The man in black could easily have knocked Pétur’s head hard on the pavement if he had wanted to. He could have landed a kick to his head. He could have stamped on his head in fury. But he had done none of these things, because even though he was clearly an agent sent by the Devil, he wasn’t the Devil himself.

Pétur sighed. It was taking him a long time to cool down. The sweat ran from his armpits and soaked his vest. Maybe he’d wake up in the night in a wet shirt and with a chill. If that happened, he’d crawl onto the mattress and pull the blanket over himself.

He had managed to get the note into Úrsúla’s pocket. He had stuffed the slip of paper into her coat while she struggled, as soon as he realised that there was no possibility that he would be able to take her to one side to explain things quietly. And this scrap of paper, this message, would have to suffice, because he had now given her the evidence, the picture of her from the newspaper in which she stood holding the Devil’s hand.

91

Lying on the sofa downstairs, Gunnar couldn’t make out what was being said above his head, but it was obvious there was an argument going on. It was like an echo from his childhood, lying alone in the darkness, nerves stretched taut, waiting for it to boil over. 206That was when the first blow was struck. He tried to take deep breaths and calm his mind. There was no danger of that here. Nonni wasn’t a man given to violence.

Gunnar scrolled through Tinder on his phone, swiping all the women left, as he wasn’t looking for a date but simply checking to see if Úrsúla would appear. The first couple of profiles had been deleted, but there was no telling if this crazy Fossi would decide to register her yet again. He was relieved that the police had decided to investigate the Tinder thing. He thought Boris hadn’t taken Fossi’s emails seriously enough; it looked like they had gone into the pile with all the other oddball messages to ministers. But now that there was a clear threat of physical violence to the minister while she was under their protection, they had knuckled down and set the cyber-security department to work on it.

Gunnar sat up as he heard footsteps on the stairs. Úrsúla had come down, so he got to his feet and followed her into the kitchen.

‘Everything all right?’ he asked.

She sighed. ‘I was going to get myself a beer. Would you like one?’

He shook his head, but she handed him a bottle all the same, so he took it and went with her into the living room.

‘I’m sorry. The racket we’re making must be keeping you awake.’

She sat in an armchair, tucking her feet under her. She wore tracksuit bottoms and a T-shirt. Gunnar found it odd to be here, in her space, inside her private life; somehow it made her appear smaller and slimmer than he had seen her before.