“And your name?”
“Bára Kristinsdóttir,” she answered and listened to the moment’s pause.
“Bára who used to be in the force at Keflavík?”
She smiled grimly. “Yes, Siggi. That’s me.”
“All right. In that case you know what to do, don’t you? There’s an ambulance on its way, but it’ll be a while before it gets there.”
“I reckon you might need to get the air ambulance out for this one. It’s not pretty.”
“Fair enough. I’ll alert them, but it’s the ambulance crew’s decision when they get there.”
“Okay, thanks. I’d best get back to the casualties. You can reach me on this number if you need to between now and the cavalry getting here.”
“Fine. Thanks, Bára. It’s an F-two, so fifteen minutes.”
Helgi’s communicator buzzed and he looked over at Gunna, his finger on the earpiece.
“You’d better step on it, chief,” he said. “F-two, and guess where?”
“Kjalarnes? Hell and damnation. I knew I should have got out there last night.”
“And there’s no siren on this thing, is there?”
“Nope,” Gunna said. “You’d better tell them we’ll be there in ten.”
“Control, zero-two-sixty. Heading for Kjalarnes, estimated five minutes.”
“Thank you, zero-two-sixty. There’s a patrol car from the Krókháls station five minutes behind you and ambulance is right behind that.”
Gunna pushed the pedal to the floor, flashed the headlights on and off high beam and left drivers tapping their heads in disgust as they trailed in her wake. She could sense the tension in Helgi’s voice: “Any idea what the problem is, control?”
“One serious head injury, two in shock. The helicopter’s alerted and the local rescue squad should be there ahead of you.”
“Thanks, control. We’ll keep you informed,” Helgi said, pretending not to be scared as Gunna slowed hard for the turnoff to Kjalarnes, the car’s brakes complaining and its rear wheels struggling to grip the icy road.
They bumped down the road to the solitary house, where they found a diminutive blonde woman speaking to an animated figure next to a blue Land Rover. Gunna walked smartly across just as the wail of sirens on the main road was heard in the distance. A heavy 4×4 was already parked by the door.
“Afternoon, Pétur,” Gunna said smartly. “Looks like the rescue squad’s here. Helgi, check inside, would you? Bára, good to see you. You can tell me later just why you’re here. What’s happened?”
“One man in the workshop with a stab wound to the left side of the head; two women in shock. They’re both in the main bedroom. Looks like one of them grabbed a file and lashed out with it.”
“A file?”
“You know. A metalwork file.”
“And nobody else has been in or out?”
“No, chief,” Bára said, instinctively falling back on habit.
“Will somebody tell me what the hell’s been happening?” Pétur said, his frustration boiling over. “I’ve just come home and been told by this person that I can’t go into my own house.”
“Well, you heard what the lady said, didn’t you?”
Pétur leaned on his crutch and limped toward the door. “I won’t be kept out of my own home, damn it,” he roared.
“Gunna, the action’s at the back of the place. Just get him to go in through the front door and he’ll be clear of the crime scene,” Bára said quickly as Gunna trotted to catch up with Pétur, taking his arm to steer him toward the front door.
“We’ll go in this way, if you don’t mind,” she said.
Pétur grunted an answer that was neither one thing nor another and pushed his way through the front door, his crutch clattering to the floor.
“Sif! Hekla! Where are you?” he yelled and there was a call in reply from the bedroom. Gunna followed him and watched as he enveloped the girl in his arms, while the woman who was with her clung to him. The puffy, tear-streaked face was unmistakably that of the woman on the Gullfoss Hotel’s CCTV, and Gunna felt a surge of relief at having finally found her.
A patrol car bumped down the road and two officers stepped out. Behind them the blue lights of an ambulance flashed and were reflected from the windows of houses further up as doors began to open and people stared at the sudden flurry of activity in the normally quiet village.
“Chopper job, this is,” the paramedic said, shaking his head as his colleague monitored Baddó’s pulse and breathing. “We need a doctor here before we even try to move this character. What the hell happened, anyway? I’ve never seen an injury like this,” he muttered to Gunna out of the casualty’s earshot. “I’m amazed the bastard’s even alive.”
“That’s what I’m hoping to find out,” Gunna told him. “It’s a first for me as well.”
The paramedic muttered into his communicator, looking anxiously at Baddó, whose expression had remained unchanged, his unfocused eyes staring into the distance. Gunna took in the livid cut down his cheek, some of the sutures having come adrift, leaving bloodless gaps in the line of ragged skin.
Gunna cornered Bára outside. “I’m not saying it isn’t good to see you, but what the hell’s happened? You’ve got quite a bit of explaining to do. Start by telling me how come you’re here, will you?”
“I’ve been working as an investigator since I left the force. Not long before Christmas I had a request to shadow someone and report back. That person had a meeting last night with the man who’s in there with a lump of metal in his head. I’m not sure how it works, or who was blackmailing who, but one thing led to another and, as far as I can make out, I turned up here just as this had happened.”
“All right, so who’s this mysterious person you’ve been tailing?”
“I’m not sure I can tell you.”
“Come on. You were in the force for long enough to know that doesn’t wash.”
Bára frowned. “A guy called Jóel Ingi Bragason.”
“Who skipped the country last night.”
“That’s right. I saw him go through departures at Keflavík last night.”
“Did you? So who are you working for?”
“That’s what I don’t think I should tell you.”
“Really?”
“Actually I’m not sure who the client is,” Bára said. “You may not believe it, but we’ve only spoken on the phone a couple of times. To start with I thought Jóel Ingi’s wife was behind it and that this was a straightforward divorce thing. The client wanted to know where he went and who he met, times and places. Everything was done by email and text, with a report every few days. It was only this last week that I had a call from the client and found out it was a man; he wanted a closer tail and reports by text four or five times a day.”
Gunna nodded slowly. “And where’s this famous laptop?”
“Laptop?”
“That’s your car there, is it?” Gunna asked, jerking her head toward the Renault. “You want me to look in the boot?”
“You can’t do that.”
“I can, and we’d better be quick about it,” Gunna said, shading her eyes as a black 4×4 with tinted windows sped down the street toward them, sliding to a halt in the snow next to the Land Rover. Two figures in suits tumbled out of it and hurried in through the front door.
Bára clicked the fob of her car key and the lights flashed for a moment. “Go on, then.”
Gunna had the case tucked under her arm when the two suits reappeared, chased away from the house and the crime scene by a furious Pétur shaking his fist. They were ushered discreetly past a line of fluttering tape by one of two uniformed officers, who pointed them toward Gunna and Bára.
“Officer, will you hand over that laptop?” Ægir Lárusson demanded, puffing with effort and excitement. “It’s government property,” he added for good measure, and Bára blanched at the expression on Gunna’s face.