‘Hm. If you think so. Ach, some idiot’ll have a drop too much to drink soon enough and spill the beans,’ Bjössi said with conviction. ‘Anyway, I’d better carry on with these numbskulls who see and hear nothing and don’t know anything either.’
14-09-2008, 2006
Skandalblogger writes:
What’s that freedom thing about, Grandad?
The march was exciting, wasn’t it just? The papers and the TV are telling us how peaceful it was, with Kolli Sverris doing his juggling and all the colourful people getting in tune with nature before they return to civilization in their 4 x 4s in time for the footie.
But a little bird whispers to the Skandalblogger that not everything went as sweetly as we’re being told. Just how did the fire in the InterAlu compound start? You know, the fire that nobody’s talking about that burned out every piece of heavy machinery on the site? What? You mean you didn’t know about it? All the news guys were there, even our cousins the Norwegians were good enough to send a TV crew, but unfortunately they’d all gone back to their hotels by the time the real business started.
And what happened to the overseas activists who were quietly herded off to one side at Keflavík, kept for a couple of hours and just as quietly deported without even leaving the terminal?
Well, damn me for a cranky old liberal with some strange ideas about freedom of speech and the right to protest, but I’d have thought that there might be a bit more to this than meets the eye.
Keep taking the pills, and watch this space!
Bæjó!
Vilhjálmur Traustason hesitated, sparking Gunna’s curiosity. In spite of what she saw as his numerous failings, the man could generally be relied on to get straight to the point.
‘I, er, wanted to mention to you the investigation into the young man who was found outside Hvalvík.’
Gunna could imagine him twisting his fingers into knots as he spoke.
‘And? What? The lad was identified quite quickly and we’re making progress. At the moment it’s all about finding out how he got there from a bar in Reykjavík, even though Sævaldur reckons he has a suspect.’
‘Yes, of course. Precisely. You don’t agree with him?’
‘Nope. Gústi the Gob may be a nasty piece of work, but he’s not going to kill someone for a few credit cards. Why, what’s your problem?’
‘Ágúst Ásgeirsson has been bailed. No murder charge has been made, only theft and fraud.’
‘Aha. I told you he wouldn’t get it to stick.’
Vilhjálmur sighed. ‘I don’t want you to allocate too many resources to this case. I have asked Reykjavík to leave Sævaldur in overall charge of the case and to liaise with you as and when.’
Gunna stopped her jaw from dropping. ‘Are you telling me to drop this?’
‘This isn’t a murder inquiry. The man drowned while drunk.’
‘He was pushed.’
Vilhjálmur continued as if Gunna had said nothing. ‘I’m instructing you not to put any effort into this. The city force will follow it up. You’re going to have enough to do with the InterAlu work going on in your area.’
‘So Reykjavík are going to be looking after this?’
‘Yes. That’s it.’
The phone clicked as the connection closed.
Matti was about to call it a night and go home to get some sleep when the door opened and a florid young man slumped into the passenger seat.
‘Where to, mate?’
‘Kópavogur.’
The young man slumped back in the seat and fumbled with his glasses. Matti caught the whiff of alcohol and the urge for a drink swept over him.
‘Women, they’re rubbish,’ the young man slurred. ‘You married?’
‘No. Not any more.’
‘Good for you, mate, good for you. They’re just. .’ He floundered for words. ‘They’re just, rubbish. You know?’
‘Know what you mean. Girlfriend chucked you out, has she?’
‘Fuck, no. Worse.’
The taxi hummed past the lights at orange on to Sæbraut.
‘Who d’you work for?
‘Himself? Nonni the Taxi.’
‘Well, mate. Just you be glad you work for a bloke. That’s all I’m saying,’ he said with bitterness in his voice, rooting through the pockets of his jacket and bringing out a half bottle of vodka from an inside pocket.
‘Not in the taxi, please,’ Matti mumbled, every fibre of his body aching for a drink as the man spun off the top and swigged.
‘What? Oh, sorry. But, yeah. Bloody women, specially when your boss is a woman. Nothing worse, specially a bloody ball-breaker like mine. Evil cow.’
‘Where d’you work, then?’
‘Spearpoint.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Never heard of it? What planet have you been on? PR and stuff, consultancy, project management.’
‘Right.’
‘I’ve got two weeks’ holiday. Flights to Florida booked and paid for. Scuba diving by day and pina coladas by night, and then the evil old bitch tells me today that I’m needed next week, and that’s that, no arguments.’
‘Must be something big to take your holiday off you.’
‘Ach. It’s those fucking bunny-hugging do-gooders. They set fire to those trucks and stuff out at Hvalvík and we have to try and clear up the mess, set up press jaunts, show people around, sort out new agencies, all that shit.’
The desire for a drink subsided as Matti took better notice of what his passenger was saying.