“Good God.” Helena Rós suddenly gulped, letting herself fall back into a chair. “I don’t believe this. The bloody man, the bloody, bastard, bloody man. I knew there was something, just knew it.”
“Do you have a joint or separate bank accounts?” Gunna asked.
“Both. We have one for the family finances and we each have our own accounts for anything else. God knows how many accounts Hallur had. I think he’d lost count himself,” she said, and Gunna noticed that she was already referring to her husband in the past tense. “Why on earth couldn’t you have come five minutes later or five minutes earlier? That way he’d have been either dead, or at least alive and healthy enough to be made to suffer,” Helena Rós wailed. “Do I need a brain-damaged husband? Me?”
At last a flood of tears broke and she ran for the bathroom, hand to her face to stifle the nosebleed that Gunna saw with satisfaction had left a trail of bright drops on the rich cream of the carpet.
“Not easy to feel sorry for her, is it?” Helgi observed.
“Not really,” Gunna agreed. “She feels so sorry for her bloody self that any pity from us would be overkill.”
“Next, chief? Think we’ll get anything out of her?”
“Nope, but I’m going to leave you here, if you don’t mind, Helgi.”
“What? With that witch?”
“Yup. I want you to go down to Hallur’s office in the basement. She’ll show you where it is. Start going through it and see what you can find.” Gunna stood. “I need to get back to Hverfisgata and see if Eiríkur has finished the little job I asked him to do.”
Anna Fjóla Sigurbjörnsdóttir’s lips pursed into a thin, bloodless line as Gunna appeared in the doorway.
“Good afternoon, Anna Fjóla,” Gunna offered, willing herself to be civil. “Is the lord and master in?”
“I think so,” the secretary said quietly. “I’ll see.”
She gingerly opened the door behind her and said a few muttered words before swinging the door open and unwillingly ushering Gunna in.
Jónas Valur sat behind his antique desk, and Gunna could sense immediately that her appearance was less than welcome. “What now, officer?”
The light from his desk lamp cast sharp shadows over the hands that held a sheaf of papers, neatly clipped together.
“Why did you state that you’d been here all day without a break on the eleventh?” Gunna demanded without waiting.
“What do you mean?”
“I have witnesses and evidence that put you outside this office around midday on that day. You were out and about for at least an hour.”
“Jesus, are you never going to let this go?” Jónas Valur groaned. “All right. I may have gone round the corner for a bite to eat. I don’t remember.”
“Anna Fjóla would, and pressuring her to commit perjury on your behalf is hardly a reward for all those years of loyal service, is it?”
Jónas Valur glowered back and said nothing.
“How much was Svana Geirs after?”
“What do you mean?”
“Svana had called time on the syndicate, and she wanted a goodbye present. How much?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Then what was the emergency meeting of the syndicate the night before she died all about?”
“Again, I don’t know what you’re talking about, officer,” Jónas Valur said coldly.
“Bullshit,” Gunna said brusquely. “Jónas Valur, where is your son?”
“How dare you speak to me like that? Watch your step, Sergeant, I have plenty of influential friends.”
“I’m supposed to take that as a threat, am I?”
“As far as I am aware, my son is travelling on business. As I expect you know, he no longer lives in this country.”
“If anyone knows where he is, I’m sure you do.”
“I have no comment to make,” Jónas Valur said, his face visibly pale even in the warm cast of the desk lamp.
“You’d best give your friendly lawyer a call, in that case, because I’ll be back,” Gunna said, sweeping from the room without waiting for a reply and closing the door behind her.
“I assume you heard most of that?” she said to secretary, who was sitting behind a pile of binders and pretending to be busy. “Just so you’re aware, perjury is something the courts take a dim view of, and the women’s prison isn’t a particularly cozy place.”
It was getting dark, and a brisk spring wind was sweeping in off the sea to batter the windows with raindrops as Gulli Ólafs sat in the interview room.
“Thanks for coming in,” Gunna said, yawning. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day.”
“What am I here for? To make a statement or something?”
“I think you might want to,” Gunna told him, opening the door. “My colleague will be right with us and there’s something I want to show you. That’s all.”
Eiríkur bustled in with an open laptop in his hands and put it on the table.
“That was quick, young man. How did you get it all done so fast?”
Eiríkur fingers flickered over the keyboard. “Simple, chief. I got one of the warders to do it for me and then email me the sound file. Your mate Bjössi over at Keflavík did the other one. Said you owe him a huge favour now.”
Gunna glowered. “I’ll bet the foul-mouthed old goat said something a bit more graphic than that. Am I right?”