Black Skies

33

He had lost Höddi’s car but dared not drive any faster in these treacherous conditions. Turning into the street he thought Höddi had taken, he drove to the end, only to discover that it was a cul-de-sac, so he turned round, looking out for the SUV, and drove into the next street where he came to a junction. With no idea where to go, he decided to try left — home lay in that direction anyway and he was ready to give up. Then he caught sight of Höddi’s SUV parked outside a takeaway.

He cruised past, noting the sizeable queue and that Höddi was halfway along it, staring up at the illuminated pictures of the dishes. Sigurdur Óli parked at a safe distance and waited. The decision to follow Höddi had been entirely his own, the result of a sudden hunch. Usually he would not have been shadowing a suspect alone like this; there would have been other officers involved and the operation would have been carefully planned. But with nothing to go on but Höddi’s objectionable attitude, he had acted single-handedly, as he could not be certain of receiving the go-ahead. Yes, the man had undeniably set Sigurdur Óli’s teeth on edge, but that did not necessarily mean that he deserved to be put under twenty-four-hour surveillance.

Meanwhile, the takeaway queue inched forward. Sigurdur Óli assumed that Höddi was probably taking himself and the SUV for a drive, picking up a burger from his favourite place on the way. He certainly looked capable of putting away any number of cheeseburgers.

Hungry now himself, Sigurdur Óli imagined all the sizzling hamburgers in the joint, and this did nothing to strengthen his resolve. He had just decided to give up and go home, stopping on the way at some other greasy burger bar, when Höddi reappeared carrying a takeaway bag and climbed into his car.

He drove out of the neighbourhood and came to a junction where he crossed the coast road, heading east, down towards the Ellidavogur inlet. There he took a right, drove past a row of workshops and small business premises, and stopped outside one of them. Stepping out of his car, he went over to a workshop and opened the door with a key. No lights came on. Sigurdur Óli could not immediately see what the place was called but remembered how Thórarinn had escaped in the direction of the Kleppur mental hospital, then south towards the Ellidavogur inlet. Could he have ended up here? Was this where he had been hiding since he attacked Lína?

Knocking at the door did not seem a very sensible option, given that he was not sure how he would shape up against two debt collectors. But nor did he want to call for backup, since he had no proof that Toggi ‘Sprint’ was hiding inside. It was perfectly possible that Höddi had some legitimate business here; given his vehicle collection, he must have plenty of repair jobs on. Sigurdur Óli opted to wait in his car at a discreet distance, keeping an eye on the door.

Half an hour later, without any lights being switched on in the workshop, the door opened and Höddi emerged, no longer carrying the takeaway bag. Looking neither left nor right, he got into his car and drove away.

Sigurdur Óli allowed a decent interval to pass before easing himself out of his car and walking over to the building. He laid his ear to the door and listened. Nothing. When he looked up, he saw a sign: Birgir’s Auto Repair Shop. Next he went round behind the building, having to walk the length of the row before he could get round the back, then had to calculate how far along the repair shop was before he could establish that there was no exit on that side.

He walked softly back to the front of the workshop, gently tried the handle and discovered that the door was locked. He aimed three blows at it, and the large, sliding door of the adjoining garage entrance boomed loudly each time. Pressing his ear close again, he listened, but there was no sound. He banged the door with even greater force, but there was no reaction, apart from what sounded like a low rumble that stopped as suddenly as it had begun.

Sigurdur Óli could see only two alternatives: either to break in somehow, or to wait for the staff to come to work the following morning. He looked at his watch: it would be a long night. He peered round for some sort of implement — even a rock would do. There were four small panes of glass in the door and he could see no sign that the building was alarmed. It probably did not contain anything worth stealing.

After hunting around he found a length of discarded piping nearby, weighed it in his hand, then used it to smash one of the panes. Then, having cleared the shards, he inserted his arm carefully, located the lock and opened the door. If questioned he would mention an anonymous tip-off and claim that the workshop had been like this when he arrived.

