Black Skies

22

Lína’s colleagues at the accountancy firm where she had worked as a secretary expressed themselves shocked and horrified by her fate when Sigurdur Óli went to visit them at lunchtime on Saturday. He had intended to leave it until Monday but was told that most of the staff would be working through the weekend because the company could hardly cope with all the business flooding through its doors. No one he spoke to could begin to imagine why Lína had been attacked or who could have wished her harm. He had a chat with one of her fellow secretaries and some of the accountants she worked for, as well as sitting down in a small meeting room with the deputy director, Ísleifur, with whom Lína had worked most closely. He was in his early fifties, overweight and prosperous-looking in an expensive bespoke suit. The company’s fortunes had been transformed by the economic boom and he put two mobile phones on the table in front of him, switched to silent mode, which took it in turn to vibrate during their conversation. Ísleifur glanced at the screens and dismissed the calls, answering only one, which presumably, to judge from the exchange that ensued, was from his wife. He told her gently that he was in a meeting and would call her back later; a line she seemed to have heard before.

He described Lína as an outstanding employee, a verdict that everyone would endorse. It was true: no one Sigurdur Óli spoke to had a bad word to say about her.

‘I believe she was interested in becoming an accountant herself,’ Ísleifur said. ‘She had a good grasp of what the job entails, which is more than can be said of most,’ he added smugly.

‘Isn’t it just a question of adding and subtracting?’ Sigurdur Óli said.

Ísleifur laughed drily. ‘That’s what many people assume, but I assure you there’s much more to it.’

‘Did Lína do a lot of work for you?’

‘I suppose you could say that. And she was a hard worker too. We often have to work late and at weekends, as you can see, but she never failed to pull her weight.’

‘What sort of business do you do here?’ asked Sigurdur Óli. ‘What kind of clients do you deal with?’

‘The whole spectrum,’ Ísleifur answered, picking up a vibrating phone, examining the screen and killing the call. ‘Individuals and corporate, big business. We do the whole caboodle, from the simplest bookkeeping to the most complicated contracts.’

‘Did Lína have a relationship with any of your clients?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Can you name any clients that Lína dealt with directly?’

‘Well, I don’t know …’

One of the phones began to vibrate.

‘… do you mean involved with personally or …?’

He checked the number and cut the call again.

‘Any sort of involvement — was she personally involved with any of the firm’s clients?’

‘Not that I’m aware of,’ answered Ísleifur. ‘Naturally you form more of a relationship with some clients than others, but as a rule it’s the accountants who get to know the clients rather than the secretaries.’

‘Do you know her husband, Ebeneser?’

‘Yes, but not well. He’s a guide or something, isn’t he? I know he’s organised corporate entertainment events for us in the highlands — barbecues on the Vatnajökull glacier, that sort of thing.’

‘How was his relationship with Lína? Good? Bad? Do you know anything about that?’

Both phones started vibrating and Ísleifur picked one up, apologising.

‘I should probably take this,’ he said. ‘The person Lína had most to do with was Kolfinna. She’s a secretary as well. Perhaps you should talk to her.’

Kolfinna was as frantically busy as her boss. She sat at her computer, fielding phone calls and entering data into an Excel file. Sigurdur Óli asked if she had a few minutes to spare as he was investigating Sigurlína’s death.

‘God, yes,’ Kolfinna said, ‘I heard the police were here. Just a sec. Do you smoke?’

Sigurdur Óli shook his head.

‘We’ll take a cigarette break anyway,’ she said, closing the file. Pulling open a drawer, she took out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter, then asked him to follow her. Then they were outside the back of the building, standing beside a tub half full of cigarette butts floating in dirty water. Kolfinna lit up and drew the smoke deep into her lungs.

‘God, it’s so terrible,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Those burglars must be complete psychos to attack someone like that.’

‘You think it was a burglar?’ said Sigurdur Óli, trying to find a place to stand where the smoke did not blow in his face.

