Marika sat up in bed, one hand scratching under her outsized Fatalagerinn T-shirt.
‘Trouble? What you mean, trouble? Police trouble?’
‘Yes, yes, police trouble. You come with me, OK?’
‘OK, Matti. Tell me what trouble? All of us in trouble?’
‘No, just you, me trouble. Just a couple of days. Then we come back here.’
Marika yawned and snapped into wakefulness. ‘Matti, you tell me what problem is. Then we go. Sit here.’ She patted the bed.
‘No. Get dressed. I’ll tell you while you put clothes on.’
‘OK. You tell. But turn round.’
Marika slipped from the bed and waited for him to turn his back before hauling the voluminous T-shirt over her head.
‘Matti. Tell. Not look in mirror,’ she admonished.
‘Look. I have a problem, a bad man is looking for me, wants to maybe kill me. He has seen me with you in the car. He knows Kaisa and some of the girls, maybe he knows this place, and he knows Mundi, says Mundi is going to have trouble.’
‘You turn round now,’ Marika instructed, buttoning a plain blouse. She raised her arms and tied her hair back in a bun before starting to drop things haphazardly into an open suitcase. Matti wanted to yell at her that the car was parked outside where Hardy would be able to see it, that the street was a dead end with no hope of escape except on foot through someone’s garden, but he held his breath and sat on his hands.
‘Ready. We go,’ Marika announced brightly, at last, and Matti grabbed the case and was downstairs before she had closed her mouth.
At the doorway Marika and Kaisa held a loud conversation, not a word of which could Matti understand. Kaisa banged the door behind them as the car pulled away and Matti sighed with relief.
‘Matti, where we going?’
‘Out of town. West.’
Marika seemed satisfied and filed her nails on the way through Reykjavík, on to the main road. Only when they had cleared the city and were bowling past the well-kept gardens and stables of Mosfell did she look up and take notice, as if seeing the scree-sloped hillsides for the first time.
‘Matti?’
‘Yeah, sweetheart.’
‘This man. Policeman?’
‘No.’
‘Criminal man?’
‘Yes.’
‘Pity.’ She shrugged.
‘Why’s that?’
‘Police no problem.’
‘How so?’
Marika sat back and folded away her nail file. ‘Sometimes policeman come to us and say he make trouble. OK, Kaisa take him upstairs, be nice to him for half an hour. No more trouble.’
Matti rocked with laughter. ‘Always Kaisa?’
‘Always Kaisa look after policeman.’
‘But why her?’
‘Don’t know. Maybe policeman like very tall. Maybe Kaisa just like police.’
‘This policeman, he comes to the house, or to the club?’
‘Club. Always club.’
‘In uniform?’
‘No, of course not uniform. Don’t be stupid.’
‘So how do you know he’s a policeman.’
‘Because he smell like a policeman,’ Marika said with decision. ‘He walk like policeman, he have clothes like policeman.’
‘You don’t know his name, do you?’ Matti hazarded.
‘No, of course not. Not real name. Anyway, who would want to make trouble for Matti?’
‘You’ve seen him once or twice at the club. The tall guy with blond hair. Always wears that leather jacket.’
Marika nodded. ‘Swedish man.’
‘Swedish? No, I thought he was American?’
‘Swedish,’ Marika said firmly.
‘How do you know?’
‘Maret tell me. He speak when he sleep. He speak Swedish when he sleep.’
While Matti was grimly hugging the big car’s wheel as it growled up the long slope of the heath on the road north and Marika filed her nails, Gunna sat back and simply enjoyed the feeling of being out of uniform for a few hours.
It hadn’t stopped her from calling in at the station to see what progress Bára and Bjössi were making. Bára looked surprised to see her, while Bjössi made it clear that her presence wasn’t wanted and that she should make the most of an afternoon off duty now that she finally had one.
After a visit to the supermarket in Keflavík, she drove Gísli’s rusting Range Rover through the achingly slow Sunday afternoon traffic in the town to the museum that overlooked the small boat harbour and parked in the sunshine.
