8

  Áróra stood speechless in the kitchen doorway. Every sign of the abduction had vanished. The broken glass had been swept up and the floor had been mopped, and Flosi’s daughter, Sara Sól, was on her knees scrubbing the kitchen units. A smell of bleach lay heavy in the air.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ Áróra snarled at the young woman, who quickly got to her feet, pushed a lock of fair hair from her forehead and tugged the pink washing-up gloves from her hands.

  ‘Just cleaning up. So it’s nicer for Dad to come home to,’ she said, a perplexed expression on her face.

  Áróra regretted the harshness of her tone.

  ‘The police are on their way and will be expecting to look for evidence, and you’ve scrubbed it all away.’

  Crestfallen, Sara Sól looked around, and Áróra noticed how alike she and Flosi were. She had the same high forehead and their eyes were the same shade of grey-green, but she had a narrower nose that ended in a slightly upturned tip, which gave her the look of being arrogant when she was simply confused – as she was right now.

  ‘But we weren’t going to involve the police,’ she said, and looked in dismay at Áróra, who sighed.

  ‘Put all that cleaning stuff away,’ she said. ‘Your father changed his mind. He wants the police to help.’

  Sara Sól followed her into the living room, where Flosi sat on the sofa, outwardly calm, apart from the rapid tapping of his right foot, his heel beating out a rhythm on the floor as if it provided some kind of release for the tension inside him. Sara Sól sat next to him and as he extended an arm, curled into his side. The two were clearly close.

  ‘So you both work in your family company?’ Áróra asked, and they both nodded at the same time.

  ‘I just work a few hours, alongside college, this winter, but I’ve always worked there, every holiday and any break from school,’ said Sara Sól. ‘In the warehouse or in the office.’

  ‘She’ll finish her business studies degree in the spring,’ Flosi said. ‘And some work experience helps. She’ll go straight into full-time work, with responsibilities.’

  Flosi gazed proudly at his daughter, who smiled shyly back at him.

  ‘I’m not sure about doing a masters later on. I’m not certain I’ll need it. The only plan I’ve ever had is to go into the business with Dad.’

  ‘Ever since she was tiny,’ Flosi smiled. He clearly welcomed this opportunity to focus his mind on something other than Guðrún’s disappearance. ‘I think she was five when she announced that she’d be taking over one day.’

  They were startled by the sound of the doorbell, and father and daughter stared at Áróra with eyes that were wide with fright.

  ‘That’s Daníel,’ she said and got up to answer the door. He stood outside, holding with both hands a large cake box marked with the logo of a well-known bakery.

  ‘The daughter scrubbed the whole kitchen while we were out,’ Áróra whispered to him as he came in.

  ‘What?’

  He stopped in the hallway and stared at her.

  ‘Yes,’ Áróra said. ‘She scrubbed the whole place from top to bottom. Floor, worktop, cupboards.’

  ‘Hell…’ Daníel began, falling silent as Flosi appeared. Daníel handed him the cake and strode into the living room, where he drew the blinds shut and pulled the floor-length curtains across. ‘From now on,’ he said. ‘Curtains covering every window as we don’t know who is watching the house.’ He paused, turned to Sara Sól and extended a hand. ‘Inspector Daníel Hansson.’

  ‘Sara Sól Flosadóttir,’ she replied.

  Daníel continued to issue instructions as if he were a strict teacher facing a class of ill-behaved youngsters:

  ‘In a few minutes there will be two police officers here. Helena is my colleague from CID and Jean-Christophe is a young man from the forensics division. Flosi, you’re to go out on the steps in front and hug them both, making it clear in a loud voice that you’re delighted to see them and how wonderful it is to have old friends here to support you. There was nothing in that ransom note to say that you shouldn’t tell your friends about the abduction, so we can make full use of that.’

  Daníel strode to the dining room and drew all the curtains across the windows. They followed him like obedient children. Sara Sól trailed behind her father, and Áróra noticed that her hand was in Flosi’s, and that he put a protective arm around her, as if she was a small child.

