He walked slowly, his energy eaten up by disappointment and his feet sore as he almost tiptoed along the road. Now each pebble underfoot hurt and he felt the gaze of the ravens that had retired into the distance earlier in the day suddenly closer than ever.
There was nothing to indicate where Vison was and Eiríkur found himself backtracking more than once along dirt roads that made the Polo rattle and rumble alarmingly. When he finally found the place, he was already irritated at having wasted time.
He parked in a yard between two long buildings where the lack of any other cars told him there was little likelihood of anyone being about who might be able to answer a question or two. He knocked and tried the handle of the first door he came to and found it locked tight. Another door marked Vison Ltd, Office amp; Reception was also locked and there were no lights to be seen. He shivered as he rounded the end of the building, stepping into the cold wind that stole down the hillside, and rattled the handle of yet another locked door.
Something about the place unsettled him. Eiríkur had always tried to fend off superstition, but found himself a victim of it when presented with dark and unfamiliar places. He had the inescapable feeling that he was being watched and walked back the way he had come, keeping his eye on the car. He walked quickly around the second long building, apparently identical to the other. Again there was nobody to be seen, and a perfect full moon still visible in the thin daylight between the torn clouds racing over the sky added to his discomfort.
He clicked his fob and the lights of the Polo flashed comfortingly as the silence was broken and a quad bike roared into the yard.
‘Can I help you?’ A heavy man in a blue padded overall asked as he got off the bike, removing his helmet and hanging it on the handlebars.
Eiríkur opened his wallet quickly, not giving the man enough time to read the contents, just as he had seen Gunna do. ‘Eiríkur Thór Jónsson, city police.’
‘Aha. And what does the law want with this place?’
‘Just being curious. The name came up in connection with an investigation and I thought it best to take a look.’
The heavy man looked at him through narrowed eyes. ‘Which name? This place has only been Vison for a few months. Before that it was just called Akur.’
‘I can’t give too many details, but it’s a name connected with this location. What’s your connection with this place? You work here?’
The man grinned and unzipped the overall that had been closed tight to his neck. ‘Ásgrímur Stefánsson. I’m the manager. At the moment, anyway.’
‘Which means what?’
‘Ach. It’s complicated. You want a look around, do you?’
‘That’s the idea.’
He unlocked the office, clicked on the lights and pushed open a second door, beckoning Eiríkur to follow. He found himself in a cold, dark space, his breath visible in the chill. There was a moment’s disquiet and then the lights shimmered into life and he saw the room stretching away into the distance.
‘This is it,’ Ásgrímur said, hands in his pockets as he nodded towards the rows of steel cages that filled the place.
‘This is for mink, right? No animals?’
‘Yep. Mink. The animals won’t arrive for a while yet. We’re still setting up.’
‘So this is a new place? It doesn’t look new.’
Ásgrímur barked with mirthless laughter. ‘You want the full story?’
‘Go ahead.’
‘This was a mink farm years ago, back in the eighties. My family built the place and when the market fell to pieces we shut up shop. Closed down.’
‘It went bust?’
‘That’s what we should have done, but no. It would have been easy to just file for bankruptcy and let the bank pick up the pieces, wouldn’t it?’
‘I suppose so. But you own this place?’
Ásgrímur’s heels clicked on the concrete floor as he strode along an aisle between the cages with Eiríkur next to him. ‘My sisters and I own the land and the buildings, but now I’m just an employee of the company that’s setting up here. That’s Vison. You’re from the police, you said?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Just as long as you’re not one of those bunny-hugging vegetarians.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Back in the eighties those were the people who screwed up my livelihood by destroying the fur market. So I went to work in Denmark for a long time. There are fur farms still running there and I wanted to stay in the business.’
They reached the final row of cages and a door at the far end.
‘What’s in there?’ Eiríkur asked.
‘Cold storage for feed when we finally get up and running in the summer. Storage for bedding and there’s a small lab for quality control in there as well. That’s all waiting to be fitted out.’
He tried the handle and the door swung open, but the lights refused to obey as he clicked the switch by the door.
‘The circuit breaker’s popped, I expect,’ Ásgrímur grunted. ‘There’s a lot needs to be done yet before we start up.’
‘When’s that happening?’
‘June, if everything goes according to plan.’
They walked back between the cages, their clouds of breath preceding them in the chilled air.
‘So how come you came back from Denmark? The market improved, did it?’
‘Simple. The gentleman I worked for in Denmark wanted to expand, and he knew I’d farmed mink in Iceland. Times have changed. The fur market has picked up now. Costs in Iceland have fallen and the exchange rate since the crash means we can be competitive on exports again. So he wanted me to set up here.’
‘And fortunately you still owned this place so you’re a partner in this?’
Ásgrímur grinned, displaying gaps between his teeth that made Eiríkur wince. ‘I’m getting on for sixty, and I can’t be doing with all the paperwork and all that shit. Once the place is up and running I’ll manage it for a few years, and when the lads are trained to do everything, I’ll step back and retire. That’s the grand plan, anyway. Right now I do what I do well and get paid for it, plus they lease the site off me. That’s enough for me.’
‘So Mr Vadluga is putting a decent amount of money into this venture?’
Ásgrímur’s eyes narrowed again. ‘You’ve been doing your homework, I see.’
‘It’s not difficult. The company’s in his name.’
‘If it’s something to do with fraud, then I can tell you Boris is straight. Everything’s up front. Cash on the nail, accounts, the lot. That’s the way the farm in Denmark was run and that’s the way this one runs as well. Or will run,’ he added.
Out in the yard it felt warmer than inside the echoing building. Eiríkur shivered and nodded towards the second row of buildings.
‘What’s over there?’
‘Nothing much at the moment. You want to look?’
‘I do.’
Ásgrímur found a key among dozens on a ring and opened the door. Again lights flickered on. A sports car with its bonnet gaping open and a hole where its engine had once been sat sadly in a corner. A row of filing cabinets lined the far wall. Lengths of timber had been stacked here and there.
‘This lot all has to go.’ Ásgrímur sighed. ‘My brother-in-law’s antique Porsche has been in there for the best part of twenty years and if he doesn’t get it sorted out soon I’ll put it on eBay. That’s the paperwork going back to the old company here. That can all go as well.’
Eiríkur took it all in. ‘In that case I’ll be on my way and leave you to it. By the way, how often does Mr Vadluga come here?’
‘Almost never. About two years ago was the last time, when he wanted to take a look at this place.’
‘So he hasn’t been to Iceland for a while?’
‘No, he doesn’t travel a lot these days. Not like he used to do.’