Cold Steal (17 page)

He pointed to a list, made out day-by-day, of people passing by the house. It wasn’t a long list, as Eiríkur guessed that relatively few people other than residents walked along the exclusive cul-de-sac, but Geir Einarsson had carefully listed them.

‘I’m particularly interested in a man wearing a green fleece with yellow lettering on it.’

‘Ah. Stripes.’

‘Stripes?’

‘That’s what I call him. I’ve noticed him passing now and again. I don’t think he lives around here, but I could be wrong.’

‘What makes you think that?’

Geir Einarsson tapped the side of his nose a second time. ‘Ah, intuition.’ He smiled gleefully. ‘Is that what you sleuths depend on most of the time? Flashes of inspiration and intuition?’

Eiríkur wanted to retort that results were normally obtained by endless mundane questions and cross-checking, but decided not to shatter any illusions.

‘What’s your villain done, I’d like to know? No, I know you can’t possibly tell me, so I’ll not ask. Merely a rhetorical question.’

‘He could have been a witness to an incident and we’d like to be able to rule him out, that’s all,’ Eiríkur assured him. ‘Nothing sinister.’

‘What a shame.’ The old man chuckled. ‘I was hoping for a criminal mastermind being brought to book, but we can’t have everything, I suppose. What do you want to know about Stripes?’

‘When have you seen him? What time of day? And how many times?’

‘I keep a close eye on the neighbourhood, and not just because I don’t have anything else to do. I was brought up in this street, and until a few years ago this house was all on its own. The rest of these homes are all new. I thought at first that Stripes was a workman on one of those new houses they’re building at the end of the street, but there hasn’t been any work going on there for weeks. Too cold for concreting, I suppose. But even with no work in progress, Stripes still takes a walk around the district.’

‘When did you last see him?’ Eiríkur asked, hoping that sooner or later a question would hit its target. ‘And I’m interested to know why you think he might not be local.’

‘Because people round here don’t walk; they drive. Even to the shop on the corner. They might go for a run, swaddled in latex . . .’

‘Latex?’

‘You know, those stretchy clothes that young people wear.’

‘You mean Lycra.’

‘Latex, Lycra. Whatever. That’s what I mean. They’ll run around dressed in clothes that leave nothing whatsoever to the imagination, but they don’t walk anywhere. Stripes walks. People who live in this district wouldn’t dream of doing anything as ordinary as just walking.’

There was clear disdain his voice, and Eiríkur could only agree, trying guiltily to remember when he had last walked any further than to the car.

‘It’s like America, where nobody walks. I went there once and didn’t like it much,’ Geir said.

‘“Stripes”,’ Eiríkur reminded him. ‘Why “Stripes”?’

‘Why Stripes? Because of the two yellow stripes,’ Geir answered, as if speaking to a child, putting a finger to the opposite wrist and running it up to his shoulder. ‘I just told you, he has two yellow stripes up one arm of a green jacket. You can’t miss it.’

‘And lettering as well?’

‘Ah. I could see there’s a badge of some kind on his sweater, but I’m afraid he was always too far away for me to make it out.’

‘But you can describe him?’

‘I can,’ Geir said with relish. ‘Not only can I provide a description, I write it all down, so I can give you the times and dates that he walked down the street.’

Jóhann’s half-moon glasses slid almost to the end of his nose and he smiled warmly at Gunna.

‘Good afternoon, officer. Unfortunately you find me in slightly uncomfortable circumstances.’

‘Pleased to see you’re following advice.’

‘Obviously I would prefer to be at home, but . . .’ He shrugged and closed the laptop on the desk in front of him. ‘What can we do for you? Coffee?’

‘Why not?’ Gunna said, wanting to see if he would ask Bára to fetch coffee, but instead he called the front desk and ordered it through room service. ‘I wanted to ask you about Kópavogsbakki fifty, which I believe you own?’

This time Jóhann’s stare became harder and lasted a moment longer than was comfortable as Gunna met his gaze head-on, refusing to be overawed.

He took a deep breath through his nose and let it out slowly as he tapped the table.

‘I, that is to say we, own a share in a company that owns Kópavogsbakki fifty.’

‘And three other properties, including the house that you live in at Kópavogsbakki forty-two?’

‘That is correct. I’m sure you know all this already, officer.’

