As it happens, word has reached your faithful Skandalblogger that BJB has already been putting it about, passing an old adversary a titbit of advice to oil the wheels of justice. There’s nothing like making a real problem into someone else’s problem to cheer up a chap who’s just been handed a shit sandwich for lunch.
So keep up the good work!
37
Monday, 6 October
Gunna wondered how she could complete her report honestly and contemplated telling the unvarnished truth of how the men in the black van had spirited Hårde away.
She could still see the man’s clear blue eyes gazing directly into hers a second before the doors of the van slammed shut. Gunna frowned and put the computer in front of her to sleep.
‘Snorri!’
‘Yes, chief?’
‘I’m going out. Might be a while. Look after the place, will you?’
‘Will do.’
Outside the breeze off the sea brought the fresh tang of seaweed with it. It was going to be a windy night, maybe the first proper storm of winter, she decided, settling into the second-best Volvo.
She went home first and scoured Gísli’s and Laufey’s bedrooms for unwashed clothes before bundling the results into the washing machine. She scouted around the living room, picked up glasses and cups and washed them up, leaving them to drain, thinking hard all the while, wondering how long Gísli and Laufey would want to stay at home.
She took the second-best Volvo for a tour round the village, noticing a few badly parked cars here and there, a broken window at the back of the old fish plant and the station’s other car where Haddi had parked outside Palli Jakobsson’s workshop.
The InterAlu compound on the far side of the harbour area was closed up. She was astonished at how quickly everything had been wound up. On Saturday all the heavy machinery had been trucked away and on Sunday the shipping containers that housed the site offices and bunkrooms had been collected by the same fleet of trucks. It was already as if the site had been derelict for months. Gunna walked along the chain link fence facing the road and back at the gate she rattled the heavy lock. Although a sign warned that the site was patrolled by fierce dogs, she knew it was deserted, construction halted before it had got beyond concreting the huge foundations.
She contemplated driving out of the village through Sléttudalur to the deserted Lagoon site, but decided against it, and took the other direction instead.
By the ‘Thank you for driving carefully’ sign, Gunna put her foot down as the heavy car enjoyed the upward slope out of the village towards the heath. Rolling into Keflavík, she went straight to the police station.
‘Hi, Bjössi.’
Bjössi was lounging in the doorway with a cigarette in one hand and a mug in the other. ‘Ah, Gunna. Congratulations.’
‘On what?’
‘Your bank.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Don’t you listen to the news? Glitnir’s been bailed out and nationalized by the government. That makes Glitnir a state-owned bank, hence owned by the taxpayer, so that’s you and me.’
‘When did this happen?’ Gunna asked, mystified.
‘On the news just now.’
‘Bloody hell. That’ll put the cat among the pigeons.’
They stood in silence for a while. Eventually Bjössi ground the stub of his cigarette under his heel and stretched. ‘Apart from that, Vilhjálmur’s not here any more.’
‘What?’
‘That’s right. Officially, he’s on sick leave.’
‘But the man’s as fit as a flea,’ Gunna protested.
‘I know. That’s what’s puzzling about it.’ Bjössi grinned.
‘So who’s in charge here now?’
‘Beats me. I suppose Halli Stefáns is the senior man now, or else the top man himself.’
‘The Sheriff?’
‘Yup,’ Bjössi confirmed, gulping from his mug.
‘Is he in?’
‘Think so. Why? Got something to discuss, have you?’
‘Mind your own business.’
Upstairs, Gunna waited until the County Sheriff’s secretary smiled and ushered her into his office. This time the Sheriff wore a suit instead of the faded jeans and polo shirt he had been in the last time they met.
‘Ah, Gunnhildur. I was going to ask you to come and have a chat,’ he said with a broad smile.
‘That’s good, because I need a word with you as well.’
His expression instantly became serious. ‘I can’t tell you everything. I’m truly sorry about the incident when our man, er, eluded you.’
‘I’d have had the bastard if those toy soldiers hadn’t got in the bloody way,’ she said with more anger in her voice than she had intended.
The Sheriff looked embarrassed. ‘As I said, I’m sorry. What I can tell you is that there was interference at the last moment from much higher up. Special Unit wasn’t deployed on my authority. I can’t say much more than that, except that the men you encountered were not a regular squad.’
‘Was this done to make sure Hårde got away? To save some big shots from a lot of embarrassment?’
The Sheriff nodded almost imperceptibly. ‘This was taken out of my hands, and then handed straight back.’
‘Was it that National Commissioner’s dogsbody?’
‘No. Certainly not. This came from . . .’ He lifted a hand and pointed upwards.
‘From God?’ Gunna asked sharply.
The Sheriff laughed humourlessly. ‘No. But not far off. I don’t know the full story either.’
‘Fair enough. I suppose it’ll leak out eventually, around the time I come up for retirement.’
‘Ah, that’s one of the things I wanted to talk to you about.’ The Sheriff smiled.
‘Retirement? Yes, please.’
‘No, not quite. It’s this posting to Egilstadir.’
Gunna opened her mouth to speak.
‘It’s just that Ívar Laxdal was asking after you earlier,’ the Sheriff continued. ‘Of course I couldn’t say anything, as you hadn’t made a decision.’
‘Go on,’ Gunna said encouragingly.
‘I think you’d better speak to him yourself.’
The door opened as he knocked and Kolbeinn the juggler’s face broke into a grin as he saw Skúli on the doorstep.
‘Come in, there’re a few of us here, so you’d better join in,’ he said happily.
In the flat’s large living room, with its big picture window giving a magnificent view over the brooding mountain of Esja and Faxaflói Bay, a group of people lounged on chairs and sofas. Photographs from the march had been blown up and pasted across one wall and Skúli could see one of Kolbeinn in his juggler’s outfit in the centre. Music played quietly in the background and a TV on the table had the 24/7 News channel running with the sound turned down. Everyone had a bottle or a glass in hand. Skúli recognized a few familiar faces around the room, including Lára sitting in a wicker chair in the corner, and wondered if the broad grin on her face was directed his way in particular.
‘I’m sorry, have I interrupted a party?’ Skúli mumbled apologetically.
‘It would be a party if things didn’t look so grim. It’s just a little celebration now that the Hvalvík Lagoon project has been parked.’
Skúli felt suddenly uncomfortable. ‘Look, Kolli, I don’t have much time. Could we talk quietly for a minute? Is that OK?’
Kolbeinn still had the grin on his face. ‘Come in here,’ he said, stepping out into the hall, crowded with shoes and boots, and into the little kitchen. He lifted himself up and sat on the worktop while Skúli took the only chair and spread his notebook on the table.