  ‘There’s an unmarked patrol car parked along the street in an unobtrusive spot. It would be ideal, Flosi, if the police could have the use of one of your company’s vans – one that’s clearly marked as belonging to the business – so that we can come and go without it looking suspicious.’

  There was no doubting that Daníel had taken charge, and Áróra sighed with relief.

  9

  There was a tense atmosphere in the house and Daníel quickly identified Flosi as the key source of it. He paced the floor with slow steps, but his body language showed that he was struggling to control himself. His fists were clenched and he breathed in gasps, as if he had trouble filling his lungs. He stared in confusion at his daughter, who had apparently relieved her own tension by carefully cleaning the crime scene before the police arrived.

  ‘I just didn’t want Dad to come home and see all that,’ she repeated once again, while Daníel smiled encouragingly and nodded. She had apologised to everyone from the investigative team, Helena, the French forensics guy, and to Daníel, as well as to Áróra, who had been the only one who had taken her to task for what she had done. And despite her apologies, the girl didn’t seem to realise that her painstaking cleaning, with bleach and window polish, made her a suspect.

  ‘Now, close your eyes and try to recall exactly what you saw when you came in this morning. We’ll help you lay everything out as it was so we can take pictures,’ Daníel said. ‘This could help. And remember that even minor details can make a difference.’ The girl nodded eagerly, and Daníel turned to Flosi. ‘I want you to help her. Every detail you can bring to mind.’

  Flosi stopped pacing and stared at Daníel. The look in his eyes was of confusion; they looked like those of a rabbit caught in a car’s headlights.

  Daníel caught Helena’s eye and a quick tilt of his head told her that she should supervise recreating the crime scene; she quickly nodded back to let him know that she was thinking along the same lines. This was the way much of their communication took place. Each read the other’s body language and sometimes no words were even needed. Helena was an outstanding police officer, but she allowed nobody to become close to her, so many of the lads in CID seemed to be half frightened of her. Daníel liked to work with her, though. Her limitless determination and work rate made life easy for him, so he always chose her as his closest colleague over more experienced officers.

  He could hear Helena as she began to instruct Flosi and Sara Sól to re-arrange the kitchen to resemble the scene as they had found it. He went into the living room. Áróra was sitting there on the sofa, and his sense of everything else around them was suddenly cut off. All he could see and hear was Áróra; he felt that he could almost smell her through the cloud of aftershave that enveloped him. She gave him a quick, weak smile. He thought that she wanted to smile more broadly but that she didn’t feel it appropriate under the circumstances.

  ‘Jeez,’ she said, and he sighed, shaking his head as he sat in an armchair facing her.

  ‘This is a strange situation,’ he said. ‘I think kidnapping is probably one of the rarest crimes we encounter in Iceland. I’m going to have to get some advice from colleagues in Norway and Denmark. I’ve never had to deal with anything like this before.’

  He knew he would have to take a statement from Áróra, to formally take down the details of her involvement in the situation. But he didn’t feel like doing it right away. He was going to enjoy this moment, when he could sit opposite and watch her.

  10

  Flosi felt his head throb as he sat by Sara Sól’s side at the dining table, facing the people from the police as they asked question after question. What got on his nerves most was that the questions seemed to be so random, somehow coming from every direction, as if they were casting their lines here and there in the hope that sooner or later an unwary salmon would bite.

  ‘It didn’t occur to you when you went into the kitchen that this was some kind of practical joke? A prank in poor taste, maybe?’ Daníel asked, and Flosi shook his head.

  ‘Why would I think that?’ he said. ‘I don’t know anyone who would do something like that to me.’

  ‘I asked simply because the initial reaction of people who are victims of this kind of thing is disbelief. They go into denial about what has actually happened. You didn’t have any thoughts along those lines?

  Flosi again shook his head, feeling it swell, waiting for it to explode with a bang. Was this policeman indicating that there were correct and incorrect reactions to this sort of thing? Had his reactions been the wrong ones? Was that suspicious in any way?

