Black Skies

37

Sigurdur Óli did not open the envelope. Unsure what to do with it when he got back to Hverfisgata, he put it away in a drawer. For all he knew, Ebeneser might have been lying when he claimed not to have any copies. Anyway, in view of the way it had developed Sigurdur Óli no longer felt that the pictures were of any relevance to the case. Ebbi had done his best to play down the matter, to give the impression that the blackmail was just a game of bluff which Lína had indulged in on the off chance that it might pay. If not, they would have abandoned the attempt, or so Ebbi would have him believe.

He was preoccupied with these thoughts when the phone on his desk began to ring.

‘Yup?’ he answered.

‘I didn’t …’

‘Hello?’

There was a rustling, followed by a bump at the other end of the line.

‘What?’ said Sigurdur Óli. ‘Who is this?’

There was no answer. ‘Andrés?’ Sigurdur Óli had thought he recognised the voice.

‘I said … didn’t …’ The voice was slurred and thick; the words almost incomprehensible. ‘I didn’t tell you …’

He did not finish the sentence. Sigurdur Óli could hear him breathing.

‘Andrés? Is that you? Tell me what?’

‘… know … know all about … about the old bastard …’

‘What do you mean? What are you trying to say?’

‘Was it you? That I talked to in … in the graveyard?’

‘Yes. Why did you run away? In fact, where are you? Can I come and get you?’

‘Where am I? Who cares? Who gives a toss? No one. No one gave a toss. And now … got him … got the bastard …’

‘Who?’ asked Sigurdur Óli. ‘Got who?’

Sigurdur Óli waited. There was just static for a long time, then Andrés carried on speaking abruptly, as if he had pulled himself together.

‘… and … got him! I was going to tell you when we met. I was going to tell you that I’ve got him. And he won’t get away. You needn’t worry about him getting away. I made … made a mask … and he didn’t like that at all … wasn’t pleased to see me at all. He wasn’t pleased to see me again after all these years, I can tell you. He wasn’t pleased to see little Andy. Oh no. No, he wasn’t.’

‘Where are you, Andrés?’ asked Sigurdur Óli firmly, taking note of the number that flashed up on-screen as he did so and typing it into the online telephone directory. Andrés’s name and address appeared. ‘I can help you,’ said Sigurdur Óli. ‘Let me help you, Andrés. Are you at home?’

‘But I could take him,’ Andrés continued, oblivious. ‘I … I thought it might be difficult but he’s just an old man. A feeble old bastard …’

‘Are you talking about Rögnvaldur? Is it Rögnvaldur you’ve got? Andrés!’

The line went dead. Sigurdur Óli leapt from his chair, grabbing his mobile as he went and dialling directory enquiries to get the number of Andrés’s neighbour. He knew her address but could not immediately recall her name. He racked his brains.

Margrét Eymunds, that was it.

They put him straight through and Margrét answered at the third ring. By now, Sigurdur Óli was in his car and on the move. He introduced himself and when he was sure she remembered who he was and that he had come round before in search of Andrés, he asked her to go to her neighbour’s flat and check if he was at home.

‘Do you mean Andrés?’ the woman asked.

‘Yes. If you see him, could you try to keep him there until I arrive, please? He just rang me and I think he needs help. Are you outside his door yet?’

‘What, you want me to spy on him?’

‘Are you on a cordless phone?’

‘Cordless? Yes.’

‘I’m trying to help him. I’m afraid he might do something stupid. Could you hand him the phone? Please?’

‘Just a minute.’

He heard a door opening, then the sound of knocking and Margrét’s voice calling Andrés’s name. Sigurdur Óli braked and swore. There had been an accident ahead that had caused a tailback.

‘What have you been doing to yourself, Andrés dear?’ he heard her ask in a shocked tone.

Sigurdur Óli leaned on the horn and tried to change lanes. He could not hear Andrés at all but could vaguely make out Margrét saying something about a policeman wanting to speak to him, then ‘Where are you going?’, followed by an oddly maternal phrase like, ‘You can’t go out looking like that, dear.’ He tried to attract her attention but she obviously did not have the phone held to her ear.

He passed the scene of the accident and was dodging between other cars at twice the speed limit when Margrét came back on the line.

‘Hello?’ she said, sounding uncertain.

‘Yes, I’m still here,’ answered Sigurdur Óli.

‘The poor man,’ said Margrét. ‘He looked absolutely dreadful.’

‘Has he gone?’

‘Yes, I couldn’t stop him. He wouldn’t have anything to do with me, just went down the stairs, almost at a run. He seemed very drunk.’

‘Which way did he go when he left the building?’

‘I didn’t see. I didn’t see where he went.’

Sigurdur Óli pulled up at the block of flats and scanned the surroundings for Andrés but could see no trace of him. He started combing the nearby roads but it was evident that he had lost his man, so he parked outside the flats again and rang Margrét’s bell. She buzzed him in and was waiting for him on the landing, looking extremely worried.