He closed the door behind him and tiptoed into the repair shop, groping for a light switch near the entrance and finding three in a row. A dim light came on somewhere up in the rafters at the back of the room where car tyres were piled. He remained motionless while getting his bearings. The place looked like any other garage in town and Sigurdur Óli wondered who this Birgir was and whether he was either a relative of Höddi’s or otherwise connected to Thórarinn — if indeed he was hiding here.

‘Hello!’ Sigurdur Óli called out but received no response. ‘Thórarinn!’ he shouted. ‘Are you in here?’

He walked past a small glass booth containing a reception desk, two chairs and a pile of grubby magazines on a table. The office presumably. Behind it he detected a faint smell of coffee and opened a door to a staffroom, which contained a table and seats for three people, a grimy coffee machine and any number of dirty mugs. In the bin he noticed the bag that Höddi had brought and a box containing a half-eaten burger and chips. Sigurdur Óli’s gaze lingered on the bin: could Höddi have been so desperate to eat his burger in peace that he had taken it to an empty garage on Ellidavogur, late at night?

‘Thórarinn! This is the police. We know you’re in here. We need to talk to you.’

There was no answer.

Sigurdur Óli walked back into the workshop.

‘Stop wasting my time!’ he called.

He was keen not to linger, feeling idiotic enough as it was, shouting like this in the hope that Toggi was hiding among the spare parts or heaps of tyres. If it turned out that he was not, Sigurdur Óli would feel a complete fool.

As he crossed the workshop, it occurred to him that something was missing. Over the years he had had a variety of cars, some good, others not so good, and he had often had occasion to go to repair shops and if the job was small hang around, or else hitch a lift home, or in the worst case call a taxi, though he tried to avoid that unless he had no other option. Generally he tried to get the mechanics to finish the job while he waited in the office or went for a stroll, so he reckoned he knew a thing or two about auto repair shops and in his estimation Birgir’s equipment was not exactly state-of-the-art.

He was standing in the middle of the floor when it dawned on him what was missing. The car lift.

Just at that instant he thought he heard a faint scraping sound beneath his feet.

Sigurdur Óli looked down. He was standing on a large, rectangular metal hatch, and the sound seemed to have come from underneath it. He stamped his foot.

‘Thórarinn!’ he called again.

There was no answer. But Sigurdur Óli understood now why there was no car lift in the garage: instead of raising the cars to get at their undersides, the mechanic would climb down into a pit which the vehicle was parked over. Birgir probably could not afford a hoist, but then perhaps he did not have any use for such equipment, nor for the pit, given that it was covered.

Sigurdur Óli soon discovered how to slide the metal hatch off the pit, and when he looked down there was Thórarinn sitting against the wall, staring up at him.

‘How the hell did you find me?’ he asked, unable to conceal his astonishment. He rose to his feet, still staring at Sigurdur Óli, then clambered out and dusted himself down.

‘Are you going to make trouble?’ asked Sigurdur Óli, who had rung for backup as Thórarinn was climbing out.

‘How the hell did you manage it?’

He did not put up any resistance.

‘Maybe I’ll tell you some time,’ said Sigurdur Óli. ‘Have you been here long?’

‘Only just arrived.’

‘So where have you been hiding?’

‘Jesus, I got a shock,’ Thórarinn said, ignoring the question. ‘I was eating a burger when I heard you banging on the door. All I could think of was the pit. Was it Höddi? Did you follow him?’ He had started to inch his way unobtrusively towards the door.

‘Stand still,’ ordered Sigurdur Óli. ‘There are cars on their way. You’re not going anywhere.’

‘You’re alone?’ exclaimed Thórarinn.

It was the second time that day Sigurdur Óli had been asked this question.

‘There are two men outside,’ he said. ‘They’re waiting for us.’

He hoped his lie sounded plausible enough to give Thórarinn pause, as he had no desire to be involved in another chase. They heard sirens in the distance.

‘And the street is filling with other units, as you can hear.’

‘Who grassed on Höddi?’

‘Just take it easy,’ said Sigurdur Óli, inserting himself between Thórarinn and the door. ‘We’d have found you eventually. Or you’d have given yourself up: you lot always do in the end.’