Black Skies by Arnaldur Indridason

start talking about bringing in a lawyer – your situation is nowhere near serious enough and it’ll just cause surprise and suspicion. Be yourself and try to stay calm.’
    ‘Are you … Do they suspect us of having done this?’ Patrekur asked miserably.
    ‘Hermann’s in a much worse position than you,’ Sigurdur Óli pointed out. ‘I don’t know what they’ll do about you but I told Finnur about us, about the photos and the blackmail and how you know Hermann and how it was you who brought us together.’
    Patrekur had slumped in his chair in horrified amazement. He shot a glance at the photo of Súsanna and the children.
    ‘So this is what I get for coming to you for advice,’ he said.
    ‘It would all have come out eventually.’
    ‘Come out? What do you mean? Súsanna and I haven’t done anything!’
    ‘That’s not what Finnur thinks,’ Sigurdur Óli said. ‘He says that you’ve been using me, that you’re mixed up in this sordid little mess yourself and that I was supposed to intimidate the blackmailers into handing over the photos.’
    ‘I don’t believe this,’ Patrekur gasped.
    Sigurdur Óli watched his friend squirm in his chair.
    ‘Nor do I,’ he conceded. ‘Finnur’s OK, but if you ask me the whole thing’s ridiculous. He’s choosing to ignore the fact that you would hardly have sent me and the debt collector to see Lína at the same time. Look, is there anything you can tell me that we don’t know yet? Anything that could help us find whoever did this? Do you know anyone at all that Lína and Ebbi had dealings with?’
    He saw his friend’s relief when he said he did not believe Finnur’s version of events.
    ‘I’m completely in the dark,’ Patrekur assured him. ‘I’ve told you what I know and that’s next to nothing. Really, nothing. These people are complete strangers to us.’
    ‘Good,’ said Sigurdur Óli. ‘Say that when you meet Finnur and everything should be all right. But, for God’s sake, don’t mention that I came here to warn you.’
    Patrekur looked imploringly at Sigurdur Óli.
    ‘Can’t you do something?’ he said. ‘I’ve never been hauled in by the police before.’
    ‘It’s out of my hands, I’m afraid.’
    ‘And the media, will they get wind of this?’
    Sigurdur Óli had no words of comfort.
    ‘That’s a given,’ he said.
    ‘Why the hell did you have to drag me into this?’
    ‘It was Hermann who did that for you,’ Sigurdur Óli pointed out drily, ‘not me.’
    Sigurdur Óli arrived back at the station on Hverfisgata to find his father waiting for him. He was taken aback.
    ‘Is everything all right?’ was his first reaction.
    ‘Yes, fine, Siggi,’ his father replied. ‘I wondered how you were. I’m working nearby and decided to drop in. I’ve never visited you at work.’
    Sigurdur Óli showed him into his office, astonished and somewhat irritated by this intrusion. His father let out a quiet sigh as he sat down, as if he was tired. He was short but sturdily built, his strong hands worn from years of toiling with pipes and wrenches, and he limped a little from bad joints after spending so much of his working life on his knees. Where it was visible under his baseball cap, his hair was streaked with grey, though the thick brows over his kindly eyes still retained their reddish tint. The hairs of his brows stood up in tufts as he had not been to a barber for a while and he had several days’ stubble on his chin as usual. Sigurdur Óli knew that he only shaved once a week, on Saturdays, and never touched his eyebrows if he could help it.
    ‘Seen your mother at all?’ his father asked, rubbing his painful knee.
    ‘I was round at hers yesterday evening,’ Sigurdur Óli answered. He was sure this was no courtesy call. His father had never been one to waste time on inessentials. ‘Shall I get you a coffee?’ he asked.
    ‘No, thank you, don’t go to any trouble,’ his father said quickly. ‘Was she on good form?’
    ‘Yes,