Inside the door he fumbled for a light switch and clicked it on. A skinny man wearing only ragged underwear and with a curtain of greasy hair loose around his thin shoulders was sitting on the concrete floor nursing one arm and whimpering. A can of spray rolled across the floor towards one of the mattresses along the wall, where a young woman held one hand blearily over her eyes and with the other lifted the hem of a sleeping bag higher over herself as she blinked in the bright light. At the far side, a lanky figure hammered ineffectually on the garage door.

  “It’s all right, Ommi. You needn’t bother. Quietly, now.”

  “Bastard,” he snarled back.

  “You are arrested on suspicion of absconding from prison. You are not required to say anything, but anything you do say should be correct and truthful. You have the right to a lawyer at every stage of proceedings,” Steingrímur intoned in a flat voice as he clicked shut handcuffs on Ómar’s wrists.

  The second man was hauled to his feet, still whimpering in pain and clutching one hand in the other.

  “You’d better call an ambulance for this chap,” Helgi decided.

  Steingrímur stooped to pick up the pepper spray can and carefully placed it in an evidence bag.

  “Police issue. That counts as assaulting a police officer, doesn’t it, Helgi?” he asked smoothly.

  “I certainly think so. You’d better send your lad to hospital with him and get his eyes washed out.”

  Helgi looked around the bare garage, lit by the glare of a trio of naked bulbs in the ceiling.

  “Selma, isn’t it?” he asked as the girl let the sleeping bag slip down. “What of it?”

  “Put them away, will you, love? We’ve all of us seen tits before, especially small ones like those. But I think you and I need to have a little chat.”

  “Are you arresting me?” she asked petulantly.

  “Not yet, but you might get lucky and find yourself in a cell,” Helgi replied. “It’s bound to be a bit more comfortable than this dump.”

  A PLEASURE TO see Bjössi again, Gunna thought. Even though the man acted like a world-class chauvinist, something that had landed him in trouble more than once, experience told her that there was a conscientious and painstaking detective underneath. Since her move to the new squad in Reykjavík, she had seen little of her colleagues at the tiny station in Hvalvík or the main police station in Keflavík to which it belonged. If she hadn’t been so busy, she would have missed them.

  Gunna and Bjössi talked over the case on the way to the hospital, where they sat themselves at Skari’s bedside. The patient glared at them with undisguised loathing.

  “What’s this? Two of you?” He slurred through his broken jaw. “What’s going on?”

  “Just the usual, Skari. Time for you to tell us what really happened,” Bjössi said lightly.

  “Coincidence, you could call it,” Gunna added. “Long Ommi does a runner and not long afterwards you get a beating. I’d say that’s too much of a coincidence.”

  Skari glared back at them. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Ah, but you do, Skari, you do,” Bjössi said. “You know perfectly well what we’re after. The fictional big Polish bloke who gave you a bit of a hiding hasn’t been found, and he won’t be, because he doesn’t exist. We reckon Ommi did all this. But why?”

  “Get lost. Find that Polish bastard,” Skari said in a flat voice.

  “No, Skari. I’m sure there wasn’t a Polish bloke,” Bjössi said. “We’ve been through CCTV from every angle we can get hold of and there’s nobody anywhere who looks like your description of this chap. But there is a glimpse of Long Ommi.”

  “Haven’t seen Ommi. Not since you put him away.”

  “Why did Ommi come all the way out to Keflavík to give you a good hiding? There has to be a reason. And what’s more interesting is why you’re so determined not to identify him. Come on, Skari, what’s the story?”

  “We have all the evidence we need to place Ommi a few hundred metres from where you were in Keflavík that day. No doubt about it,” Gunna said. “In a little place like this, it would be odd if you two didn’t run into each other. So why would Ommi want to come and see his old friend Skari? Could it be because he believes you tipped us off to where he was a few years ago?”

  “Don’t be stupid.” Skari grimaced as fingers of pain shot through his jaw and up into the side of his head. “Ommi’d never…”

  “Ommi’d never what, Skari?” Bjössi probed.

