‘Lína mentioned it — I don’t remember exactly what she said. But it didn’t happen on one of my trips.’
‘Did she know the people involved?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘So she didn’t sleep with them?’
Ebeneser did not answer, offended by the tenor of the question. In Sigurdur Óli’s opinion it was a perfectly valid point: Lína had had no qualms about jumping into bed with Patrekur, and she and Ebbi did not exactly have a normal marriage. At least not his idea of a normal marriage.
‘I want the photos,’ he said.
‘What photos?’
‘Of you two with Hermann and his wife. Do you have them here?’
Ebeneser considered this, then got up and went into the kitchen, off which a small utility room opened. Sigurdur Óli sat and waited. After a short interval Ebeneser returned with an envelope which he handed over.
‘Is that all of them?’ asked Sigurdur Óli.
‘Yes.’
‘You haven’t got them on your computer?’
‘No. We printed these four out in order to send one to them, to show them we meant business. We were never going to circulate them. It was just a joke.’
Ebeneser seemed to have run out of explanations. His discomfort was obvious. He glanced round the room.
‘God, it’s such a bloody mess in here,’ he said with a sigh.
‘Are you still going to deny that you’re broke?’ asked Sigurdur Óli.
Ebeneser shook his head, his face a picture of defeat. Sigurdur Óli thought he was going to burst into tears.
‘We’re up shit creek,’ he confessed. ‘This house, the car. Everything’s on a hundred per cent loan; we’re mortgaged to the hilt. We owe money everywhere. For the drugs too.’
‘Who supplies your drugs?’
‘I’d rather not say.’
‘You may have to.’
‘Well, I’m not going to.’
‘Has he been threatening you?’
‘We’ve got several dealers who supply us but none of them has threatened us. That’s bullshit. And I don’t know anyone called Thórarinn. I’ve never bought from him. I don’t know what he means by talking about a debt. We don’t owe him anything.’
‘He’s known as Toggi.’
‘Never heard of him.’
‘No idea why he might have attacked Lína?’
‘No, none.’
‘You must excuse these questions,’ said Sigurdur Óli, ‘but somehow we have to get to the bottom of this. Do you know if Lína ever slept with anyone for money?’
The question had no effect on Ebeneser. He had taken offence before when asked about the couple’s sex lives but now he was utterly indifferent. Sigurdur Óli wondered what sort of relationship they had had, what it was based on.
‘If she did, she never told me. That’s all I can say.’
‘Would you have minded?’
‘Lína was a very unusual woman,’ replied Ebeneser.
‘Who might it have been, if she had done? Someone from her office?’
Ebeneser shrugged. ‘Actually, she did mention one thing, in connection with the business of that bloke — the one who’d been on a trip with us.’
‘You mean the banker? The one who went missing?’
Ebeneser picked up another beer can, shook it and heard the sloshing of liquid inside. He drained it, then crushed the can in his hand. It crackled loudly.
‘Apparently they were operating some kind of moneymaking scheme.’
‘Scheme?’
‘Those blokes were on the make,’ Ebeneser said. ‘The ones on the trip with him. Lína said something about it.’
‘When?’
‘Just the other day.’
‘What did she say?’
‘You know, that they had an incredible nerve to attempt something like that.’
‘What?’
‘I don’t know. A banking deal. Lína didn’t get it completely but it was some kind of scheme and she thought they were unbelievable.’
‘In what way?’
‘Just how cool they were. That was the gist of it. What an incredible nerve they had.’
37
Sigurdur Óli did not open the envelope. Unsure what to do with it when he got back to Hverfisgata, he put it away in a drawer. For all he knew, Ebeneser might have been lying when he claimed not to have any copies. Anyway, in view of the way it had developed Sigurdur Óli no longer felt that the pictures were of any relevance to the case. Ebbi had done his best to play down the matter, to give the impression that the blackmail was just a game of bluff which Lína had indulged in on the off chance that it might pay. If not, they would have abandoned the attempt, or so Ebbi would have him believe.
He was preoccupied with these thoughts when the phone on his desk began to ring.
‘Yup?’ he answered.
‘I didn’t …’
‘Hello?’
There was a rustling, followed by a bump at the other end of the line.
‘What?’ said Sigurdur Óli. ‘Who is this?’
There was no answer. ‘Andrés?’ Sigurdur Óli had thought he recognised the voice.
‘I said … didn’t …’ The voice was slurred and thick; the words almost incomprehensible. ‘I didn’t tell you …’
He did not finish the sentence. Sigurdur Óli could hear him breathing.
‘Andrés? Is that you? Tell me what?’
‘… know … know all about … about the old bastard …’
‘What do you mean? What are you trying to say?’
‘Was it you? That I talked to in … in the graveyard?’
‘Yes. Why did you run away? In fact, where are you? Can I come and get you?’
‘Where am I? Who cares? Who gives a toss? No one. No one gave a toss. And now … got him … got the bastard …’
‘Who?’ asked Sigurdur Óli. ‘Got who?’
Sigurdur Óli waited. There was just static for a long time, then Andrés carried on speaking abruptly, as if he had pulled himself together.
‘… and … got him! I was going to tell you when we met. I was going to tell you that I’ve got him. And he won’t get away. You needn’t worry about him getting away. I made … made a mask … and he didn’t like that at all … wasn’t pleased to see me at all. He wasn’t pleased to see me again after all these years, I can tell you. He wasn’t pleased to see little Andy. Oh no. No, he wasn’t.’
‘Where are you, Andrés?’ asked Sigurdur Óli firmly, taking note of the number that flashed up on-screen as he did so and typing it into the online telephone directory. Andrés’s name and address appeared. ‘I can help you,’ said Sigurdur Óli. ‘Let me help you, Andrés. Are you at home?’
‘But I could take him,’ Andrés continued, oblivious. ‘I … I thought it might be difficult but he’s just an old man. A feeble old bastard …’
‘Are you talking about Rögnvaldur? Is it Rögnvaldur you’ve got? Andrés!’
The line went dead. Sigurdur Óli leapt from his chair, grabbing his mobile as he went and dialling directory enquiries to get the number of Andrés’s neighbour. He knew her address but could not immediately recall her name. He racked his brains.
Margrét Eymunds, that was it.
They put him straight through and Margrét answered at the third ring. By now, Sigurdur Óli was in his car and on the move. He introduced himself and when he was sure she remembered who he was and that he had come round before in search of Andrés, he asked her to go to her neighbour’s flat and check if he was at home.
‘Do you mean Andrés?’ the woman asked.
‘Yes. If you see him, could you try to keep him there until I arrive, please? He just rang me and I think he needs help. Are you outside his door yet?’
‘What, you want me to spy on him?’
‘Are you on a cordless phone?’
‘Cordless? Yes.’
‘I’m trying to help him. I’m afraid he might do something stupid. Could you hand him the phone? Please?’
‘Just a minute.’
He heard a door opening, then the sound of knocking and Margrét’s voice calling Andrés’s name. Sigurdur Óli braked and swore. There had been an accident ahead that had caused a tailback.