In the event, it wasn’t so bad, lying in half-darkness. She closed them again and tried a second time to move her legs and left arm. It was then she realized that something heavy was holding her down. She made an effort to open one eye again, and decided that the acrid smell of aftershave had to be coming from somewhere very close by.
With both eyes open and her free hand behind the back of her head to support it, she realized that the heavy weight on top of her was Jónas Valur, and that he was completely inert. Gently lowering her own head back to the cold ground, she fumbled for the man’s head, running her fingers from the top of the gleaming scalp down the face to try and locate a pulse among the folds of his neck.
There was no pulse to be found, and no breath from Jónas Valur’s open mouth. Raising herself as far as she could, she could see that the side of the head that was lying on her chest had been battered, and blood had seeped on to her shirt. For a moment she was thankful that the blood on her fingers wasn’t her own, and wanted to go back to sleep, safe in the knowledge that she was still alive.
Gunna made an effort that set her head ringing and dragged herself from under Jónas Valur’s bulk, letting his body roll on to its side as she sat up and held her head in both hands, resting her elbows on her knees as she felt her limbs drained of strength. She fumbled in her coat pocket for her phone, but came up with her communicator instead and thankfully pressed the emergency button.
She made another effort to get Jónas Valur’s attention, but soon grasped that he was beyond any help, and sat back as a siren howled close by until the flashing blue lights filled the yard and reflected painfully from the dark windows of Kleifar’s offices.
Saturday 27th
SHE HAD BEEN expecting Steini, but instead Ívar Laxdal and Miss Cruz sat waiting for her.
“Feeling better?” he asked, standing to greet her.
“Yes thanks,” Gunna replied, settling gingerly into a chair. “My head feels like it’s been under a bulldozer, but otherwise fine.”
“You took quite a knock,” he told her seriously, switching to English for the benefit of Miss Cruz.
“Yes, a blow to the right side of your head,” Miss Cruz said, looking over her glasses. “I had a look at you last night when you were brought in here.”
“Did you?” Gunna asked. “It’s a bit hazy.”
“It looks as if you turned so the blow glanced off the side of your head instead of hitting you squarely, while the victim took a single blow to the centre of his forehead with something round.”
“A baseball bat, something like that?”
“Something narrower, maybe a length of pipe,” Miss Cruz said. “Difficult to say at this stage.”
“Did you see the attacker?” Ívar Laxdal asked.
“No. I was talking to Jónas Valur in the car park and he wasn’t very pleased to see me. I remember he saw something over my shoulder, so I started to turn to look, and, bang. Out like a light.”
“Not someone you’d be able to identify?”
“No chance. I take it the same attacker belted Jónas Valur a bit harder than he did me?”
“It looks that way. It must have been quick, because the man landed right on top of you. Any idea how long you were lying there?”
“Haven’t a clue,” Gunna said. “Jónas Valur had a suitcase, a small one on wheels. The kind you see pilots walking along with at airports. Any sign of that?”
“Nothing. His car was taken as well and left at the bus station.”
“What? At Hlemmur?”
“No. BSÍ.”
“So who the hell took it?”
“It’s being fingerprinted right now, so we should know soon enough. But I think we’d best leave you to get some rest,” Ívar Laxdal said, pointing to where Steini and Laufey could be seen waving from the reception desk.
“Fair enough,” Gunna said, struggling to her feet. “Helgi and Eiríkur are getting on all right, aren’t they?”
“Gunnhildur, they’re doing fine, and they’re not taking the slightest notice of Sævaldur Bogason’s frequent useful suggestions. I thought I’d tell you that to put your mind at rest.”
“Good. I’ll be back tomorrow and pick up where we left off.”
“You’ll be back in a week, if I have my way,” Ívar Laxdal said sternly. “Let’s be off,” he said to Miss Cruz in English.
“Gunnhildur has some more important visitors.”
GUNNA WATCHED TV with the sound turned low, determined not to think about work but unable not to. Her head ached dully and she said a quiet prayer of thanks for extrastrength painkillers. Steini lounged across an armchair, a book open in front of him.
“You’re not going to work tomorrow, are you, Mum?” Laufey asked.
Gunna yawned. “Tomorrow afternoon. I have to go to the hospital for a check-up at twelve, and I’ll go to the station for an hour or two after that.”
Laufey frowned, less than half satisfied, and went towards the kitchen. “Laufey, what are you wearing?” Gunna asked, her frown almost as deep as her daughter’s.
“New trousers. Got them in Reykjavík when I went there with Finnur last weekend.”
“They’re a bit, well, tight, aren’t they? Shouldn’t you wear a skirt or something with those?”
“They’re OK. Everyone wears these now, Mum.”
Steini shook his head as if to say that this was a discussion he would never be qualified to take part in.
“I know, sweetheart. But it’s just that they’re so, what shall I say? Revealing. You might as well walk around in nothing as wear those.”
“Mum!”
“It’s true. Is there even room for underwear under them?”
“Yes, of course there is. What’s the matter? Can’t I wear the same as everyone else?”
“I suppose so,” Gunna said, regretting that her question had elicited such a waspish reply. “It’s just that every man you encounter will be sizing you up. Right, Steini?”
“Don’t bring me into this,” Steini grunted, lifting his book higher.
“Oh, Mum, don’t be so old-fashioned,” Laufey scolded, nose in the air as she marched to her room and shut the door firmly behind her.
“Æi, why did I say anything?” Gunna groaned. “I should know better by now.”
“She’s getting to be a big girl now, quite a grown-up young lady.”
“I know, that’s what worries me,” Gunna said, stretching to reach her mobile as it trilled. “Gunnhildur.”
“Hæ, chief. Högni’s dabs are all over Jónas Valur’s car. How’s your head?” Eiríkur asked.
Sunday 28th
GUNNA STUBBORNLY REFUSED to use the lift and tackled the stairs in two stages, taking a breather halfway up to ease the pounding in her temples. Sigvaldi on the desk had asked tenderly, albeit gruffly, after her health.
At her own desk she waited while Eiríkur and Helgi marshalled chairs. Several other people looked curiously at her as they passed, and even Sævaldur Bogason offered a few mumbled kind words.
“All right, boys. Tell me the worst,” Gunna instructed, looking up to see Ívar Laxdal appear in the doorway, his eyebrows knitted in disapproval.
“Come in, please. Just a quick chat and then I’m going back home,” she assured him.
“As long as that’s all,” Ívar Laxdal growled.
Gunna turned to Helgi. “Any sign of Högni Sigurgeirsson?”
“Nothing, chief. No sign of his car anywhere yet, but Jónas Valur’s Merc was abandoned at the BSÍ bus station,” Helgi said, flipping through a sheet of notes. “You’ll be interested to know that during the house-to-house questions around Hallur Hallbjörnsson’s place, there was a mention of a grey Opel, same model as Högni’s, in the next street, and the timing fits.”