‘It’s about the awards thing that Sigurjóna Huldudóttir attended, alleging large amounts of cocaine being present.’
‘Nothing new there, then,’ Snorri said. ‘Is that something worth chasing, d’you think?’
‘Don’t know. We have enough to be getting on with as it is,’ Gunna mused. ‘I’ll let the Reykjavík drug squad know and they should be able to investigate.’
‘But that’s not all,’ Bára added. ‘There was a strange comment to say that Bjarni Jón Bjarnason should have good reason to be on his way back to Iceland early from this conference he’s at in Berlin. No more details. Maybe Skandalblogger knows something we don’t?’
‘I’m wondering if maybe we ought to be having a quiet word with the Minister for Environmental Affairs,’ Gunna said quietly, as if to herself, placing Skúli’s printout on the table and spreading it out. At the back of the room, Vilhjálmur Traustason’s eyes widened in horror. ‘And we need to find out about this, immediately.’
‘What’s this?’ Snorri asked, looking at Gunna with surprise. ‘I didn’t think you read this sort of thing.’
‘I don’t. It was passed to me last night. This is what Tuesday’s Hot Chat is going to look like. But you’ll have to wait until tomorrow to buy your own copies of Hot Chat.’
Gunna said Hot Chat as if the very words themselves smelled like a public toilet on a hot day.
‘Is this from your toyboy?’ Bjössi smirked.
‘That would be telling. If you look, you’ll see that these pictures were taken by a freelance hack called Ármann J, real name Ármann Jens Helgason. His phone number’s there. One of you can chase this guy up today and squeeze what you can out of him. Snorri, I’ll leave that to you. Now, if we look at these photos, incidentally taken at the
Gullfoss on Friday evening during that bullshitmongers’ jamboree, we will see the lovely Sigurjóna, her PA or whatever he is, Sigurjóna’s sister Erna the hairdresser, and a certain Mr Hårde.’
‘Bloody hell,’ Bjössi said and whistled.
‘The cheeky cow.’ Bára seethed. ‘She knew exactly where he had been the night before and certainly didn’t bother to tell us that.’
‘Ah, but we didn’t ask where he had been, only if she knew where he was when we spoke to her. So another visit to the delightful Sigurjóna might be in order. OK, boys and girls. Grab yourselves a coffee, then get to it, please,’ Gunna said, noticing with discomfort as he stood up the new lines that had appeared on Vilhjálmur Traustason’s long face, making him look a few years older than he had at the end of the previous week.
‘Ah, Gunnhildur. A word, if you would be so kind.’
Hårde drove faster than usual out to Hvalvík, talking for most of the way to the voices that came through his mobile headset. His room at the guesthouse he had been staying at was tidy, and still occupied for a few more days as far as the owners would be concerned. The bed was made and there was still a toothbrush in the bathroom, but the locked suitcase on the bed was empty.
After three conversations in three languages, Hårde passed the ‘Welcome to Hvalvík’ sign in a cloud of dust that hung in the still air behind him, warming in the morning sun.
The phone bleeped a fourth time. He looked down at the display and raised a finger to touch the button on his headset.
‘Good morning, Herr Horst,’ he said gravely, in English this time.
‘Good morning, Gunnar.’
‘Is everything confirmed?’ Hårde asked.
‘Of course. It’s just as we discussed. You are able to disengage?’
‘I’m not sure yet. There might be some difficulties in leaving the country.’
‘If you need an alternative route, then call me on this number.’ Horst’s gravel voice rattled in his earpiece. ‘But I’m sure you’ll be all right. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll assume that we can meet here in a few days?’
‘A week, maybe.’
‘A week? Is there some delay?’ Horst asked in surprise.
‘Just a few days’ holiday for a change.’
‘Of course. I think you deserve a break,’ he said, chuckling. ‘Call me if there’s a hitch.’
‘I will.’
Hårde clicked the connection shut as the car cruised around Hvalvík, past the harbour area and along the road to the compound, where he sounded the horn for a guard to open the gate.
The room emptied quickly as Vilhjálmur Traustason stalked the length of the room, hands behind his back. He did not speak until the last one, Bjössi, winking at Gunna as he shut the door behind him, had left the room.
‘Just wanted to let you know I’m watching your progress and you’re doing a fine job,’ he said. Gunna could only look at him in disbelief.
‘What’s this for, Vilhjálmur? You’re not usually one for patting people on the back.’
‘That’s as may be. But you are making progress and the team is performing very well under your management.’
‘Where’s this going?’
‘Your promotion, and posting. I need to have a decision this week.’
‘Hell. I’d forgotten all about that.’
‘The Egilstadir force has requested you, Gunnhildur. Informally, of course,’ he added hurriedly.
‘I’ll think about it and you’ll have my decision next week.’
‘Excellent. Now, there’s another matter we need to discuss.’
Vilhjálmur Traustason stood and looked out of the window at the queue of morning traffic collecting at the roundabout outside. ‘I’ve had a communication from Lárus Jóhann Magnússon.’
‘What? The Minister?’
He nodded gravely. ‘The Ministry of Justice is concerned about the level of attention being focused on Bjarni Jón Bjarnason and his family and has requested a clarification.’
‘You mean Sigurjóna Huldudóttir has yelled at her husband, who has bleated to Lárus Jóhann?’
‘The Ministry has taken notice, shall we say?’
‘Look, Vilhjálmur. This woman is as crooked as they come. One of her staff was undoubtedly murdered and she is doing nothing to help the investigation — quite the reverse, in fact. I have a bloody good mind to haul her in for questioning on the basis of what she carefully didn’t tell us.’
A look of fury, quickly suppressed, passed across his face. ‘Please, Gunnhildur, consult me first if you do. I have to say, to an extent, your promotion could ride on this case.’
‘Oh, so if I screw this up and embarrass someone with big friends, then I’m not going to be flavour of the month? Come on. There’s something extremely unpleasant going on here and I could really do with your backing. Just how serious is the Minister’s interest?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Bjarni Jón Bjarnason is a lad and belongs to the Independence party. Lárus Jóhann is Progressive and he’s an old fart. They’re not in the same party. They don’t even like each other. So what’s going on? How serious is this pressure you feel you’re getting from the top?’
‘I’m sure I couldn’t tell you. There was simply a concern over possible undue harassment of Sigurjóna Huldudóttir.’
‘What I’m wondering is this: is Lárus Jóhann just passing on Bjarni Jón Bjarnason’s whining for the sake of form? Or is there really something here they might be concerned about?’ Is it my promotion that’s at stake, or does yours depend on this as well, Villi?’ Gunna asked gently.
This time the look of distaste on Vilhjálmur’s face was replaced by a brief flash of anger, rapidly erased.
‘We all depend on a certain success rate to see ourselves receiving the promotion we deserve, Gunnhildur,’ he said smoothly.
‘But are you going to back me up? This bloody woman is in it up to her neck and it’s going to look a lot worse for all of us in the long run when it all comes out and it turns out that we didn’t look hard enough.’