My imagination has placed it on the south-west coast of Iceland, a dozen or so kilometres east of the fishing port of GrindavÃk, which HvalvÃk resembles up to a point. HvalvÃk is real enough in that it is a combination of the features of many of the quiet villages dotted around the coast of Iceland, where most people make their living from the land or the sea in one way or another. The place is fictional to avoid giving offence to a real police officer, mayor, taxi driver or petrol pump attendant by choosing a real location. Other locations are genuine, although a few liberties have been taken with place names.

With thanks to everyone who provided help and encouragement â you know who you are. Particular thanks are due to Bylgja for her patience in answering even the most obvious questions.

Tuesday, 26 August

Water gurgled between the piles of the dock and the car's tyres juddered over the heavy timbers. Somewhere a generator puttered on board one of the longliners tied up at the quay.

The driver turned off the engine and killed the lights before stepping out of the car and taking a deep breath of fragrant summer air, still and laden with the tang of seaweed. He looked about him carefully and walked along the quay, watching the boats for any sign of activity.

Satisfied, he opened the passenger door. He lifted the passenger's legs out and then stooped to drape an arm over his shoulders. Grunting with exertion, he hauled the passenger to his feet.

âWaas goin' on?' the passenger slurred as the driver steadied himself, planting his feet wide. He half supported, half dragged the passenger the few metres towards the gangplank of the nearest boat.

âCome on. Almost there.'

The passenger staggered against the driver. âW-w-where's this?'

âNearly there,' the driver muttered to himself as much as to his passenger.

He braced one booted foot on the heavy timber parapet running the length of the quay, and quickly straightened his back as he tipped the passenger headlong into the blackness below. The splash competed for a second with the muttering generator on board a nearby boat and the driver stood still, listening intently. Hearing nothing from below, he nodded to himself and padded back to the car.

A moment later the engine whispered into life and the car vanished into the night.

The phone buzzed angrily. Gunna fumbled for the handset in the dark and barked into it.

âGunnhildur.'

âGood morning. Sorry to wake you up. I did wake you up, didn't I?' asked a familiar voice as she cast about for the face that went with it.

âYou did,' she yawned. âWho is this?'

âAlbert JÃ³nasson.'

Gunna stretched a hand to the curtain and twitched it aside to let in a glare of early morning sunlight.

âAnd what can I do for you at this ungodly hour?' she asked, knowing that Albert JÃ³nasson was not a man to trouble a police officer without good reason, especially one who had arrested him only a few weeks before.

âThought you'd be the best person to talk to. There's a bloke down by the quay.'

âYou woke me up to tell me there's a stranger by the dock?' Gunna growled.

âYeah. A stranger who's dead.'

She snapped awake and swung her feet on to the cold floor. âWhere?'

âOn the beach by the pontoons. Saw something in the waves and went to have a look.'

âRight. Stay where you are. I'll be right there.'

Gunna drove past the half-dozen longline boats tied up at the quay and slowed down as the car rumbled on to the black gravel that made up the track leading to the small boat dock. She could make out a solitary figure standing next to the only boat there, a bearded bear of a man in orange oilskin trousers pacing the pontoon dock next to a spotless fishing boat that puttered with its engine idling.

She parked at the top of the dock among the fishermen's pickup trucks and Albert JÃ³nasson strode to meet her, pointing at a bundle lying among the waves lapping on the black sand of the beach a few metres away.

âDown there,' he said grimly, following behind as Gunna trod gingerly, wary of disturbing anything.

âHave you been down here, Albert?' she called over her shoulder.

âNo fear. Leave well alone, I thought.'

âYou haven't had a look? How did you know it was a body?'

âI got here a bit late. All the others were away before daybreak. I was just starting up and saw something floating, so I had a look with the binoculars and saw what it was. So I thought I'd better give you a call.'

Gunna ripped a pair of surgical gloves from the pouch on her tool belt and snapped them on before she squatted by the bundle and gently smoothed matted red hair back from a face that looked peaceful but lost. She pressed the button on her Tetra communicator and spoke into the tiny microphone on her collar.

âNine eight four one, nine five five zero. Are you there, Haddi?'

She retreated and pulled her phone from her pocket.

