
‘Good morning, I’m Óttar Sveinsson. I gather you’re interested in one of the houses on Kópavogsbakki? We deal with several of those properties, but they are rather exclusive and the costs match that exclusivity, you see,’ he said and Gunna felt immediately that she was being put in her place as someone who didn’t look wealthy enough to afford a house with quite such an exclusive sea view.
Gunna returned Óttar Sveinsson’s fixed smile. ‘It’s actually Kópavogsbakki fifty in particular that I’m interested in, as I gather it’s recently become vacant. That’s right, isn’t it?’
He sat down next to her on the sofa, perched on the edge and holding a sheaf of papers in his lap. ‘Actually there are a few technical issues with Kópavogsbakki fifty that we expect to be resolved in a few days. Essential maintenance. But that means that the property is temporarily off-limits for viewing. Maybe we could interest you in other properties in the same area?’
Gunna hauled herself unwillingly from the sofa’s clinging embrace to perch on its edge next to him. She dug in her pocket for her wallet and flipped open her identification. Óttar Sveinsson blanched.
‘I’m only interested in Kópavogsbakki fifty, and as I already have a house of my own, I’m not looking for somewhere to live, thanks.’
He gulped. ‘I’m not sure we can supply that kind of confidential information. Client confidentiality and all that,’ he said with a weak, apologetic smile.
‘You can, I assure you.’ Gunna could see his resolve weakening. ‘In fact, I’m sure Viggó Jakobsson has already given you an idea of what’s going on. As something that doesn’t look good has happened in a property that you’re responsible for and have access to, it might be in your interest to be co-operative.’
Óttar wasn’t sweating, but the moment for the first drops to appear on his forehead could hardly be far away. Gunna gave him a look intended to be reassuring, and he responded with a glassy smile of his own that looked to have been painted on.
‘This is a respectable agency,’ he struggled to say and looked up at the young man from the reception desk. ‘Svenni, would you leave us, please? Ask Hildur if there’s anything you can help her with, would you?’
Eiríkur looked stressed. Gunna wondered how many times his wife had called that morning before dismissing the thought as uncharitable.
‘How did it go?’ He asked, pushing a lock of fair hair back from his eyes and looking up from the screen.
‘Kópavogsbakki fifty is owned by Sólfell Property ehf, ostensibly,’ she told him.
‘So we need to look up who owns that.’
‘You can look it up if you like,’ Gunna said, dropping into Helgi’s vacant chair next to him. ‘But according to Óttar Sveinsson the smooth-talking silver fox of an estate agent, it’s a company owned by a group of people including the couple along the street at Kópavogsbakki forty-two, and I can tell you right away that Sólfell Property is owned by friends of Vilhelm Thorleifsson and Elvar Pálsson.’
‘Big shots?’ Eiríkur asked with a downward curl of one corner of his mouth. ‘More twats in suits?’
‘Eiríkur! What’s got into you?’ Gunna said in feigned shock. ‘You’re not turning into one of these dangerous radical types, are you?’
‘Ach. Five years of watching the news, prices going up and all the rest of it. Either that or I’ve been working with you and Helgi for too long.’
‘That might be it,’ Gunna admitted. ‘But this is very interesting as the directors of Sólfell Property are Jón Vilberg Voss, Sunna María Voss and Jóhann Hjálmarsson.’
‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ Eiríkur said, with lines that Gunna had never seen before appearing on his forehead as he frowned. ‘That’s too much of a coincidence, isn’t it?’
Gunna cracked her knuckles. ‘Let’s say that once I’d overcome his reservations about telling the police things his clients might not want us to know, Óttar Sveinsson became very talkative.’
‘He’s an estate agent, what do you expect?’ Eiríkur snorted. ‘They’re just snake oil salesmen under the skin.’
‘You really have developed a cynical streak while you’ve been off, haven’t you?’
Eiríkur sighed and looked around. ‘You know,’ he started and Gunna sat back and looked at him expectantly, ‘I’m wondering if I’m cut out for this, to be quite honest with you.’
‘You mean police work in general, or CID?’
‘Both, I suppose,’ he said and screwed up his face in a frown that Gunna felt didn’t suit his normally fresh, open features. ‘These last few weeks haven’t been easy, what with the baby and the missus both being sick. It’s been hard on her and it hasn’t been easy on any of us. There have been a good few sleepless nights and a lot of time to think things through.’ His voice faltered and he looked past her at the window and the shreds of ragged white cloud scudding across a blue sky behind them. ‘I mean,’ he faltered. ‘You had a hard time of your own, what with your husband and all that. How did you manage? Did you think about packing it all in?’
‘What? And go to live with my mother? Not at all. If anything it was the thought of going back to work that was one of the fixed points when everything else was going haywire,’ Gunna said, suddenly serious, and she felt a wave of recollection that brought an unbidden lump to her throat. ‘It was very difficult after Raggi was lost,’ she admitted. ‘We’d only been married a year or so and Laufey was two, something like that. I didn’t know what the hell was going on and it was a truly dreadful time, but we all have our ways of coping, I guess. So what’s really bugging you, Eiríkur? Is it the job or is it you?’
‘Me, I suppose. I just don’t feel like I’m doing the right thing.’
‘And what should you be doing?�
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Eiríkur hesitated. ‘I, well. You know I did the first two years at university before I joined the force?’
‘Of course. You think I haven’t seen your CV?’
‘That’s what I’m thinking. Going back to finish university.’
‘Theology?’ Gunna stared. ‘Tell me you’re joking.’
Eiríkur shook his head. ‘I’m deadly serious.’
‘You want to be a priest? Why?’ Gunna asked. ‘I mean, it can’t be for the humungous salary or because the Church needs you more than the police force does?’
‘I believe the Church does need people like me,’ Eiríkur said in a low voice. ‘You see the priests the Church has these days? All those earnest young things with years of university behind them and precious little else. It needs people with some idea of real life. There are too many people there in jobs for life, taking part in committees and meetings.’
‘Like the public sector as a whole, you mean?’
‘I’ve given it a lot of thought these last few weeks; months, even.’
‘And your mind’s made up?’
‘No. But it’s getting closer.’
Gunna stood up and wondered what to say. Eiríkur’s confession had taken her completely by surprise. While she knew that he was the youngest child of fairly elderly parents, and that he’d been brought up in the shadow of the church in a Reykjavík suburb where the old man had been the parish priest, she hadn’t realized that he was actively religious or that his thoughts had been moving in that direction.
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