‘Excuse me, what did you say?’ Eiríkur asked as Lísa’s jaw dropped.
Eiríkur and a uniformed officer stood under a single dim bulb by the storeroom with the elderly gentleman who was still wearing his hat. Lísa stood by the stairs, her arms folded tightly around her and a bewildered frown on her face.
‘You’re telling me you knew nothing about this?’ Eiríkur demanded.
‘Of course not. That’s Orri’s storeroom there,’ she said, pointing with an arm that did not extend beyond the end of her sleeve at the storeroom they had already examined twice.
‘And this one?’
‘Hell, I don’t know. That’s between Orri and. .?’
‘Steinar,’ the old man said politely. ‘Steinar Atlason at your service,’ he added with exaggerated old-fashioned courtesy, looking at Lísa with a twinkle in his eye. ‘And you are?’
‘You know who I am,’ she retorted.
‘What’s the story, Eiríkur?’ Gunna asked, appearing in the doorway and not delighted at being called to Orri’s basement storeroom again.
‘It seems that Orri has more than one storeroom down here. This gentleman says that now he’s a little unsteady on his legs, he doesn’t use his storeroom any more and he actually rents it to Orri, which Orri conveniently forgot to tell us about.’
‘Your young man is quite right,’ Steinar chipped in. ‘I can’t get about like I used to, so my son cleared my storeroom out and this young lady’s husband asked if he could use it. For a consideration, of course,’ he added. ‘Now you’re not going to tell the minister of finance about this arrangement are you? To my mind he wastes enough taxpayers’ money as it is and I’ve no intention of giving that young fool any more.’
‘Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with us,’ Gunna assured him. ‘But I’d appreciate it if you’d open the door.’
‘I can’t. Orri put his own lock on there.’
‘Lísa, do you have the key?’
‘There isn’t one.’
‘No key?’ Eiríkur said.
‘If you look carefully, you’ll see that’s a combination lock,’ she said with a sour expression. ‘And no, I don’t have a clue what the combination is. You’ll have to figure that out for yourselves,’ she said over her shoulder as she made for the stairs, her arms still wrapped around her.
‘This is definitely your storeroom?’ Gunna asked old man.
‘It is.’
‘You have any objection if we look inside?’
‘Well. .’ Steinar Atlason looked uncertain. ‘It’s young Orri’s belongings that are in there, so it would be wrong to open it without his permission as well.’
Gunna scratched her head and wanted to bark at Eiríkur.
‘It’s up to you,’ she said. ‘If this gentleman agrees, then you can get an angle grinder and have that lock off right now.’ She saw the uniformed officer brighten at the chance of doing some damage. ‘Or you can seal the store now, fetch Orri and get him to open it in your presence, which might be a better way of going about things,’ Gunna said, turning to leave them to it.
‘But now I’m going up there for a word with Lísa, and to make it clear to her that calling Orri right now to tell him the law’s on his doorstep isn’t a helpful move. Let me know what you find in there.’
‘I let Bára go,’ Sunna María said. ‘I don’t feel I’m in any danger.’
‘It didn’t occur to you to let us know that you’d dispensed with your protection?’
‘No,’ she replied crisply. ‘I don’t feel there’s any hazard to me. I don’t need protection in my own house, thank you. But what I’d really like to know is what you’re doing to find my husband.’
‘Without knowing where to look, it’s not easy to mount a search,’ Gunna said. ‘And I recall that a few days ago you weren’t worried about your husband and didn’t seem keen on the idea of the police looking for him. Do you maybe know something now that you didn’t yesterday?’
Sunna María stared back at Gunna blankly. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said finally. ‘The last few days have been. .’ she paused as if looking for the right word. ‘Stressful in the extreme. If I gave the wrong impression, then I certainly didn’t mean to.’
Her phone rang and she stalked to the desk below the window of the long living room to snatch it up.
‘Yes,’ Gunna heard her snap. ‘Just get on with it. All right, another four per cent is acceptable, but that’s my last word. You know how far behind schedule all this is already?’
Gunna looked out of the window and watched as a mixer truck pulled up. The driver got out and lit a cigarette. A cloud of cement dust seemed to envelop him as he stood and waited. A man in blue overalls appeared and they both looked through a handful of documents, gesturing and pointing animatedly.
‘I’m sorry,’ Sunna María said without any apology in her voice. ‘Things are getting busy and there’s a lot to be doing.’
‘The construction work?’
‘Yes. The house that’s weatherproof is for someone else but I’m acting as the owner’s agent. The other one’s ours. Work stopped last year when it started to get cold, but it’s warmer now so they can get to work on the foundations.’
‘Another one to let?’
‘Or sell. It depends on the market once the roof’s on and the windows are in.’
Beyond the construction site along the street, white horses danced on the sound between Kópavogur and Gardabær.
‘I’m wondering why work is starting just now, with your husband missing.’
Sunna María drew herself up and opened her mouth to speak, but stopped herself and thought. ‘It has taken a while,’ she said eventually. ‘I’ve been negotiating with the contractor for weeks. The original construction company went bankrupt at the end of last year, so I had to find a new one, and they finally started on Friday.’
‘And the finance?’
‘I have enough to keep business afloat, thank you.’
‘Who’s this guy?’ Gunna demanded, unfolding a sheet of paper she had taken from her pocket while Sunna María was on the phone and pointing to an indistinct passport photo of a hawk-faced man with swept-back hair looking at the camera with amusement from behind a bristling old-fashioned moustache.
‘I. .’
Gunna watched Sunna María’s confusion, determined not to miss anything she might let slip in her surprise.
‘I’ve really no idea.’ The moment’s hesitation told Gunna more than Sunna María had wanted to let slip. ‘Why? Who is he?’
‘That’s what I’m wondering. I’d be interested to know how he rented a van for two days last week and paid with a credit card belonging to Sólfell Property. Jóhann Hjálmarsson’s credit card. After all, it’s not as if they look alike or as if the names on the card and this man’s driving licence even match, but as the hire company didn’t look closely, off he went with a van.’
‘I honestly have no idea,’ Sunna María protested weakly. ‘If I could tell you, I would.’
Gunna folded the paper back into her pocket.
‘Intriguing,’ she said, looking out of the window at the occasional drop of rain hurled against the glass by the wind. ‘I feel like a walk, so I might have a look at your construction site.’
He trudged almost in a daze. The hunger cramps had abated, kept at bay with mouthfuls of water from the streams that clattered through the rocks. Jóhann stared at the grass by the track, wondering if grass could be eaten or if it would just make the ache in his belly worse. He remembered hearing somewhere that Iceland was a nightmare country for vegetarians, with a cuisine that consisted largely of lamb and fish. Nothing other than potatoes would grow in Iceland’s short summer, but at least there was enough grass and heather to support all those sheep.
He spied a couple of scruffy ewes watching him with suspicious eyes from far up the slope and he wondered if he could catch one, dismissing the thought immediately. He had no idea how to kill a sheep even if he were to catch one, let alone how to turn a dead sheep into something edible. It was the wrong time of the year for any kind of berries and he guessed it would be too early for the eggs of ground-nesting birds.