She pulled down the shade, peered carefully at herself in the mirror and didn’t entirely like what she could see. She looked tired, and older than she ought to. Fine lines were starting to appear at the corners of her eyes and fatigue was entrenched in her face. She had long ago given up make-up, having been told many times by Raggi that her fresh complexion didn’t need it.
Gunna frowned and her mighty eyebrows fused into a dark bar across her forehead. For a moment, she thought about crying off and going home, but brushed aside the idea of a grown woman being nervous about what was not even really a date.
She fussed for a moment with her hair, decided that this week she really would have to get it cut before it became so thick that it would be beyond control, and swung herself down from the Range Rover.
He was sitting alone at a table by the window in the corner of the room, gazing down at one of the small boats leaving the little pontoon dock. Outside a group of children on the café’s balcony waved frantically at the boat as it chugged past and whooped with delight when the man at the tiller waved back at them.
‘Waiting for someone?’ Gunna asked.
Steini’s head jerked up and he grinned with what Gunna saw was obvious relief. He quickly stood up and took her by surprise by leaning forward to peck her cheek.
‘Don’t you know I could arrest you for that?’
Steini held out both hands, wrists together. ‘Go on, then.’
‘Sorry. I’m off duty,’ she apologized, sitting down opposite him. ‘Anyway, how are you?’
‘Fine.’
They sat in awkward silence for a moment.
‘The Salt House was good,’ he ventured finally.
‘It was. Shall we do that again some time?’
‘I think we ought to,’ Steini replied seriously and waved for the waitress to bring a menu.
Gunna made her choice in seconds flat and laid her menu down again while Steini pored over his a little longer. She felt guilty, enjoying the colours outside, cobalt sky and the bright green of the autumn grass clinging to the basalt outcrops surrounding the little harbour, while Bára and Bjössi were on duty.
‘Aren’t you hungry?’ Steini asked.
‘Do I look like the sort of girl who doesn’t enjoy her food? Of course I’m hungry.’
Steini grinned and waved to the waitress, who stood there with her open note pad and waited expectantly.
‘Ready to order?’ the girl asked finally, as Gunna and Steini each waited for the other to go first.
‘Fish of the day,’ they both suddenly said simultaneously.
‘Two fish,’ the waitress said. ‘And to drink?’
‘I have to drive, so water for me,’ Gunna said, looking at Steini.
‘Same here,’ he added, handing back the menus. Gunna sat back and stretched her legs out beneath the table, basking in the warmth of the afternoon sunshine on her face. Steini let a smile run around his face while his fingers tugged at the end of his moustache.
‘How goes it? Work and everything?’
‘Ah, really busy right now. I shouldn’t be here at all.’
‘Well, there’s no point overdoing it. You don’t get paid any more for it and I don’t suppose you’ll get thanked either.’
‘Y’know, you’re probably right,’ Gunna agreed, trying to imagine Vilhjálmur Traustason with anything other than the usual disapproving look on his long face. ‘It’ll blow over soon, I h
ope.’
‘Is that all the work around that aluminium smelter they’re building?’
Gunna sighed. She had hoped to get away from work for an hour or two. ‘Partly. We have an unusual murder investigation in progress that’s taking all my time right now.’
‘Murder? In Iceland?’ Steini’s eyebrows lifted in surprise.
‘Yup. It’s a serious one and I’m afraid that’s about all I’m able to say. Case in progress and all that, has to be kept confidential.’
‘Understood. Ah, food,’ Steini said with his interest on the waitress, striding towards them with a plate in each hand.
Gunna hadn’t realized quite how hungry she was until the aroma of the generous portion hit her senses.
‘Bon appétit,’ Steini said seriously, setting to with gusto.
They ate in silence. Gunna felt that Steini was not completely at ease and wondered why, while she found herself to be more relaxed than she had expected. Steini seemed to be the kind of person it was easy to spend time with, without a need for chatter. The case was still preying on her mind and it irritated her that she could not clear thoughts of work even for a few short hours.
‘Good fish,’ she said finally when her plate was almost clear.
