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‘Drugs?’

‘No doubt,’ he said with a lopsided smile. ‘It could be all kinds of stuff. Drugs, vice, protection rackets, gambling, loan-sharking. These guys are spoilt for choice and all they need is a way to wash the smell of shit off their money.’

‘No? Definitely not? All right, thanks,’ Eiríkur said, putting the phone down and pushing it away.

‘No luck?’ Gunna asked, looking long and hard at the prints of the man in the green fleece that Eiríkur had produced, including close-ups of his face and of the logo on his jacket.

‘I’ve searched for the face and the logo and I can’t find either anywhere. You’d have thought that logo and the stripes would be something special, but I can’t find anything. If there were some letters that would be a help. I’ve called every shop in Reykjavík that sells this kind of thing and all the manufacturers I can get hold of, and nobody’s familiar with it.’

‘It may have come from abroad?’

‘Then we’re no nearer than we were.’

‘You have a face.’

‘Put out a media appeal?’ Eiríkur suggested.

Gunna dropped the prints back on the desk. ‘The trouble is, your suspect will then see it as well and he’ll lose that fleece like a shot.’

‘Ach, somebody will know him. Even if it’s just his mother.’

‘Yeah, and his mother’s going to shop him to the police.’

‘She might if she’s a particularly law-abiding mother.’

Gunna sat with her chin in her hands, looking at the face of the man in the green fleece. Under the crop of brown hair, he looked ordinary, the sort of face nobody would notice. Taken when he had been walking towards Aunt Bertha, the face had a strained look about. The split-second of footage chosen had caught him chewing his lip, as if he’d been stressed or hadn’t slept properly. He looked tired, Gunna thought, and wondered what kind of guilty conscience he might have.

‘No,’ she decided. ‘I don’t want it released, not yet. Circulate his picture internally first. It might take a day or two but we’ll see if anyone comes up with anything. If nobody knows anything we’ll think again, but on Monday you’d best tell Sævaldur that you have a lead on his phantom housebreaker.’

Eiríkur retreated behind his computer and Gunna could hear him tapping at the keyboard. He hit send with a flourish and sat back.

‘Done,’ he said. ‘Time for a coffee, I think. Want one?’

‘Not for me, thanks. I have to go up and see if I can find the Laxdal before he disappears home.’

She heard Eiríkur pottering in the coffee room, the clink of mugs being washed and Gunna reflected that Eiríkur’s wife must have done a good job of training him. She stood up and pulled on her jacket as Eiríkur’s phone rang.

‘Eiríkur!’ She called and cursed when there was no reply. ‘Eiríkur Thór Jónsson’s phone,’ she said as she lifted the handset.

‘Is Eiríkur there?’

‘He’s about somewhere. Who’s this?’

‘Lárus Erlendsson from station at Selfoss. It’s about the pictures Eiríkur emailed to everyone.’

‘Ah, in that case, you can tell me. Eiríkur’s one of my team.’

‘Oh, right? And who are you, my love?’

‘I’m Gunnhildur Gísladóttir, and I’m not your love,’ Gunna glowered. ‘You recognize the man in the picture?’

Lárus Erlendsson laughed. ‘No, not a clue who he is.’

‘In that case, what can I do for you? I don’t suppose you wanted to chat about the weather?’

‘No, don’t be stupid. It’s that logo he sent as well. The one on the guy’s fleece.’

‘You recognize it?’

‘Of course I do. I’m a member myself; I’m on the committee. It’s the Kjölur Equestrian Club.’

‘That’s a great help, thanks. I’ll pass on the message,’ Gunna said, put the phone down and yelled, ‘Eiríkur! A trip to the country?’

Gunna met Bára outside the hotel, where she parked the unmarked Golf in the manager’s parking space.

‘What’s happened? All right?’

‘No. Jóhann’s disappeared.’

‘Shit.’

‘And I’m supposed to be looking after them.’

Gunna thought quickly. ‘Disappeared as in wandered off or disappeared as in snatched?’

‘No idea. He said he was going down to the lobby for a newspaper and hasn’t come back.’

‘How long ago?’

‘An hour,’ Bára said.

‘And her ladyship?’

‘Sitting upstairs calling all his mobile numbers one after the other. It’s taken the best part of half an hour to get her to agree to call you.’

Gunna thought quickly and looked around the hotel’s lobby. ‘OK, get me Jóhann’s phone numbers, would you? I’ll see if we can put a trace on them. Where’s the duty manager in this place?’

A minute later Gunna was in a room behind the reception desk watching jerky black-and-white footage of guests coming and going, amazed at the sheer number of people passing through the doors. Finally Jóhann appeared. He emerged from the lift with a group of people, walked across the lobby, spoke briefly to someone standing by the restaurant door and picked up a newspaper from a pile. Gunna watched him leaf through Morgunbladid for a few moments before looking around him and walking quickly out of the main doors.

Gunna switched to the camera outside and saw him open the door of a taxi and get in, taking a seat in the back and shutting the door with the car already moving. Gunna wrote down the number, thanked the mystified girl at reception and headed for the lift.

Sunna María sat in her suite, her face thunderous.

‘Well? Do you know where he went?’

‘It looks like he just went out,’ Gunna said. ‘Had he had any calls or messages before he went downstairs?’

‘Probably. His computer and his phone ping out messages all day long.’ She glared at Bára. ‘You’re supposed to be looking after security, aren’t you?’

‘That’s right. But I’m not here to stop either of you going somewhere of your own free will.’

Gunna shook her head. ‘There’s nothing for me to do here. If Jóhann wasn’t abducted, then there’s nothing for me to investigate,’ she said, her hand on the door handle. Sunna María stood with her back to them, staring out over the slipways below them.

‘He could be in danger, couldn’t he?’ she asked, turning to face them.

‘Could be,’ Gunna admitted. ‘There’s nothing suspicious on the CCTV and it looks like he just got in a taxi and drove away. If Jóhann went somewhere, he clearly went of his own free will. Has he done this before?’

‘Disappeared without a word? No. But he hasn’t been well recently,’ Sunna María said, turning round with a look of concern etched onto her face. ‘He forgets things and he’s been depressed. I can’t help being worried about him.’

Alex felt good about himself and the world around him. It was dark and cold and he’d been working all day, but a hot shower had eased the aches and pains. He poured a slug of vodka into a glass and looked forward to the evening, especially the night, which promised to be a busy one.

Maris was sitting with his feet on the table and the television in front of him rattled as the crowd at Old Trafford roared their appreciation. His feet were surrounded by cans and Maris leaned forward, lifting and shaking them one by one to find a full can. Both Maris and the can sighed as he popped its ring pull and took a long swallow.

The apartment was nothing special. The bedroom belonged to Alex as he had been there longer and Maris, as the newcomer, slept on the lumpy couch. While the place wasn’t exactly dirty, it was far from clean, with bags of cans and garbage by the door, which nobody bothered to take out until they started to smell. When he’d moved in all those months ago, Alex had found bags of garbage stacked on the balcony and the living-room windows tightly closed to keep out the smell.