  “Ommi wouldn’t—I never knew where he was hiding … wherever it was that you caught him,” he said slowly.

  Bjössi stood up and walked over to the window to look outside. Although he pretended to be bored and uninterested, Gunna knew that he was listening to every word. “So where was he hiding?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “All right. Let’s backtrack.” Gunna said firmly as Skari glared back at her. “You and Ommi. What were you up to ten years ago?”

  “Shit. I can’t remember. Having a good time. Getting pissed.”

  “Come on, Skari. You know better than that,” Bjössi admonished, without looking round. “You and Ommi were dealing on behalf of someone. When Ommi was put away after killing that lad, you got a bit frightened and decided crime wasn’t for you any more. Something like that?”

  “Don’t talk shit.”

  “Don’t tell me your Erla was the one who made you see sense.”

  “Yeah. That’s it.”

  “Ah, isn’t that sweet? Ain’t love grand?” Bjössi sneered.

  “Bjartmar Arnarson,” Gunna said suddenly, watching the patient’s face for a reaction that she was inwardly delighted to see. “Does the name mean anything to you, Skari?”

  “Who?”

  “Ah, now I know you’re bullshitting me. You know perfectly well who Bjartmar Arnarson is. You and Skari were both working for him in some capacity or other at the end of the nineties. Remember Blacklights?”

  “Yeah …” Skari answered slowly. “You mean the guy who owned the place?”

  “That’s him. Now we’re getting somewhere.”

  “I was on the door. So?” Skari said, eyes wide with confusion. “So was Ommi. Bjartmar was there as well. So was the lad who had his brains scrambled when your mate Ommi gave him a beating in the car park out the back. Did you maybe have something to do with it as well? Is that what happened?”

  “I was out the front. Didn’t see anything,” Skari said quickly. “The coppers took a statement off me then.”

  “I know,” Gunna said. “I’ve read your statement and all the other statements. I’m wondering how it all ties up so neatly and why Ommi admitted it quite so quickly and quietly. Not like him, you’ll have to agree.”

  “Dunno. You’ll have to ask him,” Skari replied, retreating into his taciturn persona.

  “I will,” Gunna said. “Don’t you worry.”

  “You’ll have to catch him first.”

  “Ah, but I’ll be having a long talk with Ommi this afternoon, and there’s plenty I’ll be asking him about, including Blacklights.”

  “You’ve caught him?” Skari yelped, almost sitting up in spite of the pain in his broken ribs.

  But Gunna was already on her feet and Bjössi looked at Skari with a grin, tapping the side of his nose.

  Outside the hospital Bjössi tapped a filterless Camel from its packet and lit up with relief. He proffered the packet, but Gunna shook her head. She unwrapped a stick of chewing gum and popped it in her cheek.

  “Given up, have you? What’s that about? Is this Steini’s influence?” Bjössi asked.

  “Hell, no,” Gunna groaned. “This is Laufey Oddbjörg’s doing.”

  “How so?” he asked, exhaling a plume of harsh smoke.

  “My daughter,” Gunna said with a shake of her head. “One morning she says, ‘Mum, when are you going to stop smoking?’”

  “‘Don’t know, hadn’t thought about it,’ I said. “All right,” says Laufey. “‘Maybe I’ll start if you don’t give up.’ So I had to stop and think for a minute.”

  “Got a mind of her own, hasn’t she?” Bjössi observed. “I wonder where she gets that from? How old is she now?”

  “Fifteen going on twenty, I reckon. Bright as you like, but hard work.”

  “Like mother, like daughter,” Bjössi decided. “Give her my kindest regards, won’t you? Is she going to college?”

  “So she says. Psychology’s what she has her sights set on at the moment, but it could be something else by next week. A few months ago she wanted to be a vet, but that seems to have dropped off the radar at the moment. How about yours?”

  “Same as ever. The lad just wants to take cars apart all day long. That’s all he’s interested in, it seems, apart from girls, obviously.”

