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you this morning.’
    ‘That’s right. The baldie.’
    ‘I’m sure that’s not how he’d describe himself, but yes, that’s him. I know he asked you about yesterday, which is when we believe Borgar was probably murdered.’
    ‘That’s right. Didn’t see anything.’
    ‘You’re here on your own?’
    ‘Yeah. Most of the time, but I wasn’t here yesterday,’ he said. ‘There’s an old chap comes in two days a week, but I can’t afford to employ anyone at the moment. There’s work to be had tarting up old cars for rich collectors, but not as much as there used to be.’
    ‘I know you didn’t see anything yesterday, but I’m wondering about the week or two before. Have you noticed any activity in Borgar’s unit? Or anyone new poking around?’
    Stefán gingerly inserted a little finger into one ear as he thought, scratching deep inside with a thoughtful look on his face.
    ‘There have been lights on at Borgar’s place during the last week or two. I reckoned it was his nephew Óli pottering around there. Thought he might be showing someone around, so I didn’t poke my nose in.’
    ‘Did you see Óli?’
    Stefán removed the finger from his ear and looked more relaxed now that the blockage was cleared. ‘No. Now that you mention it, I don’t recall seeing that fancy Freelander of his, either. Mind you, it’s not as if I was keeping an eye on the place.’
    ‘Any unusual traffic? There can’t be many people coming up here without good reason, surely?’
    ‘Well, no. This place is a dead end. But I spend most of my time looking at the inside of a car, not staring out of the window in case someone comes down the street.’
    ‘Fair point. How long do you reckon since you started seeing lights at Borgar’s unit?’
    Stefán frowned and thought. ‘It was while we had Jói Jóa’s Cadillac in here,’ he said slowly, and brightened as he went to the workbench and consulted a diary. He ran a finger down a page of entries written in a surprisingly neat hand. ‘It came in two weeks ago yesterday. So it would have been some time that week. That’s about as exact as I can be.’
    ‘Thanks,’ Gunna said. ‘That’s a big help. Any particular time of day you saw lights on?’
    ‘Afternoons, mostly, I reckon – as far as I remember. I didn’t pay that much attention.’
    ‘Thanks,’ Gunna repeated, handing him a card. ‘If anything else springs to mind, I’d appreciate a call.’
    Stefán tucked the card in a pocket. ‘Yeah. Will do,’ he agreed. ‘But if you find the bastard who did it, I’d appreciate it if you nailed him to the wall. Borgar had his faults, but he was a decent enough character.’
    ‘You knew him well?’
    ‘Not really. He was always busy with whatever new business he was immersed in, but he always had time to stop for a coffee and a few of those dirty jokes he always seemed to pick up. Mind you, I had the sense to always be too busy when he wanted his car serviced.’
    Gunna left the workshop and made her way along the street. An hour later she had learned little other than that the long-deserted workshop had seen a little activity recently. Nobody had seen anything unusual. Like Stefán, the carpenter next door to him, the refrigeration engineer and the soft-drinks importer further along the same street had little time to watch for passers-by.
    Night had fallen when Gunna unlocked her car and sat behind the wheel. She was writing notes, waiting for the heater to clear the windscreen when there was a tap on the window. She looked up to see Stefán looking in.
    ‘Any ideas?’ she asked, winding down the window.
    ‘Not sure,’ he said, his forehead knitted with lines as he scowled. ‘There’s a blue Nissan van I’ve seen a few times in recent weeks and thought nothing of it. That’s all I can tell you.’
    ‘Any registration number?’
    Stefán shook his head. ‘Nah. No such luck. A dark blue van, with a white panel on each side as if someone had peeled off a company