‘That fits. The man is a pest control specialist,’ Daníel said. ‘Have you needed to use his services recently?’

  ‘Sure. Kalli comes twice a year to replace the traps around the house and dose them with poison. It’s a big house and there are quite a few traps, including some by the garage. Guðrún was absolutely adamant that she didn’t want any mice getting in. A bit on the hysterical side, from my point of view, but I didn’t interfere.’

  ‘And this flight ticket?’ Daníel said, tapping the payment to Icelandair and pushing it in front of Flosi.

  ‘Ah,’ Flosi said. ‘I completely forgot to tell you about that. Guðrún saw some special offer online and went with one of her friends for a weekend to New York at the beginning of this month.’

  ‘But there’s no other sign of that in her transactions,’ Helena said. ‘Not a single payment to a restaurant or any shops.’

  Flosi shifted awkwardly in his chair.

  ‘No. I told her not to use the card unless absolutely necessary, and I gave her plenty of dollars to take with her.’

  ‘In cash?’ Daníel asked.

  ‘Yes. I had some foreign currency. That’s not forbidden these days, is it?’ Flosi said, a truculent look on his face, and Daníel noticed that Helena made a note on her pad.

  Daníel looked down at the sheets of paper in front of him and saw that they had come to the big question. He had notes from Kristján, who had looked up Sigurlaug Sigtryggsdóttir. She was forty-seven, lived on Langholtsvegur and appeared to offer her services as a life coach to individuals and companies – presentations about mindfulness and positive thinking.

  ‘Was Guðrún seeing a life coach?’ Daníel asked, but before Flosi could answer they were interrupted by the doorbell ringing, so it was difficult to be sure whether Flosi’s look of surprise was in response to the question or the doorbell. Daníel glanced at Helena and tipped his head slightly, so she stood up, left the kitchen and shut the door behind her. ‘Helena will answer the door,’ Daníel said, and repeated his question.

  ‘Not as far as I know. But if you mean her friend Sigurlaug, then they see a lot of each other. But her coaching is mainly about lifting a glass,’ Flosi said, forcing a laugh, although Daníel could sense its hollowness.

  ‘So Sigurlaug Sigtryggsdóttir is a friend of Guðrún’s?’

  ‘Yes, they’ve been friends for years. She’s the friend she went with to New York.’

  ‘Are they close?’ Daníel asked. ‘For instance, could this Sigurlaug know something about Guðrún that you wouldn’t?’

  The question left a look of confusion on Flosi’s face that Daníel had come to recognise, the one that told him Flosi was uncomfortable because he didn’t know where this might lead.

  ‘Do you mean you might get something out of talking to Sigurlaug? It probably wouldn’t do any harm, but I doubt she knows anything that I’m not already aware of.’

  ‘Do you know any reason why Guðrún would be paying money into Sigurlaug’s account?’

  ‘What? No. Just some stuff between friends, isn’t it? Sigurlaug could have paid for a meal or something that weekend and Guðrún might have settled up. Those two do like a long champagne lunch…’

  ‘These are payments to Sigurlaug’s company account, that’s her unlimited liability company,’ Daníel said. ‘Could Guðrún have been paying for coaching sessions?’

  ‘It’s not something I know anything about,’ Flosi said. ‘Payments, you said? So more than just one?’

  Flosi craned his neck to see the statement, and it was obvious that he longed to snatch it from Daníel’s hands.

  ‘Yes,’ Daníel said. ‘And some substantial amounts. Altogether it’s around three million krónur over the past three months.’

  Flosi stared back at him, his eyes wide, dumbfounded as if unable to believe what he was hearing.

  ‘You’re not aware of Guðrún purchasing anything from Sigurlaug – coaching, services, or any items?’ he said, and Flosi shook his head. ‘Could Guðrún have been lending her money?’ Daníel continued, and Flosi’s jaw dropped.

  Finally regaining the power of speech, he said, ‘I don’t think so. Sigurlaug’s well off. And I’d have thought Guðrún would have spoken to me about that kind of amount. I simply don’t understand this…’ he said, as the kitchen door opened and Helena appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Sara Sól is here,’ she said. ‘She rang the bell because she brought her mother with her. It seems they mean to cook you dinner, Flosi.’

