“Anything on that note?”

  “Nothing much. No dabs. It’s printed on an ordinary laser printer of some kind, but there are thousands of those in use, so that’s no help. Nothing special about the paper, either. There are a few prints on the envelope, but nothing that we’ve been able to identify so far. We’re working on it, but I reckon they’re more than likely Hallur’s own.”

  “But we fingerprinted him to eliminate him from Svana’s flat, didn’t we? So we’ll have those prints on file. Check the dabs, would you, and let me know as soon as you have anything?”

  She ended the call and sat brooding in the front seat, hands in her coat pockets, watching the lampposts flash past.

  “Was Svana being blackmailed, or was she doing the blackmailing? If so, is that why someone broke her head open, possibly with her own baseball bat?”

  “Where to, chief?” Helgi asked as they approached the Hafnarfjördur outskirts.

  “Skari had nothing to do with anything recent. All this stuff going on around Svana Geirs and her syndicate, it’s nothing to do with him. The same goes for Ommi. So who stands to gain on all this? Who’s doing the blackmailing? Is it someone who knows which of these bastards killed Svana, or is the person who killed Svana trying to cash in on the others? Someone within the syndicate? Högni, maybe?”

  “You know, I don’t bloody know. It gets more complex by the minute,” Helgi grumbled. “A few straightforward break-ins would be nice for a change.”

  “If that’s the case,” Gunna went on, as if Helgi had said

  nothing, “why so little? Twenty-five thousand euros is a stack of money for you or me, but for any of these high-flyers like Jónas Valur or Hallur, it’s small change.”

  “Unless it’s not about the money.”

  “It’s always about the money.”

  “I mean, if it’s a smokescreen of some kind.”

  “Could be, I suppose,” Gunna conceded, unconvinced. “I’d like you to dig into Hallur’s basement again today.”

  “Where to, chief?” Helgi asked again. “Back to the station first?”

  “Ach. Let’s take a little ride around Kópavogur on the way, shall we? There’s nothing like staying away from the shop for five minutes to stimulate the grey matter. There’s a bakery at Hamraborg, so we can stop for an early lunch break.”

  LATER THAT AFTERNOON, Gunna bustled past Sigvaldi at the desk with her phone at her ear, but was rewarded with only Eiríkur’s voicemail. On the way up the stairs, she met Sævaldur on the way down for the second time that day.

  “We’re going to have to stop meeting like this, Gunnhildur,” he warned her.

  “Nothing to worry about, Sævaldur,” she shot back. “Nobody would ever believe it.”

  Sævaldur stopped a few steps past her. “The guy who topped Bjartmar. He’s the one who sent all those blackmail demands. Thought of that?”

  “Come on.”

  “All right. So there’s an accomplice.”

  Gunna stopped and looked back at him. “Like who?”

  “Like his wife. It’s obvious enough.”

  “You are joking, surely?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Good grief,” Gunna muttered to herself, making her way back up and leaving Sævaldur on the stairs.

  Back at her desk, she remembered that Eiríkur was busy. She drummed the desk with her fingers and dialled Helgi.

  “Any joy?” she demanded as soon as he replied.

  “Sod all. The man has reams of paperwork and at least half a dozen bank accounts. His wife was delighted to find a couple with a good bit of cash in them that she didn’t know about. No big withdrawals, though.”

  “Fair enough. Going to be long?”

  “No, don’t think so.”

  “All right. Eiríkur’s running an errand for me elsewhere, and I think it’s time I had another chat with Jónas Valur. I’ve been handed copies of half a dozen letters he’s received.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be delighted when you show up. You don’t want to wait for me and we’ll go mob-handed?”

  “No, just give me a call when you’re finished and on the way back here. It feels like it’s been a bloody long day. I’ll see if I can find Jónas Valur and then go home from there.”

  THERE WAS NO sign of life at Kleifar’s offices. Gunna rattled the door and got no response. She stepped back and looked at the building’s corrugated-iron plates that had once been red but were now closer to pink after decades of alternate sun and rain. She crossed the street for a better view and noticed a faint light behind one of the windows, as if an internal door had been left open. Curious, she walked to the corner of the building in the hope of being able to see through one of the end windows, but there was nothing but darkness.

