Free Nightblind by Ragnar Jónasson

think. ‘I don’t recall precisely what was said, as I have a lot on my plate. It’s a busy job.’
    A roundabout? Ari Thór wondered if the man couldn’t have come up with a more convincing lie.
    ‘What roundabout?’ Tómas asked. ‘There’s a roundabout in Siglufjördur now? That’s some impressive progress in the short time since I moved south.’
    Ari Thór kept himself deliberately to one side. He preferred to maintain a decent relationship with the mayor, and this conversation looked like it was going to end badly.
    ‘Well, not exactly. It’s more about building roundabouts, to improve road safety. You understand?’
    Tómas’s expression demonstrated that he saw no point in building a roundabout in such a small town.
    ‘It reduces speeding,’ the mayor added haughtily, back in election mode, as he did his utmost to convince his audience.
    ‘Speeding was never a problem when I was inspector here,’ Tómas muttered, a little too loudly.
    ‘No, maybe not. But now the town is opening up, with more through traffic, maybe a higher crime rate…’
    ‘Why was this so important?’ Tómas asked, his tone sharper than before.
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘Discussing roundabouts. It was after ten at night when Herjólfur called you.’
    This time Gunnar hesitated.
    ‘I couldn’t say why the man decided to call me so late. I recall that I found it intrusive at the time. As you can see, I’m not much of a one for staying up late.’ He smiled and looked down at the dressing gown. ‘I didn’t say anything to him about it, of course. I was just my usual courteous self. We had built up a good working relationship.’
    ‘Did you discuss any other matters?’
    ‘I honestly don’t remember.’
    ‘Was that the last time you and he spoke?’
    ‘Yes, yes, it was. But I couldn’t have known at the time what was about to happen, so it wasn’t an especially memorable conversation. And I hope it doesn’t turn out to have been our last conversation.’
    A pretty weak hope, Ari Thór thought to himself, recalling the harrowing scene upon which he had arrived only that morning. It seemed days ago now, the horror of it still thrumming away at the corners of his mind, muted only by his determined effort to keep it there.
    ‘Did he say anything about the house?’ Tómas asked.
    ‘The house?’
    ‘The house where the shooting took place.’
    Tómas’s voice was measured. Gunnar appeared increasingly agitated.
    ‘Well, why would he have done that?’ Gunnar asked. Tómas’s silence was deafening. ‘Of course he didn’t mention that house,’ Gunnar snapped at last.
    Tómas rose quickly to his feet and Ari Thór followed his lead.
    ‘Thank you for the information and apologies for the intrusion.’
    ‘What? Yes, of course. A shame I can’t be of more help.’
    ‘Maybe later.’
    ‘Well, precisely. Yes.’
    ‘Don’t hesitate to get in touch, Gunnar, if there’s anything that occurs to you.’
    They left the mayor in his dressing gown, standing in his living room.
    ‘Now I’m taking you home,’ Tómas said when they were in the car.
    ‘That would be kind,’ Ari Thór said, unable to keep the fatigue out of his voice.
    ‘What did you make of your mayor’s performance?’ Tómas asked, glancing over at his dishevelled colleague.
    Ari Thór paused. ‘I’ve never seen him lie so obviously,’ he said quietly. ‘There’s something he’s not telling us, and I have a feeling it has more than a little to do with Herjólfur’s shooting.’

10
     
     
    Gunnar sat still for a while after the police officers had gone. He had expected questions about that phone call, but not right away and not with such vigour.
    He had kept himself dry for twelve years but there were still occasions when he felt that a drop would help; just enough to settle his nerves. This wasn’t the first time he had been tempted, nor was it the worst situation he’d faced over those twelve years, and he knew he would get over