The baby burped and gurgled.
‘You want to hold him?’
‘Go on then.’
‘And is she all right?’
‘I think so.’ Gunna held the little boy tenderly, looking intently at the placid, sleepy face. ‘I hope so, at any rate. It’s not easy to tell. Drífa is a very bright girl, but she’s a dark horse and doesn’t give too many secrets away. As far as I can see she’s coping, but it’s not easy for her and she’s always broke.’
Soffía smoothed her shirt, not knowing what to do with her hands now that Gunna was holding the baby. ‘I ought to see her.’
‘Drífa? You think so? You’re probably right.’
‘It’s not her fault that. .’
‘Come on, Soffía. It takes two.’
‘I know, but I’m not going to harbour a grudge. Life’s too short. Ari and Kjartan are half-brothers, so we owe it to them to bury any differences and let them grow up with as much of a relationship as we can.’
Ari Gíslason yawned in her arms and opened one eye a crack to look up at his grandmother.
‘You’re quite right,’ she said and crooned to the baby in a way that would have Eiríkur, Helgi and Ívar Laxdal wondering if this was the same person. ‘Would you like me to speak to Drífa? I see her most days.’
The scabs on his wrists and ankles were hardening, while Lísa’s attitude was starting to soften. Orri told himself that he should have made up a story of some kind to explain why he had been out so late, but there was no way he could explain all those cuts, so he simply didn’t try; he just kept his mouth shut and waited for it all to blow over.
It had been a frosty day. Lísa had hardly spoken to him after he came in from work, but in some ways that was just fine, as good as a holiday, with no discussions about curtains, vacations or any of those increasingly clunky dropped hints about acquiring a permanent home together, or pets, or children or weddings. Orri liked his independence. Living alone and having Lísa stay with him a few nights a week was about right, he felt, although he could see that what had been a night or two had become practically the full week and his flat was overflowing with Lísa’s stuff.
Lísa appeared from the shower, one huge towel wrapped around her and another around her head, bare feet slapping the kitchen’s plastic floor tiles as she passed him and trailed a hand over his shoulder. She rooted through the bottom drawer as Orri admired the curves under the towel stretched tight as she bent over.
‘Wasn’t there an extension lead in here?’ She asked, turning her head to look at him accusingly.
‘In the cupboard, I think,’ he answered, his mouth full of toast. ‘What do you need it for?’
Lísa stood up and pulled the towel tighter. ‘Hairdryer. The cable doesn’t reach far enough.’
‘There’s one behind the TV,’ Orri said, reaching for his phone as it buzzed with an incoming message.
‘I’ll use this one,’ Lísa decided, the towel slipping slightly as she passed him.
‘Coming?’ she asked, her voice dropping to an inviting tone.
Orri grinned. The offer of a quick one was an olive branch. Things were getting back to normal.
‘That’s an offer a man shouldn’t turn down,’ he said, reaching out to pinch an end of the towel between thumb and fingers as Lísa swept past, leaving him with a fluffy white heap on the floor as she giggled her way to the bedroom. He heard the whine of the hairdryer as he thumbed the button on his phone to display the text message, and as he read it his world went silent.
Hi Orri Björnsson, he read in English. Pleased to make your acquaintance the other night and sorry I haven’t been in touch before. I have a little job for you, nothing too difficult. Check your mailbox on the way to work. You’ll find written instructions there and the equipment you’ll need is on the back seat of your car.
He sat and stared at the screen, his head buzzing in shock. He had pushed what had happened to the back of his mind, convincing himself that the man who had tied him up would not really call on him, telling himself that he had just wanted to give him a fright.
‘Orri.’
He scrolled down to see if there was anything more, but there was only a blank screen and no caller’s number to reply to.
‘Orri,’ Lísa called from the other room.
Orri stared, his mind in a whirl as the memories of that night resurfaced.
‘If you’re not coming, then I’m getting dressed,’ Lísa called from the bedroom.
He shook his head hard, as if to scatter the bad memories and collect his thoughts. He got up abruptly, pushing the chair back as he did so. Lísa sat cross-legged on the bed as she brushed her hair.
Orri forced a lecherous smile that didn’t suit his mood in the least.
‘I thought you weren’t coming,’ she said, tossing the hair brush onto the dressing table and lying back as Orri pulled at his jeans, his mind elsewhere.
Chapter Seven
Eiríkur scratched his head. ‘Gunna?’
‘What?’
‘Something interesting here.’
She looked up, catching the tone in Eiríkur’s voice that indicated as much excitement as he was ever likely to display.
‘Let’s hear it, then.’
‘The woman in that Aunt Bertha shop described a man with stubble, medium height, brownish hair, quite short.’
‘You’re still working on that?’
‘Well, no. I was going to come back to it when I have time. But when we were knocking on doors along Kópavogsbakki yesterday, one of the people in the street reported seeing a man who answered to the same description. It seems this guy has been observed more than once.’
‘That’s all well and good, but that description could apply to around a third of the male population.’
‘Yeah. But both Aunt Bertha and this old boy at Kópavogsbakki specifically mention a green fleece with some kind of yellow logo.’
‘How come you’ve only just noticed this?’
‘I’m going through the notes the uniformed officers collected from the neighbours. Tinna and Geiri knocked on a lot of the doors and this is one of Tinna’s. She spoke to a retired gentleman who appears to have too much time on his hands, according to her notes.’
‘Then you’d best get out there and start asking questions, hadn’t you? Did you pass this on to Sævaldur?’
Eiríkur shook his head. ‘No. He’s busy enough as it is for the moment.’
‘Good. Go on, then. Get yourself out to Kópavogsbakki and chase it up, will you? That way if the Laxdal asks if we’re getting anywhere I can tell him truthfully that you’re following a lead.’
Orri trudged along the narrow street in the western end of Reykjavík. He had the location memorized and the black Chevrolet was not quite where he had been told to look for it, though close, a few hundred metres further along and parked badly by the side of the road, with one wheel on the pavement.
He looked around quickly to see if anyone were about and felt nervous. He would have preferred darkness and walked further along the street. He felt ravenously hungry, and at the bottom of the street where it widened to join another road he found a snack bar and bought himself a hot dog and a drink.
Orri’s hands trembled as he ate the sausage in its bath of ketchup and remoulade in a just few gulps, washing it down with a can of fizzy drink and asking himself why a man who revelled in the thrill of not being seen as he explored people’s houses was so nervous. He knew the answer as he downed the last sugary drops from the can and tossed it into an overflowing bin. Working for himself, he was in charge and in control. This time, he was someone else’s puppet, doing their dirty work for a wage instead of a bounty.