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Lárus looked dismissive as he pushed open a door and grunted a greeting to the group of people gathered around a long table.

‘My colleague Eiríkur Thór Jónsson from Reykjavík,’ he announced, the word ‘Reykjavík’ dropped as if it had a foul smell to it. ‘He’s brought some photos as part of an investigation, so if you’d like to have a look at them. . Eiríkur?’

‘Er. . hello,’ he said to the group of middle-aged people staring at him as he placed the pictures in the table, dealing them like cards. The pictures began to circulate and the group whispered and muttered. ‘This is a person we are looking for. We don’t know who he is, but as you can see, he’s wearing a fleece that should look familiar to you,’ he said, looking around the room and noticing several identical fleeces.

‘What’s this fellow done?’ A corpulent man at the end of the table asked.

‘I can’t tell you at the moment,’ Eiríkur answered. ‘It’s a sensitive matter.’

‘Not a banker is he?’

‘No, not as far as we know.’

‘Anything exciting?’ A young woman asked, smiling. ‘I wonder how come he’s wearing one of our fleeces?’

‘I take it he’s not a member, then?’

Heads shook around the table.

‘He’s not anyone we’ve seen here,’ the corpulent man said. ‘And I should know.’

‘Gulli’s the chairman,’ Lárus explained. ‘He knows all the members.’

‘How many of these fleeces did you buy?’

‘A hundred, I think it was. We still have forty or fifty of them left. Every member had one at the time and we give one to every new member.’

‘In that case, I’d like to borrow one.’

‘What for?’

‘I’d like to get some tests carried out to check against a crime scene.’

‘Ólöf, would you?’ Gulli said without looking up, his eyes still on the picture in his hands. ‘This person’s definitely not a member, so I’d certainly have a few questions to ask him about why he’s wearing one of our fleeces. Our logo is on it,’ he pointed out needlessly as the young woman opened a cupboard and handed Eiríkur a new fleece, folded into its bag with the logo showing through the transparent wrapper.

‘Where did you order these from?’

‘A company called PeysuPrent. The guy who ran it used to be a member here so we got them at cost price, but it closed down a while ago.’

‘He’s still a member?’

‘No. Sold his horses and packed it in.’

‘How long ago did you order the fleeces?’

Gulli inserted a little finger into one ear and twisted it around thoughtfully. ‘Five, six years ago. Something like that,’ he decided finally.

Eiríkur tucked the fleece in its bag under one arm. ‘But you’re all sure that this man isn’t anyone you recognize?’ He asked the room at large and heads shook in response. ‘All right, in that case, thanks for your time. I’ll leave some photographs with Lárus, just in case anyone needs to take another look, and I can be reached at the police station on Hverfisgata,’ he added, handing out cards. ‘This is turning out to be more serious than a handful of burglaries, so if anything comes to mind, I’d certainly appreciate a call.’

‘Sorry nobody could help you,’ Lárus said as they walked back to the Polo. If you don’t mind, I’m just going to have a quick look at my mare,’ he said and walked towards a stable without waiting for a reply.

‘Eiríkur?’

He turned to see the young woman who had handed him the fleece walking towards him.

‘Yes?’

‘Listen. I didn’t want to say anything in there in front of the rest of them. But. .’

‘You know who this guy is?’

‘Actually, no. I don’t know his name. But I think he is, or was, the boyfriend of a girl who used to be a member here. She moved to Reykjavík a couple of years ago. I don’t see her very often these days, but we’ve kept in touch. I met her in town about a month ago and I’m sure this is the guy who was with her. But I could be wrong,’ she said, looking around guiltily, as if she were betraying a secret.

‘And where can I find her?’

‘I’m not sure. She works at a factory outside Hafnarfjördur and I’m not sure where she lives now.’

‘You have a phone number?’

‘Not any more,’ Ólöf said. ‘She changed her number a while ago and I don’t have the new one.’

‘So how do you keep in touch?’

‘Just through Facebook normally. We meet up every few months when I have a reason to go to Reykjavík, which isn’t all that often.’

‘Understood. What’s her name?’

‘Elísabet Sólborg Höskuldsdóttir. Everyone calls her Lísa.’

Gunna peered at the man’s smashed hand as the doctor showed her the X-ray.

‘Deliberate?’

‘No doubt,’ the doctor said. He had black rings under his eyes and Gunna realized he had to be much younger than he looked.

‘That’s why you called us?’

He shrugged. ‘Standard practice. There’s no doubt in my mind that this wasn’t the result of some accident. You can see how the damage is confined to particular areas. I’ve been here for a while and never seen anything that looks remotely like that from an industrial injury.’

‘How’s the patient?’

‘Shocked and sedated.’

‘Other injuries?’

He shook his head. ‘Not that we’re aware of. But it’s not as if there’s a chance of a full examination.’

‘This couldn’t have happened with something falling on his hand?’

‘I don’t know, I’m not an expert. But the breaks aren’t in line, so this looks like four separate fractures, not four fingers that have been fractured all at once.’

‘How did he arrive? Ambulance?’

‘No, he turned up in a taxi. He wouldn’t be able to drive himself with his hand in that condition.’

‘I’d best go and have a quiet word. He’s still sedated?’

‘He’s painkillered up to the eyeballs,’ the doctor said cheerfully. ‘Good luck.’

Maris lay back in bed with his left hand rested on his chest, swathed in a bandage. Gunna sat next to him and saw that behind the drawn face he was relaxed, courtesy of the painkillers. She wondered how soon the pain would set in again and if he would ever recover the full use of his hand.

‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘My name’s Gunnhildur Gísladóttir and I’m a detective with the city police force. You speak Icelandic, or is English easier for you?’

Maris winced. ‘English is better.’

‘The medical staff have a duty to report to the police anything that appears not to be an accident, which is why I’m here.’

‘Accident.’

‘Go on. Tell me how this accident happened,’ Gunna said, relieved to hear that her slow English was better than his.

‘I was moving. .’ He winced again and pointed with his good hand at the other side of the room. ‘Like that.’

‘A cupboard?’

‘Yes, cupboard for clothes.’

‘And what happened that broke all of the fingers in your hand so neatly?’

‘I drop it.’

‘On your hand?’ Gunna’s tone left Maris in no doubt that she disbelieved him.

‘Yes. It fall. From table.’

‘You put the cupboard on a table, and it fell off, onto your hand?’

‘I was not looking. It fell.’ He put out his good hand again, flat, as if this would demonstrate how the accident had occurred.

‘I think you’re lying to me, Maris. That is your real name, isn’t it?’ Gunna said. ‘In fact, I know you’re lying. I’ve seen the X-rays of your hand and there are separate breaks on each finger that don’t line up. So who did this to you?’

‘Accident.’

‘Who attacked you, and why?’

‘Accident.’ His face set firmly. ‘It was accident.’

‘Who did this?’

‘Accident,’ Maris repeated doggedly.

Gunna shook her head. ‘So whoever did this is going to walk around knowing that you’re in here and your hand will never be any use again. You realize that?’

‘What you say?’

Gunna sighed. She didn’t need to ask any more questions to know that this was going to be a struggle.