  29

  ‘I had to tell her,’ Sara Sól said.

  Flosi nodded as he hugged her. ‘Of course, my love,’ he said, patting her back. This was how he had always calmed her when she had been tiny. As a brand-new father he had read in some magazine that the rhythm of patting an infant’s back was the most effective way to calm them down. It was reminiscent of the mother’s heartbeat, the rhythm that accompanied them from day one, living with this beat all the way from being nothing more than a bundle of cells, before their own heartbeat had formed. He had followed the magazine’s advice and kept an old-fashioned alarm clock that ticked loudly by Sara Sól’s cot, and had patted her back when she was restless. It had worked, and he continued using this approach. Not that it was needed much these days. A heartbreak last year and a dispute with a fellow student who had failed to contribute to a group project had led her to seek solace in her father’s arms. And again now.

  ‘Mum saw I wasn’t feeling right and she kept asking me what the problem was, so I couldn’t keep it to myself any longer,’ Sara Sól sniffed, while Karen held Flosi’s arm and squeezed encouragingly.

  ‘I had to come here with her and do something to support you,’ Karen said. ‘Of course, there’s not that much I can do under such terrible circumstances, but at least I can make sure you’re properly fed.’

  She heaved a shopping bag onto the kitchen worktop and began taking items from it.

  ‘Thank you, Karen,’ Flosi said.

  He wasn’t sure how much of an appetite he would have, but her concern for him gave him a warm feeling deep inside. Karen went confidently to the cupboard and selected a pan, and Flosi felt a moment’s discomfort. Guðrún wouldn’t be overjoyed at the sight of Karen rooting through the kitchen she had made such an effort to make her own. But he pushed these concerns to the back of his mind. Strife between two women who had made this kitchen their own at different times was of no importance right now. What was important was to find Guðrún and bring her home – and Karen was prepared to support him.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said again, and took a seat at the kitchen table where, just now, the police officers had sat facing him, with a flood of questions and allegations that Guðrún had recently transferred a stack of money to Sigurlaug’s account. He would have to take a look at her account himself, as this sounded very strange.

  He heard Daníel in the hallway say goodbye to his female colleague, and a moment after the door had closed behind her, he appeared in the kitchen. He came across as a genuinely sweet person. His light-grey eyes were so gentle that Flosi felt there was a real sympathy behind them when they talked. But when the female officer joined him and they sat side by side, formal and serious, writing down his words, Daníel came across as detached, a more distant and cold persona, although Flosi could see that he watched his every movement, impressed every word on his memory – ready to use against him.

  ‘You’re eating as well, aren’t you?’ Karen said, glancing at Daníel, who nodded and thanked her.

  That was what had always been so wonderful about Karen, her ability to get to grips with circumstances and make the best of them. Karen made everyone welcome, whether they were hungry, wanting a place to stay or in need of help of some kind. Now Flosi regretted having let this irritate him while they had been married: the distant relatives sleeping on mattresses on the living-room floor, the enormous casseroles she produced ‘in case someone drops by’, and the weekends she spent helping people she barely knew move house or giving their garden a makeover.

  Daníel stood by the island unit and watched Karen dice onions and chop herbs, and Flosi was suddenly filled with apprehension. What if Karen were to tell Daníel something that would cast him in a bad light? What if she were to tell him that he had betrayed her, and had moved her and Sara Sól out so that he could move his new woman in – just because he had been tired of her, fed up with her being busy all the time, with Sara Sól’s gymnastics training that she had made him sit and watch, and her laughably old-fashioned domesticity. Then there was Karen’s figure, if he was completely honest with himself. Carrying a child had stretched a few things and she hadn’t done a lot to keep herself in shape. On the other hand, Guðrún had been young, pert and lively, and in her presence he found himself shedding the years. But now he was back where he had been before, cheating on wife number two in favour of the excitement of younger flesh. Until she had disappeared. Until she had been abducted. It wouldn’t be long before the police began to suspect him. Perhaps he was already at the top of the list of suspects. He took three deep breaths, deep down into his belly, just as he had taught Sara Sól to do when she was small, whenever she lost control of her emotions and needed to calm herself.

