‘No! Absolutely not.’
Sævaldur’s face had gone an entirely new shade of red that Gunna had never seen before. Lunch with Gísli had driven Orri completely out of her mind for an hour and she felt raw after the long talk with her son, but deeply relieved that they had gone some way to making peace with each other again.
‘All right, give me one good reason, will you?’
‘Because I’ve been chasing after this bastard for the last year and I want him to stew in a cell for ever. I don’t want him to see the light of day ever again.’
Three years of working with Ívar Laxdal had given Gunna an insight into his character, and she recognized the glint in his eye betraying that he relished the sight of Sævaldur Bogason in full furious flow.
‘That’s still no reason,’ she continued. ‘He’s been arrested and he’s been charged. He’s no danger to anyone but himself and he’s hardly likely to go on a last burglary spree now, is he?’
Are you off your fucking head, woman?’
‘Ívar?’
‘My feeling is that Gunnhildur is right,’ Ívar Laxdal said. ‘It hurts to let this character out, but he’s been charged and in any case his lawyer can argue convincingly enough for bail. He’d get it, no doubt, as far as I’m concerned. He’s not a violent criminal and I can’t see him hurting anyone.’
‘Have it your own way,’ Sævaldur said, his frustration evident. ‘But I hope they throw away the key. Not that they’re likely to give him more than a pat on the back and ask him nicely not to do it again for a while,’ he added bitterly. The door banged behind him.
‘He’s not a happy camper, is he?’
‘No, Gunnhildur, he’s not, and I understand his feelings entirely. But if you have to, I suggest you get this done quickly.’
A few minutes later Gunna stood at the back of the least comfortable interview room as Eiríkur gave Orri back the contents of his pockets.
‘Sign here, will you?’ he said, spinning the form around and placing a pen on it.
Orri looked bewildered. ‘What does this mean?’
‘It means you’re being released,’ Eiríkur told him. ‘Pending recall for further questioning and a court appearance.’
‘But. . I thought. .’
‘Thought what? Thought you were going to be shipped off to Litla Hraun? Count yourself lucky is all I can say.’
‘But I don’t want to be released,’ Orri blurted out.
‘What? You don’t want to be let out? Listen, we get drunks turning up asking for a cell to crash in often enough, but you must have a good reason to want to be inside, surely?’ Eiríkur said with interest. ‘What’s the problem?’
Orri deflated in confusion. ‘Nothing,’ he said finally. ‘It’s all right.’ He switched on his phone and listened to the chime of it starting up before he stowed it in his pocket. He scrawled a signature on the form to confirm his belongings had been returned.
‘I’m going that way myself,’ Gunna said. ‘I’ll even give you a lift home.’
‘What the hell’s going on?’ Orri demanded. ‘Why is this happening?’
‘Why are you so suspicious?’ Gunna retorted. ‘I’m going to Hafnarfjördur anyway. I can drop you off on the way. But if you’d rather go over the road and wait for a bus, that’s up to you. I’ll be downstairs in ten minutes,’ she said and left the room, leaving Eiríkur to deliver Orri to the car park.
Gunna discreetly glanced in the rear-view mirror to make sure that Eiríkur was in sight while Orri sat slumped in the seat next to her.
‘I shouldn’t have told you anything,’ he said as the Golf swished through puddles on the way out of town.
‘You didn’t have to. Listen, Orri. What’s the problem? Go back to work.’
‘That’s what I don’t understand.’
Gunna slowed as they approached a set of lights. ‘What don’t you understand?’
‘I don’t understand why you’re being so nice,’ he sneered. ‘That fat bastard wanted to lock me up for ever.’
‘Sævaldur? Yeah, he’s a bit extreme. But we’re not all like that.’
‘So why the nice cop, nasty cop thing?’
The traffic crawled to a standstill on Miklabraut as a large four-by-four with tinted windows caused a furore of horns as it stopped across two lanes at the intersection.
‘If I wasn’t busy, I’d pull that idiot over and give him a ticket,’ Gunna mused. ‘Because that’s the way we are. Some of us are rougher round the edges than others. As far as I’m concerned, you haven’t been charged with any violent offences, your passport’s been impounded and it’s not as if you’re going to skip the country. So I don’t see the point in keeping you fed and watered at taxpayer’s expense. Do you have any idea how crowded Litla Hraun is these days and how much it costs to keep someone on remand?’
‘Well, I suppose.’
‘Keep your nose clean. You’ll probably get a year when it finally comes to court and you’ll be out in six months. After that I hope never to have to cross your path again in a professional capacity.’
Orri sat up and looked happier as Gunna accelerated and then didn’t speak again until she had taken the turning along Nýbýlavegur towards the far end of Kópavogur.
‘And if you do?’ he asked suddenly.
‘If I do what?’
‘If we have to meet in your professional capacity?’
‘Then I’ll throw the book at you and hang every unsolved break-in I can find for the last twenty years on you. Does that answer your question?’
Orri finally allowed himself a wan smile. ‘Yeah. It does.’
‘Go to work tomorrow. Make it up with with Lísa. Keep your fingers clean,’ Gunna said, turning off down the rutted road leading to the block where Orri lived and checking as she did so that Eiríkur had driven past. She pulled up next to Lísa’s Ka. ‘Now piss off and make the most of your few weeks of freedom before the courts get round to your case.’
Chapter Fourteen
Gunna lay in the dark and wondered if she’d done the right thing. Sævaldur was furious, not least because of his complete failure to uncover any leads on the murder of Vilhelm Thorleifsson, his frustration compounded by Eiríkur finding the culprit behind the wave of burglaries around the city that had become his own personal mission over the last eighteen months. Gunna’s decision to release Orri when Sævaldur would have relished grilling him for hours in an uncomfortable interview room at Litla Hraun had practically given him palpitations. Much as she disliked working with Sævaldur Bogason, she could understand his feelings.
She knew she should be asleep, but the makeshift bed was unfamiliar and the flat was a small one. Gunna stretched out, feeling something hard digging into her back through the sofa bed’s thin upholstery. Thoughts of Sunna María, Orri and Jóhann kept nagging her, especially Jóhann’s chagrin at being asked to stay in hospital instead of going home, and his bewilderment when Gunna had told him how important it might be not to let anyone know he had survived his ordeal in the wilderness.
Eventually she had relented and Jóhann’s sons, one a younger version of their lanky, curly haired father and the other a bearded barrel of a man, had both been told that their father was alive, but sworn to silence.
Gunna padded across to the kitchen and keyed a message into her phone: Anything yet?
She toyed with the idea of making herself a cup of coffee, but immediately decided against it, knowing that a hint of caffeine would definitely rule out sleep.
In the other room, ten-month-old Ari Gíslason moaned in his sleep and Gunna could hear Soffía clucking and cooing to him as she rocked him back to sleep. Her phone buzzed discreetly on the kitchen table.