  “Goes without saying if he’s your son, Bjössi. Now, I’d appreciate it if you’d keep an eye on Skari. I’ll be back to have more words with him once we’ve given Ommi the third degree. Can I haul you in on that?”

  “Pleasure, as always,” Bjössi said. “What was the case you were asking him about? What was it Long Ommi did?”

  “Don’t you remember? Damn, I was on sick leave just then,” Gunna said, and the old feeling of loss came hurtling back.

  “Of course. It was just after Raggi died, wasn’t it? Hard to believe it was that long ago.”

  “Almost ten years,” Gunna said bleakly, and shook herself.

  “It was a fight, wasn’t it? A young man got a hell of a beating and died of his injuries without regaining consciousness. There were only a few scared witnesses, who wouldn’t say much. Ommi fessed up, nice as pie, if I remember correctly. It was one of old Thorfinnur’s last cases before he retired.”

  “Rumour has it that it wasn’t Ommi, though.”

  Bjössi looked suddenly surprised. “Really? I just remember the petty crime rate went down quite sharply as soon as he was out of circulation.”

  “By all accounts, Ommi was too co-operative: hands up and ‘it’s a fair cop’ sort of thing. I’ve been hearing whispers that he took the rap for someone else in return for being well looked after,” Gunna said grimly. “And I’d love to know who he’s been standing in for.”

  “WANT THE GOOD news, chief?” Helgi grinned with unaccustomed joy.

  “Örlygur Sveinsson’s decided to come and give us a hand for a couple of days?” Gunna hazarded.

  “Not that good.”

  “Go on, don’t keep a lady in suspense.”

  “It’s the prints from Svana’s flat. Positively identified, the cleaner’s prints in the hallway.”

  “Which we knew we would.”

  “There’s Svana’s brother’s prints, and Tinna Sigvalds, the police officer who was first on the scene.” Helgi read from the printout in front of him, holding it at arm’s length so as to be able to see without having to fumble for his glasses.

  “Again, we knew Tinna’s prints would be on the door at least. So what’s your bombshell, Sherlock?”

  “We have Hallur Hallbjörnsson all over the bathroom and the bedroom. Bjarki Steinsson’s prints in the kitchen, bathroom and bedroom, and the big fat man’s prints practically everywhere.”

  “You mean Jónas Valur Hjaltason?”

  “That’s the guy.”

  “And the other miscreant?”

  “Bjartmar Arnarson is conspicuous by his absence. But there’s a joker in the pack as well.”

  “Which is?”

  “Long Ommi.”

  “What?”

  “No doubt about it. Ómar Magnússon’s prints were beyond question on the door of the fridge, the kitchen door, one of the worktops and the kitchen light switch.”

  Gunna sat back and thought for a moment with knitted brows. “In the kitchen where Svana was killed. It puts a new angle on things, doesn’t it?”

  “Doesn’t it just?” Helgi agreed. “According to the technical team, there are some blood spots on one of the kitchen cupboard doors, which ties in with what Miss Cruz came up with.”

  “Which is what?”

  “Three blows to the head, which looks very much like a single blow with something heavy to the back of the head, a blow to the forehead as she hit the counter on the way down and another one when she landed on the floor. She’s done the autopsy and those are the only injuries.”

  Gunna nodded. “Sounds plausible enough. We’re just missing the heavy object for the moment. What else did Miss Cruz have to say? I’ll read it all later, but give me the gist of it, will you?”

  “Svana was pretty fit, as you’d expect. Loads of plastic surgery, though, some liposuction and some false bits added on, notably tits, hips, cheeks and lips. She had all her own teeth, no other significant injuries apart from some minor bruising to one forearm that’s certainly a day or two older, marks on wrists that are consistent with handcuffs or a binding of some kind, but also several days old. Oh, and she’d had it off in the last few hours of her life.”

  “DNA?”

  “Working on it. Also traces from the sheets and clothing.”

  “So Svana had been very friendly with someone that day. A quickie that morning, or maybe whoever she was friendly with knocked her on the head afterwards?” Gunna suggested.

  Helgi shook his head. “Bjarki Steinsson admitted he was with her that morning.”