‘Can’t beat it,’ Steini agreed, his plate already shining. ‘Coffee?’
‘Let me finish, at least.’
‘Sorry. It’s force of habit, not being able to eat slowly. It’s all those years of having half an hour to wake up, eat your dinner, drink a cup of coffee and be out on deck on time.’
Gunna smiled wryly. ‘Don’t think I don’t know. My dad and my brothers are just the same and Raggi always finished before me as well.’
Steini nodded. ‘How are your kids? Your lad’s at sea, isn’t he?’
‘Yup. Deckhand on Snæfugl.’
‘Not a bad berth. Has he been there long?’
‘Since January. He tried college but couldn’t get on with it. Then one of his uncles, you must know him, Stefán Jónsson, had a word and got him a berth to see how he’d like it. Gísli took to it straight away. I wouldn’t be surprised if he applies for navigation college in a year or two.’
‘Send him to me if he needs any coaching,’ Steini smiled.
‘I might do just that. But we’ll see,’ Gunna replied absently. She shook herself quickly, realizing that her thoughts were drifting unconsciously back to Matti and whether or not to try and hunt him down in the morning.
She looked up to see Steini gazing quizzically at her.
‘Sorry. Miles away,’ she said, irritated with herself.
‘Work on your mind?’ Steini asked gently.
‘Unfortunately,’ she admitted, wondering at the same time if she should mention the offered promotion that would also entail moving to the other side of the country. ‘Until this is sorted out, I’m afraid it’s going to be on my mind. But I ought to be on my way home soon. Laufey’s gone riding and I’d better cook a meal for us this evening for once.’
Steini waved for the bill until the waitress placed it in front of him and sauntered away.
Gunna reached for it. ‘My turn.’
‘No, come on. I invited you.’
‘I know, but you paid last time,’ Gunna said firmly and Steini shrugged. Gunna stood up to walk over to the bar. She rested her elbows on the counter and dug through her purse, lifting one foot to place it on the brass rail that ran along the foot of the bar. Steini smiled quietly to himself as he admired Gunna’s figure in the loose cheesecloth trousers that he felt did her so many more favours than uniform.
‘Ready?’ she smiled, returning to the table. Steini stood up and followed her outside.
‘Well, thank you for a pleasant lunch,’ Gunna said as she dug in her pocket for the Range Rover’s key and dangled it from a finger.
‘Yours?’ Steini asked, patting the big car’s bonnet.
‘No,’ Gunna said, laughing. ‘It’s Gísli’s. He’s wanted one of these since he was about five. So as soon as he’d saved up enough, that’s what he bought. The insurance was costing him a fortune considering he’s at sea four weeks in five, so now he splits the insurance with his old mum and I use it as well when he’s away.’
‘That’s very generous of him,’ Steini said and Gunna had a sudden image of a tongue-tied teenager in front of her. ‘You know, Gunna, you’re a highly attractive lady and I’d like to see more of you,’ he said quickly.
Taken by surprise, Gunna took a few seconds to reply.
‘That’s very kind of you to say so, Steini. I wouldn’t mind seeing a bit more of you as well, but I’ve a lot on my plate right this minute and I don’t know . . .’ She took a gulp of air. ‘I’m sorry, you’ve caught me on the hop.’
Steini smiled slowly. ‘I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. I’ll give you a call in the week if that’s all right?’
His face was one big question as Gunna nodded.
‘Do that. I’m going to be busy, but give me a call when you have time,’ she said firmly.
He hesitated for a moment and finally leaned forward to peck her on the cheek.
‘See you soon, then,’ he said and strode away to the van that Gunna recognized from the day they had spoken on the dock at Sandeyri.
Gunna sat in the Range Rover’s driving seat and waited for her stomach to settle.
‘Good grief,’ she grumbled to herself. ‘I should be past all this stuff by now. Like a lovesick bloody teenager.’
