“The Bjartmar Arnarson killing, of course. The man’s in custody and Sævaldur’s team are interviewing him now. I’m going upstairs. Talk to me on the way,” he suggested in a tone that made it an order. “How did you get on at Litla-Hraun? Helgi told me you were following up on the Ómar Magnússon business. Progress?”
“Absolutely,” Gunna puffed, stretching to keep up with him on the stairs and wondering how he managed to shift himself so quickly without appearing to move any faster than anyone else.
“And?” he demanded, marching along the corridor and swinging into one of the lawyers’ offices.
“Confirmed a lot of what I’d suspected, plus some new leads. Ómar didn’t touch Steindór Hjálmarsson. He was being paid pretty handsomely to do the time for someone else.”
“How much, as a matter of interest?”
“Thirty million.”
“Not a lot, I’d have said.”
“Ah, but ten years ago, thirty million was twice as much as it’s worth now.”
“I’ll grant you that. But it’s still ten years in a concrete box.” Ívar Laxdal put the binders down on a desk in the corner and made for the door. “Coffee?” he asked, striding down the corridor towards the canteen with Gunna again hurrying behind him.
Hell. I’m thirty-seven years old. Why does this blasted man make me feel like I’m ten? she wondered uncomfortably as Ívar Laxdal poured black liquid into two mugs in the deserted canteen.
“A good place at this time of day, Gunnhildur, because there’s nobody about,” he said, sitting at a table in the corner and motioning for her to join him. “Tomorrow, I want to see you at nine for a disciplinary reprimand.”
His black eyes bored into hers from under his heavy brows.
“Is this because I was stupid enough to give Sævaldur a piece of my mind this morning?”
Ívar Laxdal nodded.
“I’m sorry,” Gunna said heavily. “The bloody man winds me up so much, and after what he said about Tinna when she’d taken the gun off the nutcase in the bank, I’m afraid I just saw red for thirty seconds.”
“I know. Sævaldur has some difficulties adjusting to the twenty-first century. I know he makes an effort, but that’s not always enough. But I’d appreciate it if you would cut him a little slack. Completely between ourselves, he’s an excellent officer who should never have left uniform.”
“In that case, completely between ourselves, is he likely to be taking over Örlygur Sveinsson’s duties?”
“In confidence, Gunnhildur, the likelihood is minimal. But what’s your next step on the Svana Geirs case? Where are you now? I take it you’ve seen the papers?”
Gunna pursed her lips and frowned. “I have. I’m no closer to Svana’s killer than I was a week ago. If anything, I’m further away, as Ómar Magnússon was a prime suspect and now he isn’t.”
“How so?”
“I know more or less precisely when Svana was murdered, but Ommi doesn’t. I know, but he doesn’t, that he has an alibi. Though that might not be much of an alibi unless the chap he was administering a pretty brutal beating to at just that time agrees to identify him as his assailant.”
Ívar Laxdal supported his chin in one hand and Gunna could hear his stubby fingers rasping the bristles.
“So who’s your suspect for the murder of Steindór Hjálmarsson?” he asked suddenly.
“Sindri Valsson, Jónas Valur Hjaltason’s boy. He lives in Portugal now, as far as I’m aware. He and his father have some business interests there. What’s the procedure on this? Can we ask the Portuguese police to sling him on to a flight to Iceland for us?”
“Ah, you’ll be interested to hear that there are already enquiries being made in that direction. The financial and computer crime division have been watching the gentleman for a while now, so you’d better liaise with them and see if you can pool some resources. Who knows, you might get a trip to Portugal out of it,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “But, Svana Geirs. We need some progress there. The papers are on to this and we can do without the bad publicity, or that’s the word from above that’s filtering downwards.”
“And you’re filtering it down to me? Point taken. Give me a day or two and hopefully we’ll see things start to move. But I’m practically at square one again on this.”
Ívar Laxdal nodded slowly. “A few days, Gunnhildur. Report back to me when you have a lead, will you?” He stood up, collecting both empty mugs from the table. “I’ll see you at nine, and give my regards to Unnsteinn, would you?” he added, and marched from the room.
Sigrún dissolved into tears a second time over the remains of the pork steaks that Steini had cooked slowly to tenderness with tomatoes, onions and a few herbs that he flatly refused to identify.
“I’m sorry,” she sniffed.
Gunna and Steini glanced at each other helplessly while Laufey fed a laughing Jens with a portion of mashed-up food. Sigrún looked at Jens, gurgling and smiling to himself in the high chair that he was almost too big for, and dabbed her eyes.
“He looks so much like his father,” she said miserably. “The bastard.”