  “Another talk with Bjarki is called for, I think. Where’s Ommi now?”

  “Not going back to Kvíabryggja, at any rate. They made a bit of space and he’ll be in solitary at Litla-Hraun tomorrow, but he’s in the cells here right now.”

  “That’s handy. He has a lot of answers to come up with,” Gunna said grimly. “But as he’s not going anywhere, I’d like to let the bastard stew while we have a chat with Selma first.”

  IT WASN’T A long drive to downtown Reykjavík, and Gunna reflected that she could have been quicker walking, with the added benefit of burning off a few calories. She parked near the lake and admired the reflection of the City Hall in the water, perfectly still for once, as she strode towards the old town house where Hallur Hallbjörnsson had his office.

  As she turned a corner, a familiar figure leaped down the steps three at a time and hurried towards the car park, fumbling for keys in one pocket while hugging an armful of folders. Gunna quickened her pace and reached Hallur’s parked Mercedes just as he was stacking files and folders on the back seat.

  “Morning. Need a hand?”

  “Good morning,” he shot back breezily, smiling as he looked up. “Ah, Sergeant,” he said, his smile fading away suddenly as he recognized her.

  “Nice car. What year?”

  “Seventy-two. An uncle of mine had it from new and looked after it. Never drove it during the winter, always kept it inside. So I’ve tried to do the same. First time I’ve had it out this year. Anything I can do for you, officer? I’m afraid I’m in a hurry.”

  “A word, if you have time,” Gunna said in a tone that indicated that anything else would hardly do.

  “I was just leaving. I have a meeting in a few minutes.”

  “It won’t take long.”

  “My office? I’m going to be late, and this is important,” Hallur said helplessly.

  “We can sit in your car if that’s not a problem for you,” Gunna said, and half regretted the suggestion. She sank into the leather seat and Hallur sat behind the wheel, fiddling with his keys.

  “Is this still about Svana?” he asked.

  “Why? Is there something else you need to get off your chest?”

  “Of course there isn’t.”

  Hallur had spoken more irritably than he had intended.

  “Sorry, Sergeant,” he said with a sigh. “It’s been, well, difficult these last few days.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Word gets around. Everyone there knows that you’ve been here to see me more than once.” He indicated with a dismissive nod the red corrugated-iron building where his office nestled in the eaves. “The rumours are flying already. I’ve had to explain myself twice to the party chairman and it’s being made pretty clear that my position could become untenable.”

  His eyes flickered from the dashboard to the building on the other side of the car park and back to Gunna, who once again had the uncomfortable feeling that she was being sized up. She tugged the zip of her coat up past the cleavage line, even though her blouse was already buttoned almost to the neck.

  “Results from the forensic examination of Svana and her flat. Your fingerprints are all over the bedroom and the bathroom.”

  “I told you they might be, and don’t forget, I gave samples of my fingerprints willingly.”

  “Duly noted,” Gunna replied. “Svana had a sexual partner the day she died. You?”

  “Shit!” Hallur looked shocked.

  “Fair enough. I have to ask, you understand. But I need an answer,” Gunna said with iron in her voice.

  “I find it very uncomfortable, Sergeant, having my personal life dug into in this way by a woman. If you don’t mind my saying so.”

  “I don’t mind your saying so and I do appreciate your position. But these questions need answers.” She tried not to smile, and bit back a suggestion that he could at least stop trying to unobtrusively check out her legs.

  Hallur grunted non-committally.

  “So when did you last see Svana?”

  “Like I told you. On the fourth. That was my turn.”

  “I’m not saying I disbelieve you, but there is evidence to the contrary. If you have anything to tell me, I’d imagine a man in your position would be very well advised to come clean. There’s DNA evidence that’s being tested now.”

  “Shit! Am I a suspect?” he demanded suddenly. “Because unless I am, I think you should stop pressuring me like this.”

  “If I’m pressuring you, it’s because I don’t believe you’re telling me everything that a man in your position would have a duty to,” Gunna said gently, but with a firmer tone behind the softness.