  ‘Explain to me again why you decided to clean the kitchen,’ the female officer, Helena, said, her words directed at Sara Sól.

  ‘I just don’t know,’ she said miserably. ‘Maybe I needed to have something to do while Dad went with this … this woman from the accountant in Scotland…’

  ‘Áróra,’ Helena said.

  ‘Yes. While Dad went with Áróra to talk to the policeman. You,’ she said, pointing at Daníel. ‘And I thought he’d come home and he’d be in a terrible state, and it would be awful for him to see all that mess left by the abduction. You know, the broken glass on the floor and half-cooked food going bad on the worktop.’ She shrugged her shoulders, and spread her hands, palms up, and for a moment she reminded Flosi of an angel. ‘Like I told you before, I didn’t know that Dad was going to bring the police in, and it didn’t even cross my mind that anyone would want to search the kitchen for evidence. And I like to do the cleaning. Here, I mean, at Dad’s place. Not at home.’

  Helena smiled and made a note on the pad in front of her, holding it in such a way that what she wrote couldn’t be seen. She seemed amiable, but was one of those people it’s not easy to get the measure of. She was petite, with short, dark hair and dark-grey eyes that looked warm but which could become so sharp, it was almost painful to be subjected to her gaze. At first Flosi, when he saw her outside the house, had thought she was a teenager, but close up, when he went onto the steps to hug her and give them a loud, clear welcome, as Daníel had instructed, he saw that fine lines had begun to form around her eyes, so she had to be in her thirties.

  ‘Why do you think they asked for the ransom to be paid in euros?’ Daníel asked, his gaze now fixed on Flosi, who glanced over at Helena, only to find the same hard stare from her. He sighed. Áróra had told him he’d have to be straight with them, that he would have to be open. This could make all the difference.

  ‘As Áróra has maybe told you relating to her connection to all this, I have money in overseas accounts. Mostly in euros. Michael, the accountant with whom Áróra works, has for many years managed these accounts for me. I’d like to make it clear that the intention has always been to declare these funds and pay tax on them – I’ve always intended to do it at such time as I bring it all to Iceland.’

  This was a lie, and Flosi could see that Daníel was aware of that.

  ‘We’re not investigating tax evasion,’ Daníel said. ‘So we’ll keep any discussion about tax until later, as we have more urgent things to deal with. I’m curious to know who knew about this money you have squirrelled away overseas. I need names.’

  Flosi felt the sweat break out on his back.

  ‘Are you saying that someone near to me, someone among my closest friends, could be behind this? Could be the person who abducted Guðrún?’

  ‘That’s what we need to establish,’ Daníel said. ‘We need to know if the person concerned has demanded euros because they know you have cash overseas, or if it’s just a coincidence.’

  Coincidence. Flosi felt himself snatching at the idea. It could be a complete coincidence. That was a thought that was more easily borne than the notion that someone he knew, someone he trusted, might have done this to him, and done this to Guðrún. But his relief was short-lived, as Helena turned her relentless gaze on Sara Sól.

  ‘Let’s go through your day yesterday. You went to the pool and then to college…’ she began, before two short rings on the doorbell interrupted them. This was the signal the police officers had agreed between them to use.

  ‘Come to the door with me, Flosi,’ Helena said, getting to her feet, and he followed her through the living room to the lobby. He felt discomforted by leaving Sara Sól alone with Daníel. He wanted to be there, to know what was said. He wanted to know what questions they asked her. He felt that their last questions had been significant, as if they suspected her of some involvement with this. But it was ridiculous that his wonderful, fair-haired girl would do such a thing to him.

  ‘You’re to open the door and let the pizza guy in,’ Helena said, and stepped to one side so that she was out of sight when Flosi opened the door.

