Inside, the man shook off his hoodie and draped it over the back of the chair, sat down and lifted his feet onto the counter. Then he took something out of a drawer. Áróra couldn’t make out what it was, but after a while, judging by his movement, she realised that he had to be holding a controller for a computer game. He appeared to have turned up for work to play a computer game.

  Áróra listened to the radio while she waited, starting the engine at intervals to clear the mist from the windscreen and to warm herself up. The man sat in more or less the same position for almost two hours, until he finally put the controller aside and stood up. He put on his hoodie, went out and locked the door behind him, first hanging up a big sign, handwritten in letters so large that Áróra could read them from across the street: Gone to lunch. He got into the Range Rover and drove away, and Áróra waited a moment before following.

  She was surprised to see him turn into the next street and pull up in front of an Asian restaurant. It had been such a short distance that it would have been quicker to have walked, although the weather was on the blustery side. She waited a few minutes after the man had disappeared inside, and then followed him.

  She saw as she walked in that he was sitting with a plate piled high with noodles – there must be quick service in this place. There were five dishes on offer. Áróra chose curried chicken with noodles, and decided when she saw the size of the portion that she would have to leave half of the noodles, otherwise she would be asleep soon after lunch. Even now, every time she looked down at a plate of food she felt she could hear her father’s voice emphasising the need for protein – the essential building blocks for muscles, Vikings, Valkyries, and troll girls like her. ‘Troll girls need protein,’ he had always said, ‘meat, fish and eggs. Meat, fish and eggs.’ A passion for body building was what they had always had in common – or being ‘power-crazy’ as her mother had always called it – and Áróra had always been grateful for the positive body image he had managed to implant in her. Many tall women became hunched, as if trying to pull themselves into a more acceptable female size. But her father had championed their troll-and-Viking blood, assuring her that Icelandic women were the biggest and strongest in the world. It wasn’t until Áróra had been approaching twenty during a summer holiday that she realised that while many Icelandic women were certainly on the solid side, most of them were shorter than she was.

  Áróra ate fast, ready to get to her feet and follow the man, but he seemed to be in no hurry. He ate a leisurely lunch while checking his phone, and stood up to fetch a second helping. Áróra got up as well, and got herself a coffee in a hefty mug that was included in the price of lunch. It turned out to be thin and sour, so she pretended to take the occasional sip while she waited for the man to finish his lunch.

  50

  Daníel hadn’t been able to assess Flosi’s mental state that morning, as he had come downstairs and left the house, calling out that he was going to work. It had been so early that Daníel hadn’t been up, and while he tidied up the sofa and the bedclothes, he thought to himself that it was probably good for Flosi to focus more on normal life today. The last week had been a strange one for him, to say the least.

  When Flosi returned from work that afternoon he was in an odd mood, and his demeanour was one Daníel hadn’t seen before. It went without saying that his frame of mind would be changed, now that he knew Guðrún was probably not in any danger and that there was a strong likelihood she was behind the extortion attempt. It would be understandable, in fact, to see his fear replaced by anger. But his cheerfulness took Daníel by surprise. Flosi marched in, flung his coat over the banister and amiably clapped Daníel on the back.

  ‘So how are things going for the guardians of law and order?’ he asked with a grin.

  Daníel smiled courteously in return.

  ‘Not bad,’ he said, and was about to ask Flosi to come and talk to him in the living room, but he had already headed for the kitchen, where his former wife, Karen, was laying the table for the takeaway she had brought with her. Daníel had been about to order pizzas when Karen had appeared with her arms full of food.

  Daníel heard an indistinct exchange of words from the kitchen, but then Flosi’s voice rose, and he could hear he was telling Karen that she had no need to be dogging his footsteps.

  ‘I can buy my own KFC,’ he bawled as he marched out of the kitchen and encountered Daníel.

  ‘Could we talk, Flosi?’ Daníel said.