  Back in front of the building, she was about to give up when the faint light winked off. She rattled the door a second time. Again there was no response, and this time she walked quickly to the far end of the building and round the corner, where she could see Jónas Valur’s black Mercedes tucked away in a corner of the car park, enclosed on three sides by the backs of buildings. Suddenly the car’s internal light came on and Gunna hurried towards it.

  Jónas Valur had emerged from the back door of the building, hauling behind him a suitcase on wheels that bumped down the steps. “Good evening, Jónas Valur. Going away somewhere?” Gunna asked as the car park’s security light clicked on and flooded them with its harsh glow.

  Taken unawares, Jónas Valur didn’t even bother to hide his scowl of displeasure.

  “This is bordering on harassment, Sergeant,” he groaned.

  “Quite the contrary. I’ve been very gentle and understanding.”

  “Look, I’ve had you or your colleagues prowling around for days, dogging my tracks and asking all kinds of questions about my movements. Don’t you think enough is enough?”

  “When you’ve answered all my questions truthfully, then enough will be enough,” Gunna said, unfolding a sheet of paper from her pocket and handing it to him.

  “What’s this?”

  “Have a look. I’m wondering if it’s something familiar.”

  He held it out at arm’s length and shook his head.

  “Rubbish,” he said unconvincingly.

  “And how many of these notes have you received?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he rasped, handing the note back to her.

  “It’s a copy. Keep it and compare it to the rest of your collection,” Gunna told him. “Now, you wouldn’t be Shorty by any chance, would you?”

  “Who the hell are you?” Jónas Valur grated, and Gunna saw the man’s eyes widening with surprise as he glared past her. She was halfway through turning to look over her shoulder when her head felt as if something had exploded next to her and she sensed the taste of iron on her tongue as the world went black.

  • • •

  GUNNA SHIVERED AND wondered why she was unable to move. She knew she was lying on her back, and lifted her right hand to put it to her throbbing head. She kept her eyes firmly closed, sensing that opening them was going to hurt.

  In the event, it wasn’t so bad, lying in half-darkness. She closed them again and tried a second time to move her legs and left arm. It was then she realized that something heavy was holding her down. She made an effort to open one eye again, and decided that the acrid smell of aftershave had to be coming from somewhere very close by.

  With both eyes open and her free hand behind the back of her head to support it, she realized that the heavy weight on top of her was Jónas Valur, and that he was completely inert. Gently lowering her own head back to the cold ground, she fumbled for the man’s head, running her fingers from the top of the gleaming scalp down the face to try and locate a pulse among the folds of his neck.

  There was no pulse to be found, and no breath from Jónas Valur’s open mouth. Raising herself as far as she could, she could see that the side of the head that was lying on her chest had been battered, and blood had seeped on to her shirt. For a moment she was thankful that the blood on her fingers wasn’t her own, and wanted to go back to sleep, safe in the knowledge that she was still alive.

  Gunna made an effort that set her head ringing and dragged herself from under Jónas Valur’s bulk, letting his body roll on to its side as she sat up and held her head in both hands, resting her elbows on her knees as she felt her limbs drained of strength. She fumbled in her coat pocket for her phone, but came up with her communicator instead and thankfully pressed the emergency button.

  She made another effort to get Jónas Valur’s attention, but soon grasped that he was beyond any help, and sat back as a siren howled close by until the flashing blue lights filled the yard and reflected painfully from the dark windows of Kleifar’s offices.

  Saturday 27th

  SHE HAD BEEN expecting Steini, but instead Ívar Laxdal and Miss Cruz sat waiting for her.

  “Feeling better?” he asked, standing to greet her.

  “Yes thanks,” Gunna replied, settling gingerly into a chair. “My head feels like it’s been under a bulldozer, but otherwise fine.”

  “You took quite a knock,” he told her seriously, switching to English for the benefit of Miss Cruz.

  “Yes, a blow to the right side of your head,” Miss Cruz said, looking over her glasses. “I had a look at you last night when you were brought in here.”

