‘What have you been doing to yourself, Andrés dear?’ he heard her ask in a shocked tone.
Sigurdur Óli leaned on the horn and tried to change lanes. He could not hear Andrés at all but could vaguely make out Margrét saying something about a policeman wanting to speak to him, then ‘Where are you going?’, followed by an oddly maternal phrase like, ‘You can’t go out looking like that, dear.’ He tried to attract her attention but she obviously did not have the phone held to her ear.
He passed the scene of the accident and was dodging between other cars at twice the speed limit when Margrét came back on the line.
‘Hello?’ she said, sounding uncertain.
‘Yes, I’m still here,’ answered Sigurdur Óli.
‘The poor man,’ said Margrét. ‘He looked absolutely dreadful.’
‘Has he gone?’
‘Yes, I couldn’t stop him. He wouldn’t have anything to do with me, just went down the stairs, almost at a run. He seemed very drunk.’
‘Which way did he go when he left the building?’
‘I didn’t see. I didn’t see where he went.’
Sigurdur Óli pulled up at the block of flats and scanned the surroundings for Andrés but could see no trace of him. He started combing the nearby roads but it was evident that he had lost his man, so he parked outside the flats again and rang Margrét’s bell. She buzzed him in and was waiting for him on the landing, looking extremely worried.
‘Didn’t you find him?’ she asked as soon as she saw Sigurdur Óli.
‘He’s vanished. Did he say much to you?’
‘Not a word. The poor man. He clearly hasn’t washed in ages and stinks to high heaven. And he looks like a tramp. I’ve never seen him in such a state before. Never.’
‘Have you any idea where he might be going?’
‘No. I asked him but he wouldn’t answer, just rushed downstairs and disappeared.’
‘Was he carrying anything when he left the flat?’
‘No, nothing.’
‘Have you ever heard him talk about a man by the name of Rögnvaldur?’
‘Rögnvaldur? No, I don’t think so. Is that a friend of his?’
‘No,’ said Sigurdur Óli. ‘Hardly.’
Margrét let him into Andrés’s flat as she had done before. Sigurdur Óli took a quick glance round while Margrét stood in the doorway. Nothing seemed to have changed. From what he could tell, Andrés had gone there for the sole purpose of calling Sigurdur Óli to inform him that he had got Rögnvaldur, whatever that meant.
Sigurdur Óli’s phone rang. It was a colleague from the drug squad.
‘I just heard that you’re holding Hördur Vagnsson.’
‘Höddi? Yeah. What about him?’
‘We’ve been keeping tabs on him for a while but no joy yet. But we’ve been recording his phone calls and it occurred to me that you might like to take a look.’
‘Have you got a transcript?’
‘Yup, I put it on your desk.’
‘Have you got anything on him?’
‘We will eventually. Unless you’ve done it for us. There’s one thing you should know about Höddi — the poor bastard’s a complete moron.’
He heard chuckling at the other end of the line.
‘You haven’t by any chance tapped his friend Thórarinn’s phone or been monitoring him at all?’
‘Toggi?’
‘Yes.’
‘No, we only know him by name. If he’s dealing, he must be a very cagey operator, to say the least, especially if he’s been doing it for a while. All I can say is that he must be a lot brighter than Höddi.’
It was the first time Sigurdur Óli had entered the headquarters of the bank and he was instantly impressed with the opulence of it all. He might have stepped from the centre of Reykjavík into a whole other world. The design was all glass and steel and dark wood, with pure, classical lines amid the tropical foliage. No luxury had been spared. Eventually he found what appeared to be a reception desk, where an elderly man was attempting to pay a bill by bank giro.
‘Yes, but I’m afraid that’s just the way it is — you can’t pay that here,’ said the woman behind the desk, which formed a small island in the midst of all the grandeur.
‘But this is a bank, isn’t it?’ asked the old man.
‘Yes, we are, but you’ll have to go to one of our branches if you want to pay that.’
‘But I only wanted to settle a bill,’ the man persisted.
‘What can I do for you?’ asked the woman, turning to Sigurdur Óli, too impatient to waste any more time on him.
‘Sverrir in Corporate Finance. Is he in?’
The woman typed in the name. ‘Unfortunately he’s just gone out and won’t be back for a couple of hours.’
‘What about Knútur then?’ asked Sigurdur Óli. ‘Knútur Jónsson?’
‘Is he expecting you?’ asked the receptionist in the sing-song tone of one who has asked the question a thousand times.
‘I very much doubt it.’
‘Where’s the nearest branch then?’ asked the old man, who had still not given up trying to pay his bill.
‘Laugavegur,’ the receptionist said, without bothering to look up.
‘Knútur Jónsson’s in a meeting. Would you mind waiting? And who shall I say is asking for him? Are you looking for advice on currency accounts?’
Deciding to answer only the second question, Sigurdur Óli agreed that he was as he watched the old man depart through the massive glass doors, still clutching his bill.
‘Second floor,’ said the receptionist, ‘the lifts are over there.’
Sigurdur Óli had been waiting for around a quarter of an hour when a man emerged from a meeting room, accompanied by a young couple. He had an oddly childlike face, blond hair, and a stocky body encased in a designer suit. Having taken his leave of the couple with a smile and a promise to send them more detailed information about foreign currency accounts, he turned to Sigurdur Óli.
‘Are you waiting for me?’ he asked, still smiling.
‘If you’re Knútur,’ said Sigurdur Óli.
‘I am. Are you interested in a currency account?’
‘Not exactly. I’m from the police and I’d like to know more about the circumstances in which your colleague, Thorfinnur, lost his life. It won’t take long.’
‘Why? Have there been any new developments?’
‘Perhaps we shouldn’t be discussing this in the middle of the corridor.’
Knútur stared at Sigurdur Óli, then glanced down at his watch. Sigurdur Óli stood there in silence until Knútur eventually invited him to come and take a seat in his office. He was very busy but could fit him in quickly, he explained, though he did not quite understand what he wanted.
38
Knútur’s account of how his colleague had died the year before on the Snaefellsnes Peninsula in west Iceland coincided in almost every detail with the police report. Four men, all of whom worked for the bank, had embarked on a trip together to Hótel Búdir on Snaefellsnes. They had driven up on the Friday in two four-wheel drives, intending to stay at the hotel for two nights, do some work, explore the peninsula, and return to town on the Sunday. When they arrived on the Friday evening the weather was calm and several degrees below zero. On the Saturday morning they split up, two of them, Knútur and Arnar, deciding to join a group of tourists who were going to climb the Snaefellsjökull glacier, while the other two, Sverrir and Thorfinnur, drove out to Svörtuloft, the cliffs at the westernmost point of the peninsula, between Skálasnagi to the south and Öndvardarnes to the north. The plan was to meet at the hotel later that afternoon, but as the day went on the weather had deteriorated, with strengthening winds and an unexpected snow-storm. The two men who had gone out to climb the glacier returned at the appointed time but there was no sign of their colleagues who had left for Svörtuloft. They had not made any detailed contingency plans but it was known more or less where they were intending to hike.