  For a moment Flosi seemed to be undecided, thinking it over, but then followed Daníel into the living room.

  When Flosi was seated at the dining table, Daníel opened the message ready on his phone and tapped send.

  ‘I’ve just sent you a picture of a ransom demand that arrived in the mail today, postmarked on Monday,’ he said. ‘I took a picture of it before it was sent to be analysed. You can enlarge it to see what it says, but the gist is that you’re to leave the money in an open sports bag on Miklatún on Monday afternoon, and then Guðrún will be released.’

  Now there was none of the despair Flosi had displayed over the last few days.

  ‘Absolute bullshit,’ he said and laughed as he shook his head.

  Daníel looked at him enquiringly, but was unable to fathom his mood.

  ‘We need to discuss the next steps,’ he said calmly.

  But Flosi got to his feet, a determined look on his face.

  ‘After dinner,’ he said. ‘Since Karen took the trouble to bring those chunks of chicken all this way, we’d best eat them.’

  Daníel sat still in the living room for a while as he thought over the change in Flosi’s behaviour. This determined, headstrong version was probably closer to Flosi’s normal self than the broken, confused man Daníel had seen so far.

  51

  ‘It was good of Karen to bring us something for dinner,’ Daníel said as he took a final mouthful of chips dipped in cocktail sauce. He had barely nibbled at his food, unlike Flosi, who had put away what had looked like a double portion, leaving a heap of chicken bones gnawed clean in front of him.

  ‘Yeah. I was maybe a bit abrupt with her earlier,’ Flosi said, wiping his mouth. ‘I’ll buy something nice for her tomorrow.’

  Karen had left immediately after the angry exchange of words with Flosi, and Daníel wanted to say that maybe it would be an idea to call her, apologise and thank her for bringing food, but he stopped himself before saying anything. It wasn’t his job to teach Flosi manners, to tell him that he shouldn’t buy his way out of his mistakes.

  ‘There are two ways that we can respond to the ransom demand,’ Daníel said. ‘One is to ignore it: give no response, and see what happens. The outcome could be another demand, maybe a threat, and finally Guðrún would give up and reappear. For her it’s not a realistic option to stay hidden away for long. When she shows up, we would have some difficult questions for her to answer.’

  Flosi said nothing, muttered to himself, leaned back in his chair and patted his belly in satisfaction. Daníel was astonished by his apparent lack of concern.

  ‘The danger with this approach is that if we’re wrong and Guðrún is genuinely being held by criminals, then we are putting her in danger.’

  ‘I don’t think you’re wrong. Guðrún kidnapped herself. That’s the only theory that makes sense.’

  Daníel looked at Flosi thoughtfully. He no longer seemed to be giving any thought to the possibility that Guðrún could be in danger. This was a complete change from his previous attitude, when he constantly had tears in his eyes at the idea of Guðrún’s fate. Now there was a coldness to him, almost a lack of concern about the whole thing. It was as if a burden had been lifted from him – which could be seen as normal, but Daníel had expected more sorrow and anger over his wife having betrayed him.

  ‘Even though we are working on the assumption that Guðrún staged her own abduction,’ Daníel said, ‘there’s still a possibility that she was genuinely kidnapped. So we need to be cautious. I’ll stay on duty here over the weekend and we’ll continue to tap the phones.’

  ‘Yes, yes. That sounds perfectly sensible,’ Flosi agreed, apparently without needing to think it over.

  ‘Our other option is to allow the handover to take place on Monday, as the ransom demand sets out. You leave the bag in the park at Miklatún, and the Special Unit stakes out the whole area. Either nobody comes to fetch the bag, or someone turns up to collect it and we grab them, whether it’s Guðrún in person or someone acting for her. That seems to me the less risky option, taking into account the remote possibility that Guðrún really has been abducted by criminals. In that case, we arrest them and work on a new basis.’