  Then he heard it. Karen wasn’t talking about his infidelity and betrayal to Daníel. Instead she was describing how well Flosi had treated her and their daughter after the divorce, how they had split everything they had built up together, how he had bought her out of both the house and the company, and on top of that had supported her with generous maintenance payments for Sara Sól.

  Flosi felt himself choking with gratitude. He hoped that this would give Daníel a positive image of him, show him that he was in fact a decent guy who didn’t belong on a list of suspects – because as long as the police had him in their sights, they would be losing valuable time in the search for whoever had really stolen Guðrún away from him.

  Flosi felt the emotion choke him, and his eyes filled with tears as Sara Sól came into the kitchen, having wiped away her own tears and washed her face, and immediately set to preparing a salad. She never did this with Guðrún, because Guðrún never wanted any help in the kitchen. But now the two of them were there, his former wife and his only daughter, preparing a meal. If it hadn’t been for Daníel standing there with a smile on his face, this could have been an image from his former life. Now he realised what was really important: the women in his life. He hadn’t always treated them fairly. But now he wouldn’t fail them. He wouldn’t put the business or money ahead of Guðrún, but would do every single thing in his power to bring her back, safe and well.

  30

  This was the oddest family dinner Daníel could remember having been present at. Karen had laid the table in the dining room and had confidently fetched candlesticks and table mats from the sideboard, and now the candles cast a mellow light on the people gathered around the table. Flosi seemed to be numb, but allowed himself the occasional smile, ate his chicken and said little. Karen sat at the end of the table, his former wife, concerned and glowing with pleasure as she spooned a little more rice onto Flosi’s plate and handed him the salt before he asked for it. Sara Sól’s eyes carefully followed her parents’ every movement, and she seemed to feel out of place, like a teenager in a social situation she wasn’t able to completely understand. He himself was out of place, someone who clearly didn’t belong, but who provided the gathering with some kind of a stamp of approval. The reason they sat there together was that Guðrún had been abducted, because a crime had been committed.

  After dinner Flosi stood up and helped Karen clear the table, and just as Sara Sól was about to get to her feet and help, Daníel reached out a hand to touch her arm, so she remained seated. He waited for a moment, until the clatter of crockery from the kitchen told him that the former couple were washing up, before speaking.

  ‘Have you had any sense that your father and Guðrún have been going through difficulties in their relationship?’ he asked, leaning forward and looking into Sara Sól’s eyes. People found it harder to avoid giving an answer when the questioner looked into their eyes.

  Daníel had expected that Sara Sól would be reluctant to say anything about her father’s private life behind his back, so her direct answer took him by surprise.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘And it’s been like that from day one. To be honest, they’ve never been right for each other.’

  Daníel’s eyebrow lifted.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Ach, well. She’s not what you might call the sharpest chisel in the box, and Dad’s this super-smart businessman. And she’s never liked me, which has caused some tension for Dad.’

  ‘Can you give me an example?’ Daníel asked, and Sara Sól was silent for a moment.

  ‘For example, my room,’ she said. ‘One day Guðrún packed up all my stuff and moved it to the small room, so that she could use my old room as a space for sewing in. Not a word to me or Dad.’

  ‘But you’ve been living with your mother since your parents split up?’ Daníel probed cautiously.

  Sara Sól didn’t seem inclined to hold back. ‘But this is my childhood home. She could at least have asked.’

  Daníel nodded. ‘Presumably that put your father in a difficult position?’

  ‘That’s right,’ she replied. ‘Of course, he had to take her side, so there wouldn’t be a massive row, but he understood my point of view perfectly; he felt Guðrún should have asked before taking the room for herself.’

  ‘Understood,’ Daníel said and dropped his voice. ‘Have you ever been aware of any violence in your father’s relationship with Guðrún.’