âAlbert, are you going to sea today?' she asked as the dialling tone buzzed.

âI was going to.'

âAll right. Ah, Haddi, that took a while,' she said, switching her attention to the phone. âLook, shelve everything, we have an unidentified body floating in the small boat dock. You'd better get the cavalry out.'

Albert watched Gunna nodding as she paced back and forth, admiring her solid frame inside the uniform that didn't do it justice.

âNo,' she continued. âAmbulance and the technical division, discreetly if that's at all possible. Get BjÃ¶ssi over from CID in KeflavÃk if he's not too busy with the Baltic mafia. OK?'

She ended the call and looked over to where Albert was waiting patiently for her.

âAm I all right to go to sea today, then?'

âWhen will you be back?'

âThree. Four, maybe.'

âGo on then. But I'll need you to make a statement when you've finished landing your fish.'

âNo problem,' Albert said gratefully, already making his way along the pontoon and throwing off the boat's mooring ropes in the process. âSee you later, Gunna,' he called out as the boat surged from the quay.

And I'll stay here and wait for the professionals to turn up, Gunna thought, opening the squad car's boot to get out a roll of tape to cordon off the area. She wondered if the tape had ever been used before in HvalvÃk, a village where a speeding ticket or an uncooperative drunk were the most serious crimes she or Haddi normally had to deal with.

26-08-2008, 0944

Skandalblogger writes:

You can't keep a good blog down!

So, we're back and once again the Icelandic scandal blog has a brand-new home! We've been tarred and feathered and run out of town on a rail one more time, so this time we're back stronger than ever in a delightful part of the world where they respect the power of Mr Visa to overrule the pathetic attempts of those-who-run-things to silence free speech. Hurrah for the Tiger economies! Free speech is there for those willing to pay for it!

Making friends and influencing people!

But anyway, folks, and we mean that most sincerely, our favourites are still up to their old tricks. Gunni Benedikts at the trade ministry, no doubt after a looong lunch with his old chum Ãli at agriculture, has just decided to block imports of New Zealand lamb to our fair country. Now, some of you may find this a bit hard to stomach, what with all the claptrap these guys have been spouting over the years about free market economics, going for the most competitive bid, and all that shit. But let's remember which party holds trade? And agriculture? Of course, it's our old friends the Progressives, and we can't go upsetting the farmers, or at least the half-dozen who are still in business and who vote for them, just by letting them be undercut by cheap foreign imports. That wouldn't be fair, would it?

(Private) Power to (a few of) the People!

As for everyone's favourite minister . . . ! Bjarni JÃ³n, now just who are your new friends? And we don't mean the guys at InterAlu, it's their friends from further east we're interested in this time. From what a little bird whispers in our ear, these are oil people. Energy people. Money people. Powerful people. Watch your back, BJB, and when you've shaken hands with them, you'd better count your fingers, just to make sure.

We've heard the rumours circulating around environment and trade, and the PM's office, and we're not going to believe it, as we know what a great guy you really are. We're absolutely certain that you'd never sideline the National Power Authority by inviting a foreign company to build and run a private power station to sell electricity to InterAlu. So, please, BJB, tell us it ain't true?

Watch this space, there'll be more tomorrow!

BÃ¦jÃ³!

Haddi firmly believed that a whirlwind of unwarranted attention had descended on HvalvÃk and its tiny police station. By mid-morning the station's older, but junior, police officer would have preferred to be making his accustomed tour of the village in the station's better Volvo, taking in coffee, gossip and a doughnut or three with the lads at the net loft or maybe with one of his cousins in the saltfish plant's canteen. Instead he found himself fending off a flood of questions through the phone and from the huddle of newspaper and television people outside.

Outside on the grass verge a serious young woman in a thick parka over a smart city suit presented take after take with the little harbour and HvalvÃk's pastel-painted houses in the background, as if to make sure that ReykjavÃk viewers understood this was a report from outside their city limits.

Teams from
Morgunbladid
,
DV
,
FrÃ©ttabladid
, state TV and radio, Channel 2, Channel 3, and a few more that Haddi had never heard of had all demanded information, been told there was no statement yet and they'd just have to wait. Haddi was putting the phone down from telling the local paper the same thing when a young man with a mess of gelled fair hair that appeared to defy both gravity and the breeze outside pushed his way through the door into the station's reception area.