  “Did you?” Gunna asked. “It’s a bit hazy.”

  “It looks as if you turned so the blow glanced off the side of your head instead of hitting you squarely, while the victim took a single blow to the centre of his forehead with something round.”

  “A baseball bat, something like that?”

  “Something narrower, maybe a length of pipe,” Miss Cruz said. “Difficult to say at this stage.”

  “Did you see the attacker?” Ívar Laxdal asked.

  “No. I was talking to Jónas Valur in the car park and he wasn’t very pleased to see me. I remember he saw something over my shoulder, so I started to turn to look, and, bang. Out like a light.”

  “Not someone you’d be able to identify?”

  “No chance. I take it the same attacker belted Jónas Valur a bit harder than he did me?”

  “It looks that way. It must have been quick, because the man landed right on top of you. Any idea how long you were lying there?”

  “Haven’t a clue,” Gunna said. “Jónas Valur had a suitcase, a small one on wheels. The kind you see pilots walking along with at airports. Any sign of that?”

  “Nothing. His car was taken as well and left at the bus station.”

  “What? At Hlemmur?”

  “No. BSÍ.”

  “So who the hell took it?”

  “It’s being fingerprinted right now, so we should know soon enough. But I think we’d best leave you to get some rest,” Ívar Laxdal said, pointing to where Steini and Laufey could be seen waving from the reception desk.

  “Fair enough,” Gunna said, struggling to her feet. “Helgi and Eiríkur are getting on all right, aren’t they?”

  “Gunnhildur, they’re doing fine, and they’re not taking the slightest notice of Sævaldur Bogason’s frequent useful suggestions. I thought I’d tell you that to put your mind at rest.”

  “Good. I’ll be back tomorrow and pick up where we left off.”

  “You’ll be back in a week, if I have my way,” Ívar Laxdal said sternly. “Let’s be off,” he said to Miss Cruz in English.

  “Gunnhildur has some more important visitors.”

  GUNNA WATCHED TV with the sound turned low, determined not to think about work but unable not to. Her head ached dully and she said a quiet prayer of thanks for extrastrength painkillers. Steini lounged across an armchair, a book open in front of him.

  “You’re not going to work tomorrow, are you, Mum?” Laufey asked.

  Gunna yawned. “Tomorrow afternoon. I have to go to the hospital for a check-up at twelve, and I’ll go to the station for an hour or two after that.”

  Laufey frowned, less than half satisfied, and went towards the kitchen. “Laufey, what are you wearing?” Gunna asked, her frown almost as deep as her daughter’s.

  “New trousers. Got them in Reykjavík when I went there with Finnur last weekend.”

  “They’re a bit, well, tight, aren’t they? Shouldn’t you wear a skirt or something with those?”

  “They’re OK. Everyone wears these now, Mum.”

  Steini shook his head as if to say that this was a discussion he would never be qualified to take part in.

  “I know, sweetheart. But it’s just that they’re so, what shall I say? Revealing. You might as well walk around in nothing as wear those.”

  “Mum!”

  “It’s true. Is there even room for underwear under them?”

  “Yes, of course there is. What’s the matter? Can’t I wear the same as everyone else?”

  “I suppose so,” Gunna said, regretting that her question had elicited such a waspish reply. “It’s just that every man you encounter will be sizing you up. Right, Steini?”

  “Don’t bring me into this,” Steini grunted, lifting his book higher.

  “Oh, Mum, don’t be so old-fashioned,” Laufey scolded, nose in the air as she marched to her room and shut the door firmly behind her.

  “Æi, why did I say anything?” Gunna groaned. “I should know better by now.”

  “She’s getting to be a big girl now, quite a grown-up young lady.”

  “I know, that’s what worries me,” Gunna said, stretching to reach her mobile as it trilled. “Gunnhildur.”

  “Hæ, chief. Högni’s dabs are all over Jónas Valur’s car. How’s your head?” Eiríkur asked.

