Cold Comfort

“It’s down to us for the moment. We still have uniforms knocking on doors around Svana’s flat and searching bins and whatnot for a possible murder weapon, but we have to concentrate on her private life. We’ve been over this already, but to make sure we all have the basics, Svana Geirs was the shared squeeze of a group of prominent men who between them contributed to keeping her in a pretty comfortable lifestyle,” Gunna explained.

“Names?” Helgi asked.

“There’s Bjartmar Arnarson to begin with, which throws a whole new light on a few things.”

“And Svana’s flat and car are owned by one of his companies,” Eiríkur chipped in.

“By the way, did you know that Bjartmar and Long Ommi have a bit of history as well?” Helgi added thoughtfully.

Gunna raised an eyebrow.

“That’s right,” Helgi continued. “Before Bjartmar became respectable, Ommi was some kind of freelance muscle for him.”

“So maybe we can ask Ommi, when we catch up with him. Which might not be for a while if we have to devote every waking moment to Svana Geirs. Anyway, these are the others,” Gunna said grimly. “Our big hitters are Jónas Valur Hjaltason, chairman of Kleifar, shareholder in shipping and transport businesses, as well as running his own export operation. He’s a grandfather and older than the others, in his midfifties, separated, lives alone. Then there’s Bjarki Steinsson, who runs an accountancy firm. Bjarki sold a whole raft of holdings in one of the banks weeks before the crash and made a packet out of it. Björgvin at Financial says that everything he owned has been transferred to a company in his wife’s name. It’s already part of a wider investigation, so we have to be extra careful not to muddy the water there.”

Gunna paused.

“Any more?” Eiríkur asked.

“Plus Hallur Hallbjörnsson, and as far as we know, that’s all. Right. We’d better divvy these magnificent specimens up between us and see what we come up with. Start with any records we already hold, I’ll check with Financial, and we go on from there.”

“So who wants what?” Helgi asked.

“We might be best taking some of them in pairs, I reckon,” Gunna decided. “Eiríkur, can you chase up the phone records and suchlike? I can continue to be brutal with Hallur as I’ve already had two goes at the slimy bastard and he’s not as squeaky clean as he wants me to think. Helgi can come with me to see Bjartmar, Bjarki and old Jónas. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Helgi said, rattling his mug on the table. “You know you get a free refill here, don’t you?”

Kleifar’s offices occupied half the ground floor of a squat old building with little to indicate that it housed a successful export company with a subsidiary in Portugal. It was a stone’s throw from what Gunna still thought of as the old Morgunbladid building overlooking the open space of Ingólfstorg with its skateboard rink that fizzed with life during the long summer days. But on a chill winter’s afternoon the square and the empty restaurants surrounding it exuded a forlorn air, with only a handful of hiking-booted tourists to be seen, going from one shop window to another huddled into their thick parkas, tutting over the prices of Icelandic woollen sweaters.

Kleifar’s outer office was pleasantly warm, and a secretary with an air of discipline about her looked up as Gunna entered with Helgi behind her.

“Can I help you?” she asked, head back and eyes heavylidded. She took off a pair of black-rimmed glasses and let them fall to hang on a chain around her neck.

“We’re here to speak to Jónas Valur Hjaltason. Is he in?” Gunna said, trying to sound friendly in the face of this clearly unfriendly woman.

“I’m afraid Jónas Valur has a busy schedule and is occupied in a meeting all afternoon. Could I ask who you are?”

“Police,” Gunna replied. “His name has been mentioned in connection with an investigation and we need to go over a few points with him.”

“Can I ask what it concerns?” the woman asked in a razor voice. “I handle all of Jónas Valur’s appointments.”

Gunna was aware that Helgi was showing a great deal of interest in the antique maps hung on the walls of the office, standing with hands behind his back and bending forward to peer at the faded gothic lettering of some place names.

“I’m afraid that I can’t tell you. But I assure you it’s a serious matter and it’s important that we speak to him.”

“And I’m afraid he’s not available.”

“His car’s outside,” Gunna pointed out, reasoning that the Mercedes with the personalized number had to be his. “So I assume he’s here.”

The woman’s face remained a mask. “Jónas Valur sees people by appointment only.”

“People like Svana Geirs?” Gunna asked in the sweetest voice she could manage.

The woman’s eyes bulged for a fraction of a second.

“Wait,” she ordered, and disappeared through a door behind her. Helgi stood behind Gunna, lifted himself on tiptoe and leaned forward to whisper in her ear.