She was hardly inside the office when Marteinn came hurrying in behind her.

‘Brown envelopes, María. Brown envelopes, stuffed with cash that change hands at Freemasons’ meetings. Freemasons, María!’

She stared at him questioningly. He had that peculiar glint in his eyes that made him look like a startled horse and that indicated he was heading for a psychotic episode.

‘My dear Marteinn,’ she said. ‘Don’t you think you ought to be on your way to the doctor?’

‘No,’ he said, sitting at his desk.

It would have been an exaggeration to say that Marteinn was her colleague. He was more like an adopted pet who came and went, always on his own terms. She let him write a daily column in The Squirrel with the title ‘The Voice of Truth’, and in between he helped by digging out information. When his health was in good shape, he was remarkably skilled at searching out all kinds of oddities on the internet, although María suspected that he occasionally hacked into secure computer systems to get what he wanted. She had long since given up trying to manage him. He wasn’t exactly staff, as he never asked to be paid. Having someone on board who made an effort without invoicing for it was a real positive, though he wrote pleasantly barbed articles that often attracted attention, and it made a difference to not be a completely solo operation. It was almost like having a proper job when she sat down and had a cup of coffee with him while they talked over his latest conspiracy theory.

‘Don’t you think you ought to get your medication checked?’ she said now. ‘Shouldn’t you go to the clinic before they close for the day?’

‘No,’ he said with determination, hunching over the computer that sat among the piles of junk on his desk like a fledgling in a nest. ‘I need to write this article first.’

‘You’ve already given me enough for the whole of next week,’ she said.

‘But this is about the bribes that are paid to ensure that the pollution readings around the smelter are always within limits. This is what happens when the Freemasons meet, María. And people need to know about it!’

She sighed. He seemed to come up with a new conspiracy theory twice a day, most of them involving the Freemasons in some way or other. She had to admit that most of the time she enjoyed his presence, and occasionally he would pick up something that wasn’t too far-fetched and that sparked her interest enough to make it worth checking out. But the sources of his theories weren’t always the most reliable.

‘Where did you hear about it?’ she asked.

‘What?’ He looked up and stared at her, his eyes blank. ‘Hear about what?’

‘Brown envelopes changing hands to ensure that pollution readings are always acceptable.’

‘Oh, that,’ he said, turning back to the computer, his fingers hammering the keys. ‘I had a dream about it.’