“Bastard,” he snarled back.
“You are arrested on suspicion of absconding from prison. You are not required to say anything, but anything you do say should be correct and truthful. You have the right to a lawyer at every stage of proceedings,” Steingrímur intoned in a flat voice as he clicked shut handcuffs on Ómar’s wrists.
The second man was hauled to his feet, still whimpering in pain and clutching one hand in the other.
“You’d better call an ambulance for this chap,” Helgi decided.
Steingrímur stooped to pick up the pepper spray can and carefully placed it in an evidence bag.
“Police issue. That counts as assaulting a police officer, doesn’t it, Helgi?” he asked smoothly.
“I certainly think so. You’d better send your lad to hospital with him and get his eyes washed out.”
Helgi looked around the bare garage, lit by the glare of a trio of naked bulbs in the ceiling.
“Selma, isn’t it?” he asked as the girl let the sleeping bag slip down. “What of it?”
“Put them away, will you, love? We’ve all of us seen tits before, especially small ones like those. But I think you and I need to have a little chat.”
“Are you arresting me?” she asked petulantly.
“Not yet, but you might get lucky and find yourself in a cell,” Helgi replied. “It’s bound to be a bit more comfortable than this dump.”
A pleasure to see Bjössi again, Gunna thought. Even though the man acted like a world-class chauvinist, something that had landed him in trouble more than once, experience told her that there was a conscientious and painstaking detective underneath. Since her move to the new squad in Reykjavík, she had seen little of her colleagues at the tiny station in Hvalvík or the main police station in Keflavík to which it belonged. If she hadn’t been so busy, she would have missed them.
Gunna and Bjössi talked over the case on the way to the hospital, where they sat themselves at Skari’s bedside. The patient glared at them with undisguised loathing.
“What’s this? Two of you?” He slurred through his broken jaw. “What’s going on?”
“Just the usual, Skari. Time for you to tell us what really happened,” Bjössi said lightly.
“Coincidence, you could call it,” Gunna added. “Long Ommi does a runner and not long afterwards you get a beating. I’d say that’s too much of a coincidence.”
Skari glared back at them. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Ah, but you do, Skari, you do,” Bjössi said. “You know perfectly well what we’re after. The fictional big Polish bloke who gave you a bit of a hiding hasn’t been found, and he won’t be, because he doesn’t exist. We reckon Ommi did all this. But why?”
“Get lost. Find that Polish bastard,” Skari said in a flat voice.
“No, Skari. I’m sure there wasn’t a Polish bloke,” Bjössi said. “We’ve been through CCTV from every angle we can get hold of and there’s nobody anywhere who looks like your description of this chap. But there is a glimpse of Long Ommi.”
“Haven’t seen Ommi. Not since you put him away.”
“Why did Ommi come all the way out to Keflavík to give you a good hiding? There has to be a reason. And what’s more interesting is why you’re so determined not to identify him. Come on, Skari, what’s the story?”
“We have all the evidence we need to place Ommi a few hundred metres from where you were in Keflavík that day. No doubt about it,” Gunna said. “In a little place like this, it would be odd if you two didn’t run into each other. So why would Ommi want to come and see his old friend Skari? Could it be because he believes you tipped us off to where he was a few years ago?”
“Don’t be stupid.” Skari grimaced as fingers of pain shot through his jaw and up into the side of his head. “Ommi’d never…”
“Ommi’d never what, Skari?” Bjössi probed.
“Ommi wouldn’t-I never knew where he was hiding … wherever it was that you caught him,” he said slowly.
Bjössi stood up and walked over to the window to look outside. Although he pretended to be bored and uninterested, Gunna knew that he was listening to every word. “So where was he hiding?”
“I don’t know!”
“All right. Let’s backtrack.” Gunna said firmly as Skari glared back at her. “You and Ommi. What were you up to ten years ago?”
“Shit. I can’t remember. Having a good time. Getting pissed.”
“Come on, Skari. You know better than that,” Bjössi admonished, without looking round. “You and Ommi were dealing on behalf of someone. When Ommi was put away after killing that lad, you got a bit frightened and decided crime wasn’t for you any more. Something like that?”
“Don’t talk shit.”
“Don’t tell me your Erla was the one who made you see sense.”
“Yeah. That’s it.”
“Ah, isn’t that sweet? Ain’t love grand?” Bjössi sneered.
“Bjartmar Arnarson,” Gunna said suddenly, watching the patient’s face for a reaction that she was inwardly delighted to see. “Does the name mean anything to you, Skari?”
“Who?”
“Ah, now I know you’re bullshitting me. You know perfectly well who Bjartmar Arnarson is. You and Skari were both working for him in some capacity or other at the end of the nineties. Remember Blacklights?”