  ‘That sounds good,’ Flosi said, and stood up. ‘But we’re hardly going to fill the bag with cash, are we?’ he asked.

  Daníel shook his head.

  ‘No. We put ten kilos of old newspapers in the bag, but it would be handy if you could put a few bundles of euros on top, because the demand stipulates that the bag has to be open. That’s presumably so that the contents can be seen from a distance. I could get the cash through the police if you prefer.’

  ‘No, no need for that,’ Flosi said. ‘Of course I can put forward the money. This is my problem, after all.’

  He left the room, and Daníel heard him jog up the stairs. He seemed to have shed years.

  Daníel got to his feet and emptied the bones, paper plates and the pile of crumpled serviettes into the bag the food had been delivered in. He dropped the bag into the bin, and had just wrung out a cloth to wipe down the table when he heard a cry from upstairs.

  He rushed into the hall and was about to run up when Flosi appeared on the landing, his face white and terrified.

  ‘The money’s gone!’ he called out, his voice quavering. ‘The safe is empty.’

  SATURDAY

  52

  By the next morning Flosi had become much more subdued. Even from his footsteps on the stairs Daníel could hear that he was not as agitated as he had been the evening before.

  ‘I’m going to go to work and then I’ll try to catch up with Sara Sól,’ he said as he came into the kitchen, freshly shaven, a cloud of aftershave about him and the knot of his tie tight at his throat. ‘She’s not answering my calls and that tells me that she took the money. She has a key to the house and comes and goes as she pleases. That was yet another bone of contention between her and Guðrún.’

  Daníel handed him a cup of coffee. Flosi took it, sipped, burned his tongue and swore, taking the next sip with more care and a loud slurp.

  ‘She has to be doing this to get attention,’ he said as he sat at the kitchen table. ‘She used to do the same when she was little – hiding my shoes so I couldn’t go to work, or my phone so I couldn’t answer calls when I was supposed to be spending time with her.’

  Daníel wanted to make the point that two million euros in cash was a slightly bigger deal than a pair of shoes, and that Sara Sól was no longer a child but a grown woman, but he kept quiet. It would be ideal for Flosi to go to work and spend some time with his daughter. Daníel had other ideas about where the money had gone, but he wasn’t about to say anything to Flosi without being certain.

  They munched their breakfast cereal in silence and for the first time it occurred to Daníel what a strange partnership this had become. There could hardly be two men so dissimilar, but in spite of that they had got on well over the past few days.

  ‘This should all be resolved on Monday,’ Daníel said. ‘Then you’ll be free of me.’

  ‘Hopefully it’ll all be sorted out quickly,’ Flosi said. ‘Not that I’m in any hurry to see the back of you. You’re…’ He cleared his throat awkwardly. ‘You’re a calming influence. So it’s been good to have you around. And Guðrún would say that you’re well house trained.’

  Daníel laughed.

  ‘Thanks. Maybe I can get a reference from you if I manage to reel in a woman one day.’

  ‘How come you’re single? Do you spend all your time on people’s sofas as part of your job? No time to find yourself a girl?’

  ‘No, the situation isn’t that bad. I’ve had my eye on someone particular for a few months now. Made a few moves, but the interest doesn’t seem to be working both ways.’

  ‘What the hell?’ Flosi said. ‘You need to make more of an effort. Faint heart, and all that. It’s always worked for me to splash out. Smart dinners, presents, travel. Most women like to be pampered.’

  ‘That wouldn’t go far with this one, I reckon. Apart from that, she should be the one treating me. She’s considerably better off financially than I am.’

  Flosi scowled.

  ‘Is this one of those career women?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, I can’t say I really know,’ Daníel said, which was quite true. He had little idea of how Áróra managed her work, whether she was ambitious and genuinely had a passion for what she did, or if she had gone down this route purely for the money. ‘She’s a good bit younger as well,’ he added. ‘So I reckon my chances are slim, to be honest.’