He looked up as there was a knock on the door and Bára stood up, stepping into the lobby and closing the door of the suite behind her.

‘I like her. Quiet and confident,’ he said as soon as Bára had shut the door behind her. ‘A friend of yours?’

‘A former colleague,’ Gunna said. ‘Sólfell Property ehf. That’s you and who else?’

‘It’s me, Sunna María and Jón Vilberg Voss.’

‘This isn’t something that Elvar Pálsson and Vilhelm Thorleifsson have been involved with?’

He looked up as Bára escorted a young man in an illfitting waistcoat into the room, pushing a small trolley in front of him. He waited for the waiter to leave before answering.

‘They were initially, but then we went our separate ways. The land was an investment some years ago and we have been building ever since. Vilhelm and Elvar never saw their futures in Iceland and they aren’t involved in our property venture. They started out in the shipping business and became typical export raiders, if you want to use that hackneyed phrase, except that they were good at it, weren’t over-greedy and kept themselves out of the limelight. Sunna María and I both live in Iceland and as far as I know we expect to stay here, so investing in property here was logical. So we bought four houses and live in one of them ourselves. One is rented and two are plots that are under construction.’

‘And Jón Vilberg Voss? Your brother-in-law?’

‘Exactly. He’s in the diplomatic service and has been based in Paris for some years. But like us, he’ll want to retire to Iceland one day, not to some semi-tropical shambles.’ Jóhann sat back, his glasses in his hands as he fiddled with them, bending the frames in his fingers. ‘Why the interest in the houses? I assure you everything is above board and legal with the tax authorities.’

‘I don’t work for the taxman,’ Gunna assured him. ‘Is there any connection between Jón Vilberg and Vilhelm Thorleifsson?’

Jóhann shook his head. ‘Hardly. They move in very different circles.’

‘An incident took place a few nights ago at Kópavogsbakki fifty. That’s why I’m interested to find out if there might be a connection.’

Jóhann’s expression hardened and a new glint appeared in his eyes. ‘Incident? What kind of incident?’

‘An assault. It’s still under investigation. Have you been aware of any unusual traffic in the street? Anyone calling? Any signs of attempted entry at your home?’

The set of his jaw softened, although the intense gleam stayed in his eyes. ‘I haven’t been at home very much recently. Conferences in Germany and Hungary, and a trade fair in Munich have kept me away for a while. You had better ask my wife.’

‘She’s here?’

‘In the other room.’

‘You spend much time abroad?’

‘More than I’m comfortable with at my age. Coffee?’

He poured a cup for Gunna from the pot on the trolley while Bára looked on impassively. He poured one for himself and sat back, brooding; Gunna looked closely at him as he stared into space. The lines of tiredness around his eyes were deeply etched.

‘Officer, I have to admit I’m more puzzled than worried. Can you tell me what the hell is going on? An acquaintance is gunned down. You have been hinting that I need to be careful, so we move to this fiendishly expensive hotel for a few days. Am I to understand that I’m also on some kind of maniac’s hit list?’

‘If I knew, I’d tell you, and I’d be a lot happier if I knew where Elvar Pálsson is. But I have to be cautious. Is there anyone else who might be at risk? Any other business activities or partners?’

Jóhann drained his cup and placed it carefully on the saucer, rotating it so that the handle lay parallel to the table’s sides. ‘No. Sólfell Investment and the associated companies have all been, or are being, wound up. Sólfell Property will soon be the only one left apart from my dental practice, and Vison, which isn’t much more than a registration number.’

‘Were you and Sunna María aware that Vilhelm was in Iceland?’

‘No. It was a surprise that he was murdered here,’ Jóhann said with a wintry smile.

‘Not a surprise that he was murdered, just that it happened in Iceland?’

‘Let’s just say that these boys haven’t made too many friends over the years. We knew that Villi was due to come to Iceland sometime soon as part of the winding-up process of various companies that he and Elvar own here, but it was a surprise that he had arrived without letting us know first. Not that he was ever too free with information.’

‘You have any children?’

‘Sunna María and I are childless. I have two boys from a previous marriage who are now grown up and have families of their own.’

‘You had better give me names and addresses, just in case.’

‘Hjálmar lives in Akureyri. Smári lives at Furuás eighty-five. He works with me, so he’s at the practice most days.’

