“Ólafur Jacobsen. Yes, we’ve crossed swords before.”
“A regrettable miscarriage of justice,” the lawyer sniffed.
“A miscarriage of justice in which your client had a bag of coke in his pocket and two more in the car he was driving.”
“There was nothing whatsoever to link my client to the narcotics. A mistake, easily explained.”
“The judge didn’t think so.”
“Evidence can be misleading.”
“If you’re implying that there was anything irregular with that particular case, which is long closed, then I’m sure you’re aware of the proper channels.”
The lawyer frowned and pouted, and Gunna wanted to laugh but restrained herself.
“Just so my client is aware of circumstances.”
“I’m sure you’ve told him everything he needs to know on the way here,” Gunna said smoothly, turning to Jónas Valur. “You’re prepared to give a statement?”
“My client has prepared a statement,” the lawyer said, interrupting Jónas Valur before he could speak and sliding a single sheet of heavy paper across the desk between them. Gunna picked it up and sat back, taking her time to read it, while Jónas Valur gradually began to twitch and the lawyer fidgeted.
“So according to this, you were at your office from nine in the morning until after three on the day that Svana Geirs was murdered? You are aware that this contradicts your answer when I asked about your whereabouts before?”
“A mistake with his diary, my client assures me. He was in his office the whole day.”
“And who will corroborate this?”
“Anna Fjóla Sigurbjörnsdóttir.”
“The secretary?”
“Yes.”
Gunna looked long and hard at Jónas Valur, who gazed clear-eyed back at her.
“When I spoke to you a few days ago, you recalled clearly that you had been working at home that morning and had lunch at the City Café before going to your office, where your secretary confirmed that you arrived at twelve thirty. Now you’re claiming that you didn’t leave your office all day long? Isn’t that unusual?”
Jónas Valur opened his mouth to speak, but the lawyer beat him to it once again.
“My client has told you that he made a mistake when checking his diary. It’s a simple enough error, and he has apologized for the oversight.”
“He hasn’t told me anything-only you have. It strikes me as highly unusual for your client not to leave his office at all for a whole day. Odd for a man who likes to take a walk around lunchtime?”
“Possibly,” the lawyer rasped, tight-lipped.
“I think we’ve established beyond any reasonable doubt that you had a phone conversation with Svana Geirs shortly before she died. What was that about?” Gunna asked, looking directly at Jónas Valur, who glared stonily back at her.
“My client has no comment to make.”
“This is the number of your personal mobile phone?”
Gunna showed him the seven digits she had noted down. Jónas Valur nodded imperceptibly, while the lawyer shook his head.
“No comment.”
“You don’t deny that you and a group of men had a simultaneous relationship with Svana Geirs, and that between you you all contributed to her livelihood?”
“My client prefers not to comment.”
“In that case we appear to be at a deadlock,” Gunna said, her patience wearing thin. “So that’s it for now,” she added. Jónas Valur immediately shoved his chair back and rose to his feet.
“Can I have an assurance that my client will not be harassed?” the lawyer asked in a flat voice but with a sneer on his face.
“As long as I can have an assurance that your client won’t obstruct a murder investigation,” Gunna snapped back. “I’m sure we’ll have reason to talk again soon,” she said as Jónas Valur and the lawyer left the room without another word or a backward glance.
In silence, Gunna escorted the two men down to the front desk and watched them leave the building, Jónas Valur holding his tie in one hand to prevent a vicious wind from whipping it up, while Ólafur Jacobsen placed a hand on the top of his head to prevent his carefully arranged coiffure from collapsing.
Eiríkur appeared silently at her side as she glumly watched the two men get into a smart Mercedes that stopped for them outside.
“Right, my lad. I’d like you on your bike this minute. Get down to City Café to start with and see if Jónas Valur was in there the day Svana died. If not, try the other eateries and whatnot round there. Go out there and ask. See if we can demolish the stupid statement that evil-minded oaf wrote for him. All right?”
Pictures in ornate frames decorated every wall of the living room that stretched away into the distance. Some were garish abstracts; others were sepia-toned portraits of groups of children at various stages of adolescence, unconvincingly contrived to look as if they had been taken a century ago.
Gunna looked with unconcealed dislike at the display of bad taste on the walls while she and Helgi waited, standing uncomfortably next to a dining table that shone like a mirror, as Bjarki Steinsson carried on a muted argument with his wife just out of their earshot.