âYes?' Haddi asked brusquely, arms folded on the counter.

âEr. Hi. I'm SkÃºli SnÃ¦dal from
Dagurinn
.'

Haddi rolled his eyes ceilingwards. âLook, son, I've told all of you that there'll be a statement this afternoon. Yes, we have found an unidentified person. No, I can't tell you where. No, I can't tell you any more than that.'

âBut I'mâ'

âSorry. That's all I can say right now.'

âBut that's not what I'm here for. I've come to see Gunnhildur. I'm shadowing her for a while. For
Dagurinn
,' he added.

Haddi took a deep breath âSo you're not here because of the body?'

âNo. What body?'

âNever you mind. The chief's not here right now, and I don't suppose she'll be back for an hour or two.'

âCouldn't you call her up? I'm expected.'

Haddi pulled his glasses down from among his curls and peered over them.

âIf it was something important, then I could call her up,' he agreed. âBut on a day like today, then it would have to be something more than usually important.'

SkÃºli tried again. âIt's all arranged. I can call the press representative at police headquarters and confirm with them again.'

âSorry. Not now. Look, we have a very serious incident to deal with, so I'd appreciate it if you'd call ReykjavÃk and sort it out with them. We're a bit busy right now. Hm?'

Haddi's frown and raised eyebrows made it plain that this was not a matter for discussion and the young man appeared to concede defeat.

âAll right then. But do you know when she's going to be back?'

âNormally, about now. Today . . .' Haddi shrugged his shoulders.

The young man nodded glumly and made for the door. The look of disappointment on his face aroused a sudden pang in Haddi's heart and he called across as the young man had the door half open.

âNot from round here, are you?'

âNo. ReykjavÃk.'

âD'you know Hafnarkaffi?'

âWhat's that?'

âIt's the shop down by the dock. It's getting on for lunchtime and odds are that's where the chief'll be. But you didn't hear that from me, all right?'

The young man grinned in delight. âThanks. That would be great. How do I recognize her?'

âGunna? Can't miss her. She's a big fat lass with a face that frightens the horses.'

Hafnarkaffi stands between the fishmeal plant and JÃ³i Ben's engineering shop. Originally a shed used for storing tarred longlines through the summer, Hafnarkaffi has grown gradually since it was turned into a drive-in kiosk thirty years ago, then expanded into a shop and had an extension built to add a small cafÃ© for harbour workers and fishermen. The final addition was the petrol pumps outside, but by now hardly anything of the original corrugated iron shed is to be seen and the place has become an enduring nightmare for council planners who have visions of it spreading across the road.

SkÃºli looked through the steamed-up glass panels of the door and made out figures sitting at tables. Pushing it open, he ventured in, thought for a moment and decided that he really was hungry anyway.

At the end of the long counter he collected a tray and pushed it in front of him, picking up bottled water on the way and stopping before the row of steaming steel bins.

âFish or meat?' a grey-faced woman behind the counter asked.

âEr â what do you have?'

âFish or meat.'

âWhat sort are they?'

âIt's Tuesday. Salted fish or salted meat.'

SkÃºli's heart sank and he began to wish he hadn't bothered with a tray.

âSaltfish, please,' he decided, knowing that he would regret it.

The woman ladled fish and potatoes on to a plate. âFat?'

âSorry? What?'

âD'you want fat on it?'

âOh, er, no. Thanks.'

She dropped the spoon back into the dish of liquefied fat and pointed to a pot. âSoup?'

âOh, no thanks.'

âIt's included.'

âNo, thanks anyway.'

âUp to you. It's there if you change your mind. Coffee's included as well. That's eight hundred. Receipt?'

SkÃºli handed over a note and received change and receipt. He scanned the room and quickly located a bulky figure in uniform at the far side, hunched over a table. At a distance it wasn't easy to see if the figure was man or a woman, but SkÃºli hoped he had found the right person. He edged between tables, forcing a row of blue-overalled workmen to haul in their bellies and chairs for him to pass, before planting his tray on the table.

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