‘Didn’t you find him?’ she asked as soon as she saw Sigurdur Óli.

‘He’s vanished. Did he say much to you?’

‘Not a word. The poor man. He clearly hasn’t washed in ages and stinks to high heaven. And he looks like a tramp. I’ve never seen him in such a state before. Never.’

‘Have you any idea where he might be going?’

‘No. I asked him but he wouldn’t answer, just rushed downstairs and disappeared.’

‘Was he carrying anything when he left the flat?’

‘No, nothing.’

‘Have you ever heard him talk about a man by the name of Rögnvaldur?’

‘Rögnvaldur? No, I don’t think so. Is that a friend of his?’

‘No,’ said Sigurdur Óli. ‘Hardly.’

Margrét let him into Andrés’s flat as she had done before. Sigurdur Óli took a quick glance round while Margrét stood in the doorway. Nothing seemed to have changed. From what he could tell, Andrés had gone there for the sole purpose of calling Sigurdur Óli to inform him that he had got Rögnvaldur, whatever that meant.

Sigurdur Óli’s phone rang. It was a colleague from the drug squad.

‘I just heard that you’re holding Hördur Vagnsson.’

‘Höddi? Yeah. What about him?’

‘We’ve been keeping tabs on him for a while but no joy yet. But we’ve been recording his phone calls and it occurred to me that you might like to take a look.’

‘Have you got a transcript?’

‘Yup, I put it on your desk.’

‘Have you got anything on him?’

‘We will eventually. Unless you’ve done it for us. There’s one thing you should know about Höddi — the poor bastard’s a complete moron.’

He heard chuckling at the other end of the line.

‘You haven’t by any chance tapped his friend Thórarinn’s phone or been monitoring him at all?’

‘Toggi?’

‘Yes.’

‘No, we only know him by name. If he’s dealing, he must be a very cagey operator, to say the least, especially if he’s been doing it for a while. All I can say is that he must be a lot brighter than Höddi.’

It was the first time Sigurdur Óli had entered the headquarters of the bank and he was instantly impressed with the opulence of it all. He might have stepped from the centre of Reykjavík into a whole other world. The design was all glass and steel and dark wood, with pure, classical lines amid the tropical foliage. No luxury had been spared. Eventually he found what appeared to be a reception desk, where an elderly man was attempting to pay a bill by bank giro.

‘Yes, but I’m afraid that’s just the way it is — you can’t pay that here,’ said the woman behind the desk, which formed a small island in the midst of all the grandeur.

‘But this is a bank, isn’t it?’ asked the old man.

‘Yes, we are, but you’ll have to go to one of our branches if you want to pay that.’

‘But I only wanted to settle a bill,’ the man persisted.

‘What can I do for you?’ asked the woman, turning to Sigurdur Óli, too impatient to waste any more time on him.

‘Sverrir in Corporate Finance. Is he in?’

The woman typed in the name. ‘Unfortunately he’s just gone out and won’t be back for a couple of hours.’

‘What about Knútur then?’ asked Sigurdur Óli. ‘Knútur Jónsson?’

‘Is he expecting you?’ asked the receptionist in the sing-song tone of one who has asked the question a thousand times.

‘I very much doubt it.’

‘Where’s the nearest branch then?’ asked the old man, who had still not given up trying to pay his bill.

‘Laugavegur,’ the receptionist said, without bothering to look up.

‘Knútur Jónsson’s in a meeting. Would you mind waiting? And who shall I say is asking for him? Are you looking for advice on currency accounts?’

Deciding to answer only the second question, Sigurdur Óli agreed that he was as he watched the old man depart through the massive glass doors, still clutching his bill.

‘Second floor,’ said the receptionist, ‘the lifts are over there.’

Sigurdur Óli had been waiting for around a quarter of an hour when a man emerged from a meeting room, accompanied by a young couple. He had an oddly childlike face, blond hair, and a stocky body encased in a designer suit. Having taken his leave of the couple with a smile and a promise to send them more detailed information about foreign currency accounts, he turned to Sigurdur Óli.

‘Are you waiting for me?’ he asked, still smiling.

‘If you’re Knútur,’ said Sigurdur Óli.

‘I am. Are you interested in a currency account?’

‘Not exactly. I’m from the police and I’d like to know more about the circumstances in which your colleague, Thorfinnur, lost his life. It won’t take long.’

‘Why? Have there been any new developments?’

‘Perhaps we shouldn’t be discussing this in the middle of the corridor.’

Knútur stared at Sigurdur Óli, then glanced down at his watch. Sigurdur Óli stood there in silence until Knútur eventually invited him to come and take a seat in his office. He was very busy but could fit him in quickly, he explained, though he did not quite understand what he wanted.