Kolfinna was as frantically busy as her boss. She sat at her computer, fielding phone calls and entering data into an Excel file. Sigurdur Óli asked if she had a few minutes to spare as he was investigating Sigurlína’s death.
‘God, yes,’ Kolfinna said, ‘I heard the police were here. Just a sec. Do you smoke?’
Sigurdur Óli shook his head.
‘We’ll take a cigarette break anyway,’ she said, closing the file. Pulling open a drawer, she took out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter, then asked him to follow her. Then they were outside the back of the building, standing beside a tub half full of cigarette butts floating in dirty water. Kolfinna lit up and drew the smoke deep into her lungs.
‘God, it’s so terrible,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Those burglars must be complete psychos to attack someone like that.’
‘You think it was a burglar?’ said Sigurdur Óli, trying to find a place to stand where the smoke did not blow in his face.
‘Sure, wasn’t it? That’s what I heard. Wasn’t it something like that?’
‘It’s under investigation,’ Sigurdur Óli answered curtly. He could not bear smokers and was delighted that there were plans to ban smoking in public spaces, even restaurants and pubs. They were welcome to kill themselves in private for all he cared.
‘How was her relationship with Ebeneser?’ he asked, coughing politely, but Kolfinna failed to take the hint.
‘Her relationship? Fine, I think. It was a bit of a struggle though. They had massive debts — some sort of foreign currency loan, as well as loans on their car and the holiday cottage they’re building. They didn’t earn a huge amount but they wanted a share of the pie, you know? Didn’t want to deny themselves anything, so they just took out more loans. Isn’t that what everyone does nowadays?’
‘You mentioned a holiday cottage?’
‘Yes, in the south-west, at Grímsnes.’
‘I gather Ebeneser organised tours for your company,’ Sigurdur Óli said. ‘Corporate entertainments.’
‘Yes, he did two trips, I think. I didn’t go along but Lína did, of course. It’s supposed to be amazing — they’re two-to three-day tours, as far as I can remember. You know, jeep tours of the glacier. All these guys own off-roaders: the smaller their dicks, the bigger their cars.’ She flicked her cigarette into the mess of stubs. ‘Or at least that’s what Lína used to say.’
‘Was she speaking from personal experience?’ asked Sigurdur Óli.
Kolfinna fished another cigarette from the packet, determined to make the most of her break.
‘Well, naturally, she had Ebbi.’
She emitted an abrupt, husky laugh and Sigurdur Óli smiled.
‘Do you mean, had she been with any of those guys?’ Kolfinna asked, returning to his question. ‘She may well have done. Lína was the type, you know? She saw nothing wrong in sleeping around. Do the police know something? Was she involved with any of them?’
Her interest was genuine and her disappointment obvious when Sigurdur Óli claimed to have no information on that score. He asked if she could provide him with the names of clients who had participated in the glacier tours run by Ebeneser, and she said nothing could be easier, she had the lists on her computer. Although she was not aware that the couple had been in the sort of difficulties that might result in a visit from a debt collector, she reiterated that they owed a lot of money and pointed out that Lína had never been one to talk much about herself. They had got on well and worked together for several years but the truth was that Kolfinna knew very little about Lína’s life.
‘She was brilliant to work with,’ she said, ‘but she always kept you at a certain distance, you know? That’s just how she was. It never bothered me though.’
‘Did she ever give any indication of being frightened, or in danger, or mixed up in something she couldn’t handle?’ asked Sigurdur Óli.
‘No,’ replied Kolfinna. ‘Everything was fine with Lína, as far as I know.’
She could only locate the list for one of the jeep trips on her computer, but printed it out, saying she would email him the other as soon as she found it. Sigurdur Óli glanced down the list but did not recognise any of the names.
Later that afternoon Elínborg rang to ask if he could help her out in the evening. Despite feeling that he had better things to do on a Saturday night, he let himself be persuaded. Elínborg was engaged in a tough case, working almost day and night on the Thingholt murder. She picked him up and they drove to meet a man called Valur, a uniquely irritating character who immediately succeeded in annoying Sigurdur Óli further.
‘Have you heard anything from Erlendur?’ asked Sigurdur Óli once the visit was over and they were getting back into the car. He remembered the phone call from Eva Lind who had been asking after her father.
‘Nothing at all,’ Elínborg answered wearily. ‘Didn’t he say he was heading east for a few days?’
‘How long ago was that?’
‘A week, probably.’
‘How long a holiday was he planning to take?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What was he doing out east anyway?’
‘Visiting where he grew up.’
‘Any word from that woman he’s seeing?’
‘Valgerdur? No. Perhaps I should ring her, find out if he’s been in touch with her.’
23
Sigurdur Óli was lurking in his car outside the block of flats for the second Sunday in a row, keeping an eye on the newspaper that protruded from one of the postboxes in the lobby. He had taken up position early that morning, shortly after the paper was delivered, and watched the comings and goings, keeping himself warm with the car heater. He had brought a Thermos of coffee and something to read — the papers and a handful of new holiday brochures for Florida. If anything, there were even fewer people about than the previous Sunday. No sign of the girl who had staggered up the stairs, or that waster who called himself a composer. Time crawled by. Sigurdur Óli read every word of the papers and pored avidly over the sunny images in the Florida brochures. He had switched on the radio but could find nothing to his taste, despite flicking from talk shows to music stations and back again. Finally he found a station playing classic rock and settled on that.
An elderly man walked into the block carrying a bag from a nearby bakery. He did not give the paper so much as a glance, but at the sight of the man’s bag Sigurdur Óli was assailed by hunger pangs. The bakery was only just round the corner; he would be able to see the sign if he reversed a few metres. He considered his situation. He could almost smell the aroma of fresh baking, so strong was his desire, if only for a scone, but on the other hand he might miss the thief. I wonder if there’s a queue? he thought, craning his neck in the direction of the bakery.
Little of interest happened until just before midday when an elderly woman came down into the lobby and, after peering out through the glass door, turned to the postboxes, seized the newspaper without hesitation and pushed open the door to the stairwell again. Sigurdur Óli, who had been struggling with the crossword while trying to stave off his hunger, threw it down, leapt out of the car and charged inside, jamming his foot between the inner door and the frame, and caught the woman red-handed as she began to climb the stairs.
‘What are you doing with that?’ he demanded sharply, taking hold of the woman’s arm.
She stared at him in terror.
‘Leave me alone,’ she said. ‘You can’t have my paper!’ She began to cry ‘Thief!’ in a weak voice.
‘I’m no thief,’ said Sigurdur Óli, ‘I’m from the police. Why are you stealing Gudmunda’s paper?’
The woman’s expression relaxed.
‘Are you Gagga’s son?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ Sigurdur Óli replied, taken aback.
‘I’m Gudmunda, dear.’
Sigurdur Óli released her arm.