  ‘Come right in,’ he said, which was unnecessary, as this wasn’t a pizza delivery man, but a police officer in a Dominos baseball cap. The French forensics guy appeared and took the large insulated bag that the pizza cop handed him, placed it on the sideboard and took out all kinds of stuff in little bags and boxes. Then he took the plastic bag he had brought from the kitchen and stuffed it into the insulated bag. Flosi thought he saw a tin can through the thin plastic, and realised that this was the contents of the kitchen bin. Jean-Christophe handed the pizza cop the bag, and Helena nodded to Flosi as a signal to open the door and let the pizza guy out, taking their rubbish with him. No doubt this would be on the way to some laboratory where it would be inspected and examined under a microscope, just like every other aspect of their lives would be, Flosi thought, and the sweat again began to trickle down his back.

  11

  Once the items for the forensic team had been whisked away by their colleague Kristján in his pizza-delivery disguise and Flosi had resumed his seat at the table, Helena noticed that he was even more agitated. She also saw that this hadn’t escaped Daníel’s notice, and so they began to dig deeper to find out what had upset him. While they had gone through the previous day’s events with Sara Sól, Flosi had seemed to be on tenterhooks, but now, while they were asking him to detail his own day, he seemed more relaxed.

  Helena would have preferred to pile the pressure on Sara Sól, in the hope they’d push Flosi’s patience to its limits, but Daníel steered the conversation towards Guðrún, and Helena knew that he was right. They had seen what they needed to and now knew that Flosi was sensitive about anything that concerned his daughter. This could be either because there was something he preferred to keep to himself, or simply a parent’s protective instincts at work.

  Now they needed to gather all the information they could about Guðrún. There was nothing coincidental about her disappearance. This had been planned. That indicated that Guðrún had been selected, maybe because of who she was, or because of the man she was married to. So that meant that she and her life had to be central to solving the mystery.

  ‘Guðrún isn’t on Facebook or any other social media,’ Flosi said, and Helena immediately felt a wave of disappointment, which she knew Daníel would share. Social media had become an increasingly important part of their work in recent years. The things that people wrote or confessed in messages was almost beyond belief; it was as if people failed to understand that what happened online was as indelible as if it had been carved in stone.

  ‘Her phone – the one that was left here – is an iPhone, isn’t it?’ Daníel asked.

  ‘Yes, it’s a new smartphone that Dad bought for her, but she doesn’t use the smart stuff much,’ Sara Sól said.

  ‘That’s unusual for someone who isn’t exactly old,’ Helena observed.

  ‘Yes, I know,’ Flosi said awkwardly, as if in Guðrún’s defence. ‘She didn’t have much interest in the internet.’

  ‘Didn’t?’ Daníel said.

  ‘What?’ Flosi seemed unaware of his own words.

  ‘You said “she didn’t”, and not “she doesn’t”,’ Helena said, her tone deliberately sharp.

  Flosi turned pale and instead of correcting himself, or explaining, or going on the defensive, it was clear that he wanted most of all to burst into tears.

  ‘I really said that?’ he gasped. ‘God help me.’

  Sara Sól placed an arm around his shoulders and pulled him comfortingly close. Daníel waited for a moment before resuming his gentle, good-cop role.

  ‘How about text messages? Does she use those?’ he asked.

  Sara Sól nodded.

  ‘You can send her a text, but you can never tell if she reads them as she rarely replies. And she hardly ever uses email either. She says that computers are a thief of time. If she ever has to give someone an email address, she gives them Dad’s.’

  ‘She always wanted…’ Flosi began, before stopping short. ‘God, I’ve done it again. Speaking about her in the past tense. Just like she’s dead.’

  He buried his face in his hands and Sara Sól patted his back with a steady rhythm as if she were comforting a restless child.

  When Flosi raised his head, his eyes brimmed with tears and desperation.

  ‘What do you think?’ he demanded. ‘Do you think she’s dead?’

  12

  ‘There’s a small grey case at the bottom of the cupboard in the hall. Shaving stuff, toothpaste, underwear and a few other essentials,’ Daníel said. ‘I need that, and the phone charger that’s plugged into a socket in the kitchen.’

  Áróra nodded, and Daníel stifled an urge to tell her to write this down. There were only two things, so it wasn’t as if she was going to forget one of them. He knew he would have to keep in check his tendency to micromanage things that weren’t directly connected to work, such as those concerning Áróra.