‘Sure, wasn’t it? That’s what I heard. Wasn’t it something like that?’

‘It’s under investigation,’ Sigurdur Óli answered curtly. He could not bear smokers and was delighted that there were plans to ban smoking in public spaces, even restaurants and pubs. They were welcome to kill themselves in private for all he cared.

‘How was her relationship with Ebeneser?’ he asked, coughing politely, but Kolfinna failed to take the hint.

‘Her relationship? Fine, I think. It was a bit of a struggle though. They had massive debts — some sort of foreign currency loan, as well as loans on their car and the holiday cottage they’re building. They didn’t earn a huge amount but they wanted a share of the pie, you know? Didn’t want to deny themselves anything, so they just took out more loans. Isn’t that what everyone does nowadays?’

‘You mentioned a holiday cottage?’

‘Yes, in the south-west, at Grímsnes.’

‘I gather Ebeneser organised tours for your company,’ Sigurdur Óli said. ‘Corporate entertainments.’

‘Yes, he did two trips, I think. I didn’t go along but Lína did, of course. It’s supposed to be amazing — they’re two-to three-day tours, as far as I can remember. You know, jeep tours of the glacier. All these guys own off-roaders: the smaller their dicks, the bigger their cars.’ She flicked her cigarette into the mess of stubs. ‘Or at least that’s what Lína used to say.’

‘Was she speaking from personal experience?’ asked Sigurdur Óli.

Kolfinna fished another cigarette from the packet, determined to make the most of her break.

‘Well, naturally, she had Ebbi.’

She emitted an abrupt, husky laugh and Sigurdur Óli smiled.

‘Do you mean, had she been with any of those guys?’ Kolfinna asked, returning to his question. ‘She may well have done. Lína was the type, you know? She saw nothing wrong in sleeping around. Do the police know something? Was she involved with any of them?’

Her interest was genuine and her disappointment obvious when Sigurdur Óli claimed to have no information on that score. He asked if she could provide him with the names of clients who had participated in the glacier tours run by Ebeneser, and she said nothing could be easier, she had the lists on her computer. Although she was not aware that the couple had been in the sort of difficulties that might result in a visit from a debt collector, she reiterated that they owed a lot of money and pointed out that Lína had never been one to talk much about herself. They had got on well and worked together for several years but the truth was that Kolfinna knew very little about Lína’s life.

‘She was brilliant to work with,’ she said, ‘but she always kept you at a certain distance, you know? That’s just how she was. It never bothered me though.’

‘Did she ever give any indication of being frightened, or in danger, or mixed up in something she couldn’t handle?’ asked Sigurdur Óli.

‘No,’ replied Kolfinna. ‘Everything was fine with Lína, as far as I know.’

She could only locate the list for one of the jeep trips on her computer, but printed it out, saying she would email him the other as soon as she found it. Sigurdur Óli glanced down the list but did not recognise any of the names.

Later that afternoon Elínborg rang to ask if he could help her out in the evening. Despite feeling that he had better things to do on a Saturday night, he let himself be persuaded. Elínborg was engaged in a tough case, working almost day and night on the Thingholt murder. She picked him up and they drove to meet a man called Valur, a uniquely irritating character who immediately succeeded in annoying Sigurdur Óli further.

‘Have you heard anything from Erlendur?’ asked Sigurdur Óli once the visit was over and they were getting back into the car. He remembered the phone call from Eva Lind who had been asking after her father.

‘Nothing at all,’ Elínborg answered wearily. ‘Didn’t he say he was heading east for a few days?’

‘How long ago was that?’

‘A week, probably.’

‘How long a holiday was he planning to take?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘What was he doing out east anyway?’

‘Visiting where he grew up.’

‘Any word from that woman he’s seeing?’

‘Valgerdur? No. Perhaps I should ring her, find out if he’s been in touch with her.’