Summerchill by Quentin Bates Page B

advertise on the TV all the time. They took most of that business, but Alli and others are still about and they will make sure you get a debt collected in return for a percentage.’
    ‘A hefty percentage, I’d guess.’
    ‘Fifty per cent, I’m told. Anyway, I can pin Axel Rútur and Stefán to Alli’s enforcement activities.’
    ‘Perfect. Do you know if these two were doing some enforcement on Thursday?’
    ‘I was just off to see if I could corner Alli when you called.’
    Gunna took the Polo along Bergthórugata and Frakkastígur, and sat impatiently at the crossing on Laugavegur as tourists in anoraks and hats, in spite of the summer sunshine, ambled past, until she was able to gun the car down the hill and onto Sæbraut, catching every green light for a change. The squad car was already outside the block of flats on Laugalækur, a normally quiet neighbourhood of newish blocks of flats and detached houses among young trees and sprouting hedges. Upstairs they found one officer taking notes and the second one having a discreet look around.
    A tearful woman sat at the kitchen table. She was wearing a sleeveless T-shirt that showed raw red marks on her upper arms that would soon become livid bruises. Gunna raised an eyebrow as the officer taking notes looked up.
    ‘Answers the description we were given,’ he said. ‘This lady is Brynja Salvör Jónsdóttir, and she lives here with her two sons, who are with their father this weekend. She says that the suspect knocked on the door and she answered it without bothering to look through the spyhole; then once he was inside the apartment, he assaulted her.’
    ‘What happened, Brynja?’ Gunna asked.
    ‘He hit me.’
    Brynja moved the drying cloth she was holding over her mouth and nose, and Gunna could see that blood and snot were still dribbling from a nose that looked as if it had been squashed flat against her face.
    ‘Hell, what happened? This guy must have had a reason to come here? You owe someone money?’
    ‘No, of course not,’ Brynja spluttered through the mess her face had become. ‘He said he was looking for my boyfriend.’
    ‘Name?’
    ‘Logi Gunnarsson,’ she said. ‘Did I say boyfriend? Well, I suppose he was,’ she added bitterly.
    ‘Why do you say that?’
    ‘He walked out this morning and I haven’t seen him since.’
    ‘Helgi?’ Gunna called and held out her hand. ‘You have those photos?’
    She placed Stefán’s picture in front of Brynja where she could see it, but kept it clear of the pool of blood on the kitchen table.
    ‘That’s him. Totally sure.’
    ‘Good. That’s straightforward enough. And this character?’
    Brynja shook her head at Axel Rútur’s picture. ‘No, never seen this one.’
    ‘Helgi, could you get the lady another cloth, please, and dampen it first?’ Gunna suggested. Helgi opened cupboards until he found what he was looking for. ‘You said he was looking for your boyfriend, Logi Gunnarsson. Did he say what for, or do you suspect why he may have fallen out with this character?’
    Helgi took the blood-soaked cloth from Brynja and handed her a clean one.
    ‘No, I don’t know why, he just said he was going to kill him when he finds him.’
    ‘You said Logi had walked out earlier today? You had an argument?’
    ‘No,’ Brynja wailed. ‘I wish we had. I know why he left; he just took his stuff and went while I was taking a shower.’
    ‘Next step is to find your guy before this troll does. Where does he live? You have a phone number?’
    Brynja had to go to her phone to get Logi’s number from it and Helgi copied it down. ‘He’s driving, I suppose? What vehicle?’
    ‘A pickup. I don’t know what make.’
    ‘We’re done here,’ Gunna said to the two uniformed officers. ‘I’ll leave you gentlemen to look after this lady and take her statement, and then you can take her to A&E to get that nose looked at.’
    The shadows were lengthening but darkness was still some way off as Logi drove