  Sara Sól grimaced, and Daníel expected her to storm out in anger. But she appeared to understand that it was worthwhile staying calm.

  ‘Not at all,’ she said with a firmness in her voice. ‘Absolutely not. If you’re thinking along those lines, then you’re misunderstanding Dad’s brand of male chauvinism.’

  Daníel smiled and again fixed his eyes on hers.

  ‘How so?’ he asked.

  ‘Ach, people see him as being old-fashioned, and of course they’re right. He likes to have his wife at home, running the household, keeping the place neat and tidy, and all that. Of course he can be bloody-minded. But he’s never laid a finger on Guðrún, or on Mum. Never. He’s the type who puts women on a pedestal. Going to the gym and the hairdresser, keeping herself looking good and cooking him cordon bleu dinners has been a full-time job for Guðrún. And as far as he’s concerned, that’s the way it should be. He treated her like some sort of princess. He’d go out and warm the car up for her if she was going somewhere, carried heavy stuff for her, opened doors, all the stuff that American men do.’

  Daníel digested her words for a moment.

  ‘Your father is good to Guðrún, so these difficulties can’t have been down to that sort of thing,’ he said.

  Sara Sól shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘But maybe I’m making too much out of it. At any rate, Dad has been a lot happier lately,’ she added.

  Since the new mistress appeared on the scene, Daníel thought to himself, but decided to turn the conversation to the relationship between Karen and Flosi.

  ‘How do your mother and father get on?’

  ‘Just fine,’ Sara Sól said confidently – she was maybe a little over-emphatic: her voice suddenly lifted. ‘You can see them together right now. They genuinely support each other when there’s something that needs to be dealt with. Dad organised my grandmother’s funeral together with Mum, and I can tell you that she’ll haunt the place until all this has been resolved.’

  They looked up as Karen appeared bearing a tray loaded with a teapot and cups, placing it on the table.

  ‘The apple cake is warming up,’ she said, and vanished back into the kitchen.

  Sara Sól leaned close to Daníel and whispered,

  ‘I think Mum’s still in love with him, even though she wouldn’t admit it. They’re good friends, and if it wasn’t for Guðrún, I think they could get back together again.’

  Flosi came into the room, placing a bowl of whipped cream on the table as he sat down. There was still a distant look on his face, and it didn’t escape Daníel that Sara Sól also noticed this. It was clear that she was living the dream typical of the child from a broken family – believing her parents could pick up their relationship again – so she was obviously unaware of her father’s latest infidelity. Her suspicion that her mother was still in love with Flosi was also interesting. It meant that mother and daughter each deserved a row on his whiteboard down at the station.

  31

  Flosi sat up in bed with his laptop on his knees and went through Guðrún’s bank transactions. He couldn’t understand it. The account was almost empty. He had been aware that the amount that he transferred to her every month was on the high side, considering what she spent on food, household stuff and herself. But he was pleased that she had a nest egg building up in her account. It allowed her to splash out on expensive luxuries when the mood took her. She could buy furniture, and she could pamper him with decent presents on his birthday. He had been overjoyed with the new set of golf clubs last year, and no less with the look of pride he saw on her face as she knew that her choice had hit the spot.

  He felt the sob that was never far away rising, ready to take hold of him again, and he swallowed a couple of times. He looked around and saw Guðrún everywhere. She had redesigned the bedroom as soon as she moved in, and he had been delighted with the result. Karen had just bought furniture that seemed to be fashionable and lined it up somehow, and had never achieved this wonderful warm style that Guðrún had a talent for. Everything she touched took on a new beauty and comfort, as their bedroom had. He liked the feel of the warm carpet on his feet when he got up in the mornings, and the floor-length blackout curtains ensured that there was always darkness, even at the height of summer. He had wondered whether the spreading palms in pots belonged in the bedroom, but they had now become essential as Guðrún had been convinced of the myth she had read somewhere that plants produce oxygen during the night, so people sleep better near them. The bed was scattered with plenty of pillows that made it easy to make himself comfortable sitting up, as he was now, peering at the laptop screen, checking every single transaction.