  ‘Rubbish!’ Flosi said. ‘They all have some kind of Daddy complex – no little girl ever gets all the approval she needs from her father. That’s where we older guys can score.’

  Flosi stood up, leaving the crockery where it was, leaving Daníel speechless. In a couple of sentences Flosi had managed to combine both some shrewdness, which Daníel felt was somewhere on the borderline between Freudism and feminism, with crashing chauvinism. He had no idea why it had occurred to him to share something so personal. This had begun as an everyday conversation, but had become something that was out of order at a professional level. In future he’d keep this kind of thing for his confidante. Lady Gúgúlú knew all about the wreckage of his two previous relationships, and over the preceding months had heard much about Daníel’s thoughts concerning Áróra.

  He heard Flosi shut the door behind him and got to his feet, putting the cups and bowls in the dishwasher and wiping down the table.

  When the doorbell rang, he went to the door and opened it for Helena and Kristján.

  ‘Ready?’ Helena asked, and he nodded, taking his jacket from its hook.

  ‘Let us know right away if anything interesting crops up,’ he said to Kristján, who headed for the living room sofa. Then he followed Helena out.

  ‘I’ve a feeling this is going to be an interesting day,’ she muttered.

  53

  Her headache was a real killer and the painkillers she had knocked back with her morning coffee hadn’t properly taken effect yet. She had gone to sleep late, and several times the tension in her body had startled her into wakefulness. More than likely the stress of this investigation was starting to take its toll. Yesterday would have been an ideal time to make use of the system and spend the evening with a beautiful woman to take her mind off work. But with both Beta and Sirra out of the game, everything had somehow gone wrong, and it was clear to her that she would have to rethink how she approached relationships.

  Daníel said little on the way, and Helena was in no state to hold much of a conversation. It wasn’t until they pulled up outside the house that Daníel gave a long whistle and Helena quickly noticed what had elicited such a reaction. A newish motorhome was parked in the drive, next to a generously proportioned caravan.

  ‘Someone’s keen on camping,’ Helena said, and for a moment she felt a stab of regret that summer was over and she hadn’t spent any time around a campfire listening to the sound of guitars being strummed. It was a ridiculous notion, as this wasn’t the first summer she hadn’t taken time off – in fact it was the third in a row. It had been so long since she had taken a summer holiday that she couldn’t remember the last one.

  Daníel didn’t bother with the doorbell, instead knocking firmly on the smoked glass of the front door. They saw Sara Sól come to answer.

  ‘Your father has gone to work and is expecting to meet you there,’ Helena said as the door opened, noticing that the girl’s face was swollen from weeping. Her eyes were red and her cheeks puffed and flushed. Helena would have liked to have taken her words back, but Daníel’s warm, sympathetic voice took over, and Helena promised herself that this was what she had to practise – along with cultivating patience.

  ‘I imagine you know why we’re here,’ Daníel said softly.

  Sara Sól nodded and sniffed.

  ‘Yes. Mum’s in the living room,’ she said, moving aside to let them in.

  Helena hesitated for a second as she stepped into the hall, where it would have been normal to take off her shoes, but there was not an inch of space anywhere, neither to move nor to leave a pair of rain-soaked shoes. The only space was the tiny triangle the door needed to swing open, as if it were a giant windscreen wiper, shoving slush aside. The rest of the hall was a continuous stack of shoes, and the walls were hung with coats, jackets and sweaters, which hung on top of each other so that the walls or any cupboards that might be behind them were completely hidden.

  ‘How many people live here?’ Daníel asked, looking around in amazement.

  ‘The two of us,’ Sara Sól said dryly, gesturing for them to follow her along a passage that was narrow, because both sides were stacked high with plastic boxes full to the brim with stuff. At the end of the passage there was a large living room that could at one time have doubled as a dining room, but by the window next to the kitchen was a pile of stuff, mainly clothing, some of which seemed to have price tags still attached.