Free Sun on Fire by Viktor Arnar Ingólfsson Page A

taxi.”
    “So nobody knew that he was here in Berlin?”
    “I don’t think so. Anton was in the habit of keeping his travel plans secret. Sometimes even I didn’t know where we were going until we booked the flight.”
    “What did Anton plan to do on Monday?”
    “Fly to the next meeting. Paris or London, I think. Either he hadn’t decided or he didn’t tell me.”
    “Would Anton have gone with the ambassador to a restaurant alone?”
    “No, he would have called me and I would have escorted them. I keep my cell phone switched on even when I’m not on call. Some of the better restaurants here in the city are used to their guests being escorted by their bodyguards. They have places that are easy to monitor. The headwaiters are paid well for taking care of that.”
    “Do you pack a weapon on the job?”
    “That’s a professional secret, but I do have certain licenses.”
    “Does Anton have family in Iceland?”
    “No. His parents are dead, he has no siblings, and he had nothing good to say about his other relatives. He has a will made out.”
    “Will you inherit anything?”
    Búi grinned. “No. Anton made it perfectly clear to me that I wouldn’t get as much as a cent if he got killed. He said that I might become less focused on the job if I was expecting an inheritance.”
    “Was he right?”
    “Who knows?”
    “Do you know who benefits from Anton’s will?”
    Búi shrugged. “He mentioned once or twice that his assets were to go to Indonesian orphans.”
    “That was kind of him,” Birkir said warily.
    Búi gave a dull smile and said, “You could say that Anton was fond of children.”
    “We know Anton was a pedophile. Where did he buy access to juveniles?”
    Birkir asked this as though it was a natural progression from what had been said before, and for a moment Búi seemed to be about to answer, but then he suddenly froze.
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “You can answer this. The guy is dead. You have no more confidentiality obligations toward him.”
    Búi remained silent.
    “Maybe you’re one, too?” Birkir asked. “Do we need to look into that?”
    “I only buy adult women who know what they’re doing. That’s all I’m interested in. Prostitution is a legal profession here in Berlin.”
    “That may well be true. But do you think it’s possible that Anton’s compulsion has anything to do with how he died?”
    Búi shook his head. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. This conversation is over.” He got up and went through to the other room, closing and locking the door.
    17:15
    Back in the Icelandic embassy, the focus was on the fourth floor—specifically the hallway, the washroom, and the ambassador’s office—and on the stairs down to the third floor, along with the elevator cab. The German CSI specialists went straight to work, dusting fingerprint powder on all surfaces that might have been touched—dark powder on light surfaces, light powder on dark surfaces. They photographed all the prints they found, and then lifted them with clear tape and stuck them to index cards. They checked all surfaces with a UV lamp to highlight any possible bloodstains. They methodically vacuumed all the floors and furniture to recover any loose material, using specialized filters they systematically filed away into labeled boxes.
    The ambassador had confirmed that all the guests had visited the top floor at some point during the evening. Their fingerprints wouldn’t prove or disprove anything specific, but it might be possible to use their location and appearance to piece together a chain of events. Most prints would, however, probably belong to embassy staff or other visitors, making it difficult to create an overall picture. But they wouldn’t get a second chance, so it was vital to be painstaking in this forensic investigation. They would figure out later whether the evidence they’d collected was of any use.
    Anna’s job was relatively cushy. She