24
Monday, 22 September
The second-best Volvo hummed through Hafnarfjördur in the morning sunshine, with the faintest dusting of white on Esja’s slopes in the distance above Reykjavík a reminder that the short days of winter weren’t far away. Gunna had always had misgivings about what she saw as the mountain’s brooding hulk and had never understood the fondness people born in its shadow always professed for it. Gunna found Esja less than impressive compared to the dramatic sheer slopes of her childhood home.
She toured a few of the taxi ranks at Grensás and Lækjargata, near the shopping centres and the big hotels, and cruised slowly down Raudarárstígur to the Hlemmur bus station and across past the police station to the main road into the town centre, looking out for Matti’s green Mercedes, wondering as she did so if this was the right thing to be doing.
She headed out of town, and stopped at the Höfdabakki traffic lights next to Nonni the Taxi’s yard, scanning the car park outside for the green Mercedes. Gunna wondered whether or not to go in and ask for Matti’s whereabouts, but decided against it, unwilling to send him a message that could be misunderstood if not delivered personally.
Gunna checked the time and decided to take a round trip through the Bakki district and Kópavogur before a final look through Matti’s normal haunts in the old western end of the city.
Lunchtime traffic thickened as she gunned the Volvo out of Kópavogur and on to Kringlumýrarbraut back towards the city. Passing the airport, she wondered idly how the billionaires with their little summer houses around Skildingarnes would be preparing for the invasion of their territory if the city were to have its way and close the airport to make way for more building south of the city centre.
‘It’ll happen. Money talks its own language, as Mum used to say,’ Gunna grunted to herself, pulling up at the lights at Lækjargata for the second time that day and seeing that the taxi rank there was empty.
‘Hell. Lunchtime, I suppose.’
She drove slowly past the slipways and the remnants of the old town, where rusting houses clad in corrugated iron were gradually being replaced with steel and glass, and past Kaffivagninn. She thought of stopping there, but since office types had discovered the old dockers’ eatery on the quay, it had gone upmarket and lost some of its attraction.
Further along and beyond walking distance from the office district, she pulled up on a patch of waste ground opposite Grandakaffi among a cluster of taxis, pickup trucks and a bus at the end of its route. For a moment she admired
the trawlers in their blue-and-white Grandi livery at the quayside and listened as a group of men in paint-spattered overalls engaged in a friendly argument in some Eastern European language as they made their way from a half-painted ship over the waste ground towards the café. They fell silent as they noticed her uniform, nudging each other as they passed her. Gunna walked behind the men, trying not to look as if she was following them to the café, but she could sense their discomfort.
In the sunshine half a dozen men sat over large meals and newspapers around rickety tables and Gunna scanned the faces quickly, catching the eye of a thin-faced elderly man who looked as if a square meal coming his way was a rarity. He nodded imperceptibly as she passed, and carried on with his bowl of soup.
The group of workmen were at the counter, bargaining with a tiny Asian woman in broken English. As Gunna approached, the woman looked past them in relief. Gunna wondered what had brought her to Iceland.
‘What’re y’looking for?’ the woman asked in perfect Icelandic that marked her down as a second-generation immigrant.
‘Coffee and a ham sandwich,’ Gunna decided. There was a palpable relaxation of tension among the group of men as they realized that she was there to eat. The woman put a sandwich on a plate on the counter and pointed to the coffee urns.
‘Six hundred.’
Gunna fished in her pocket for coins and finally came up with a crumpled thousand krona note.
‘Have you seen a green Mercedes taxi around?’ she asked, handing over the money.
‘What? Big Matti?’
‘That’s the guy.’
‘Not for a day or two. Want me to take a message?’ the woman replied, handing back a handful of coins.
‘No. It’s all right. Nothing urgent.’
Gunna took her sandwich and coffee outside into the sunshine and looked around before planting herself down opposite the narrow-faced man.
‘Well then, Baddi. How’s life? Keeping yourself occupied?’
‘Little Dodda, isn’t it?’
Gunna nodded and bit into her sandwich. Hearing the Dodda name, only remembered by a handful of family from Vestureyri, took her home and back thirty years with a jolt. ‘Not so little these days.’
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