Úrsúla handed him the crumpled fast-food wrapper on which had been scrawled a threat in the form of a riddle.

‘We don’t need to look too hard for the sender,’ he said, examining the misshapen lettering.

‘No, it’s pretty obvious that this is from Pétur,’ she said, busy at the coffee machine in the corner. ‘Would you like an espresso, or something else?’ she asked.

He shook his head. People continued to offer him coffee, even though he always said no, and he wondered how long it would take Úrsúla to realise that he always declined.

‘I’ll take this to Boris,’ he said. ‘The commissioner will soon be able to hold an exhibition of Pétur’s artworks.’

Úrsúla laughed. She seemed relaxed, less tense than she had been.

‘Ingimar the Terrorist has agreed to a prison visit at Hólmsheiði,’ she said. ‘He’s there because there’s no room for him at Litla-Hraun. I don’t know how Eva managed to arrange this so quickly, but he’s expecting to see you at visiting time today.’

Gunnar swallowed, This wasn’t a job he was looking forward to.

‘I noted down a few questions that I’d like you to ask him,’ she added, handing him a handwritten note. ‘Is there anything to report on that other matter – the folklore specialist who seems to show up everywhere?’

‘I don’t think Bergmundur is Fossi,’ he said. ‘He’s just a sour old guy who’s struggling to accept that the world around him is changing. He’s part of the naming committee, and he obviously revels in it, and sincerely believes that everything that’s Icelandic will turn to dust if people are free to christen their kids Barbie or Boris.’ 170

They both laughed. Gunnar had looked Boris up in the national registry after his conversation with Bergmundur, and had found that his full name, as the naming committee required, included an Icelandic name as well: Boris Thór.

‘So what was he doing there yesterday with the journos?’ Úrsúla asked, now sitting at her desk, shuffling through the papers in what seemed an aimless manner.

‘He said that he’d just happened to be passing when you came out of the ministry and started addressing the journalists, so he stopped to listen.’

The old man had been astonished to find that Gunnar thought this behaviour strange, and had embarked on a long lecture about Iceland being a free country. Gunnar bit his cheek and held back a comment to the effect that freedom clearly didn’t extend as far as the naming committee. But the man’s account had been convincing, and Gunnar didn’t have the feeling that he was someone who would make rape threats.

‘So he’s just an eccentric?’ Úrsúla asked.

‘That’s it. I passed all the information to Boris, just to be on the safe side. I mean, Boris Thór,’ he added, and Úrsúla laughed out loud.

72

Gunnar parked in the practically deserted car park in front of the prison. He had come in his own car so as to minimise the risk of the staff or anyone passing by making the link between the ministry of the interior and this secret visit. A smiling prison warder came up to him in the reception area, checked his identification papers and allocated him a locker for his coat, watch and phone. Then Gunnar followed him into the next room and stepped through the metal detector, and the warder quickly passed a drug detector wand over him, including Úrsúla’s folded note. 171