  Sunday 28th

  GUNNA STUBBORNLY REFUSED to use the lift and tackled the stairs in two stages, taking a breather halfway up to ease the pounding in her temples. Sigvaldi on the desk had asked tenderly, albeit gruffly, after her health.

  At her own desk she waited while Eiríkur and Helgi marshalled chairs. Several other people looked curiously at her as they passed, and even Sævaldur Bogason offered a few mumbled kind words.

  “All right, boys. Tell me the worst,” Gunna instructed, looking up to see Ívar Laxdal appear in the doorway, his eyebrows knitted in disapproval.

  “Come in, please. Just a quick chat and then I’m going back home,” she assured him.

  “As long as that’s all,” Ívar Laxdal growled.

  Gunna turned to Helgi. “Any sign of Högni Sigurgeirsson?”

  “Nothing, chief. No sign of his car anywhere yet, but Jónas Valur’s Merc was abandoned at the BSÍ bus station,” Helgi said, flipping through a sheet of notes. “You’ll be interested to know that during the house-to-house questions around Hallur Hallbjörnsson’s place, there was a mention of a grey Opel, same model as Högni’s, in the next street, and the timing fits.”

  “Interesting. If it was Högni, he must have gone pretty much straight from being questioned here to Hallur,” Gunna agreed. “No doubt on the vehicle identification?”

  “None at all. The woman in question has the same model of car, so she was certain. No registration number, though.”

  “Shame,” Gunna said.

  “If this man is a suspect for the killing of Jónas Valur, you think he may have attempted to murder Hallur Hallbjörnsson as well?” Ívar Laxdal asked.

  “Certainly,” Helgi replied.

  “So what next?” Gunna asked, wondering if the investigation was out of her hands and in Helgi’s charge.

  “We’re looking for the weapon used to assault you and Jónas Valur. The door-to-door stuff is still going on and there’s a search in progress through all the bins and nooks and crannies for anything that might fit the bill. It could be a long process,” Helgi replied sadly.

  “ALL RIGHT, ARE you?” Sigrún asked with concern.

  “Ah, not so bad,” Gunna admitted. “And you? Heard anything from … ?”

  Sigrún’s face brightened. “A little bird whispered to me that Jörundur’s all alone now.”

  “Really?” Gunna said. “What happened?”

  Sigrún sat down and opened a bag of home-made biscuits straight from the deep freeze. She dipped one in her coffee and skilfully lifted it out and into her mouth a moment before it was ready to disintegrate.

  “Left over from Christmas,” she said, munching. “I baked too many and froze what was left over.”

  “Never happens at my place. I swear my Gísli can sniff out cakes and biscuits a mile away. Come on, what’s happened with Jörundur? He’s not on the way home, is he?”

  “No, it’s his lady friend, this Gígja who went out there with him. They’d been carrying on a good while. I can see it now, all the signs were there, but I refused to acknowledge it,” Sigrún said with a shake of her head. “I should have known better. Well, I was talking to Mæja Dís the other day.”

  “The girl who works in the office at Hvalvíkingur?”

  “That’s her, the personnel manager I think she is. Well, Mæja Dís knows this Gígja a bit, because Gígja’s ex used to be a cook on one of the boats; Einar, his name is. So Mæja Dís ran into Einar at the petrol station in Keflavík and he said that she was back.”

  “Already? That was quick!”

  “Apparently Einar said that Gígja had given up her job and let her flat to go to Norway with Jörundur, but once he’d been on the drink once or twice, she packed her stuff and got a flight back. Now she’s living with her daughter, because she can’t have her flat back until the end of the year.”

  “Amazing, isn’t it, how some people fall out of lust the moment they see the other half’s true colours?”

  “That’s not all,” Sigrún added gleefully. “I don’t want to crow, but she had sold or given away almost all her furniture and everything. So when she does get her flat back, she’ll have to start by buying a new fridge and a washing machine. I don’t want to crow,” she repeated, “but it’s karma. She’s gone from having a nice flat and a reasonable job to stealing someone else’s deadbeat husband, and now she’s got no job, no flat and no bloke either. Great, isn’t it?” Sigrún smiled radiantly while Gunna shifted uncomfortably in her seat.