Kaya scrolled through the notes. “Nothing special. His name’s Elvar Marínósson, legal residence at Hólabraut 60, Djúpivogur, date of birth twentieth of March 1986.”
Gunna nodded, writing the man’s name and date of birth down on the last page of her notepad. “What was he brought in for?”
“Being an idiot, basically. Pissed, had an argument with a cashier in a shop on Posthússtræti. He lit a cigarette in the shop, refused to put it out and they called the police. He slept it off, the shop decided not to press charges and so we let him out the next morning with a thick head and told him not to do it again.”
“OK, thanks. That tells me what I needed to know.”
“Any time,” Kaya said with a saw-toothed smile.
Gunna clattered down the stairs to her own office and waited impatiently for her computer to start up.
When it had stopped whirring and had settled down to its usual irritating hum, she went to the traffic database and typed in Elvar Marínósson’s name and date of birth. A second later the man’s driving licence details appeared, confirming his full name, legal residence and date of birth, just as Kaya had said. But the picture alongside it, although not a recent one, showed a pale-faced, fair-haired man with deepset blue eyes, not the beefy red-faced man who had appropriated his identity.
“Ah, Högni Sigurgeirsson. What game are you playing at?” Gunna asked herself quietly.
“Caught him yet?” Gunna asked as Helgi appeared with Eiríkur behind him.
“Caught who?” Eiríkur said with a dazed look in his eyes.
“I don’t know. Anyone, plenty out there to choose from. What have you been up to, then?”
Helgi shook his head in despair. “Have you any idea? Any idea at all how many vans there are in this country that are either white or light grey? I’ve just spent an hour with the old feller who thinks he saw our mysterious white van down the hill from Bjartmar’s house, showing him pictures of vans in all shapes and sizes, every model under the sun. Guess what? It’s a white van. That’s the nearest he can get. Oh, but there might have been some lettering on the side. Or there might not.”
He dropped the folder of photographs and brochures on his desk and sat down.
“How far did the Special Unit go with their hot search?” Gunna said, standing up and going over to a much-annotated map of Reykjavík on the wall. “They don’t mess about, those guys. If it was there when they did their search, they’d have logged it. If it wasn’t, then it must have disappeared at the critical moment,” she decided. “If it was ever there at all.”
She traced the road in which Bjartmar’s house stood with one finger, before skipping across the next road to the one beyond it.
“Bjartmar’s house is in the furthest street but one in that district,” Eiríkur observed. “So if our man escaped on foot, he must have gone downhill, because there’s only one street of these yuppie mansions, and then lava fields behind it.”
“Until some bright spark like the late lamented Bjartmar feels a need to build on it,” Gunna added.
“Yeah, chief. Look, though. Our friend does a runner. No point going uphill, there’s nothing there and no way out. Downhill, back towards Hafnarfjördur. So even if the van was nothing to do with him, he would have gone down there anyway,” Eiríkur continued.
“Yes, and look here,” Gunna pointed out. “In case neither of you had noticed, there are only two ways out of that district. So if you can find some CCTV footage from a minute or two after the shooting that shows a white van, then we might be on to something.”
“You should apply for promotion, Gunna. With brains like that, you’re wasted on us,” Helgi assured her, while Gunna took a moment to decide that the comment didn’t warrant a sharp reply. “As it happens, my young colleague has already been busily searching out CCTV footage. But what have you been doing, chief?”
“I’ve been annoying our elected representatives once again.”
“You’ve made something of a habit of that over the years, I hear,” Helgi said.
“That’s what those idiots are there for,” Gunna retorted. “Remember Högni Sigurgeirsson?”
“Who?”
“Svana Geirs’ little brother.”
“Yeah, a leery bastard if I recall correctly.”
“Hmm. A very insightful analysis, Helgi, and right on the money. He was here last week.”
Helgi’s brows knitted. “What for?”
“Pissed and making a nuisance of himself, or so Kaya upstairs says, but he passed himself off as someone else.”
“You’ve been to see Kaya?” Eiríkur asked, awe in his voice. “Alone?”
“Yes. What of it?”
“Watch yourself, chief,” Eiríkur said as Helgi laughed. “She’s a right lezzie, that one is.”
“Ach, get away with you.”
“True, chief,” Eiríkur said. “An out-and-out lady in comfy shoes.”
“Private is private, boys. Leave that stuff outside work, will you?” Gunna admonished. “Eiríkur, you were with me when we interviewed Svana’s parents. Can you find the phone numbers, please, especially the number for Högni.”
Pink at the ear lobes after having been gently scolded, Eiríkur went to do as he was told and disappeared behind his partition.