‘You don’t have much to do with letting your houses?’

‘Nothing at all. We leave all that to Óttar Sveinsson. He gets a respectable percentage, but we make him work for it. The construction work on the other two houses is looked after by Sunna María after we decided that she could do a better job than the project manager we used before.’

‘So you have no idea who might be there at any particular time?’

‘None at all. At one time I used to watch to have an idea of what the people who had rented the houses looked like, but now I never bother. As long as the rent comes through, I don’t pay any attention. I normally know if one of them is empty as there’s always some minor maintenance or decoration to be done, and Óttar checks before he spends my money,’ Jóhann said slowly. ‘Although it’s normally Sunna María he speaks to. I guess she’s less tight-fisted than I am.’

‘So you weren’t aware of who was at number fifty?’

‘Officer, I’ve been out of the country for the last two weeks. Sunna María said something about the place needing to be cleaned and that’s all I can tell you.’

Óttar Sveinsson didn’t look pleased to see her and jumped up from behind his desk to head her off into a quiet corner. By the time his hurried steps coincided with Gunna’s he had managed to summon a smile.

‘What can I do for you this time, officer? Looking for a house, maybe?’

‘The same one, actually,’ Gunna said and watched the smile fade. ‘I’m here to take all the paperwork related to Kópavogsbakki fifty for the last twelve months.’

‘All of it?’

‘Every tiny snippet of information down to the last detail. I’m assuming you keep records going back a few years?’

‘We keep everything. But we don’t keep it all here.’

‘Where’s the rest of it?’

‘At our storage facility.’

‘You don’t mean your garage, do you?’

Óttar Sveinsson looked hurt. ‘Of course not. If it’s not here it’ll be stored at our other office in Kópavogur. Excuse me,’ he said, and went over to whisper in the ear of a young man sitting behind a desk.

‘No, right now,’ Gunna heard him say in an urgent tone. ‘It’s important.’

‘One moment, please,’ he said, returning to the corner where Gunna had decided against sinking into the all-enveloping sofa. ‘My colleague is fetching everything.’

‘Who makes the decisions on repairs to the houses you rent out?’

‘One of us will do that, normally. We inspect properties that we manage regularly, as long as the rental period is longer than six months, otherwise we only inspect at the end when the tenants leave.’

‘So is that your job?’

‘Most of the time.’

‘And if it’s something major that needs doing?’

‘Then we consult the owners. We don’t have the authority to embark on significant costs without their consent. Minor expenses aren’t a problem and that comes out of the payment to the owner.’

‘Let’s just say,’ Gunna said. ‘Let’s imagine a tenant carries out some work. Is that acceptable?’

‘If it’s authorized, yes. Otherwise tenants aren’t allowed to carry out modifications.’

‘So when the basement of Kópavogsbakki fifty was painted throughout, was that your doing?’

Óttar Sveinsson stopped short. ‘I really don’t know,’ he said after a moment’s thought and looked across to where the office boy was not exactly hurrying to bring them a bulky file. ‘Thank you,’ he said tartly as it was handed over.

He opened the folder and started to flip through it, going through checklists and receipts.

‘No,’ he decided. ‘If the basement was painted, then it wasn’t done by us or on our instructions.’

‘Thanks.’ Gunna took the folder and opened it.

‘We will get that back, won’t we?’

‘Eventually. Are the details of the tenants here as well?’

‘At the back,’ he said, extracting a plastic sleeve and from that a sheaf of papers.

‘I suppose you photocopy identification?’

‘Naturally,’ Óttar Sveinsson said, taking the sheaf of paper and flicking through it with practised fingers before taking a slower second look. ‘I, er . . . I’m sorry, but it seems those papers are missing. This is the previous tenant, not the one who has just moved out.’

‘That’s convenient.’

Óttar Sveinsson shuffled his feet and mumbled in embarrassment. ‘I can’t understand it. We’re so careful. It must have been misplaced in the wrong folder.’

‘So who were the tenants?’

‘They were two gentlemen, here on business, I understand, for a few months.’

‘Names?’

‘I really don’t recall.’

‘Local?’

‘No, they were Danish, I think. Or German.’

‘Surely they had references?’

‘Normally, yes, we would expect references. But Sunna María told me that she knew them and she was happy to skip the formalities.’