Yrsa Sigurdardottir - Someone to Watch Over Me

‘We’ll try to be quick.’ Thóra took a seat. ‘Right, so since I took on Jakob’s case, I’ve been receiving text messages from an anonymous individual who appears to have information about it.’

‘What?’ His shock seemed sincere.

‘The source of the messages has been traced and the IP number of the computer they were sent from is registered here, at the ministry.’

‘What?’ His surprise hadn’t diminished.

‘Since the case involves your son, you’re the obvious candidate. Other ministry employees are unlikely to know such in-depth details about the fire.’

‘Yes, that’s true.’ Einvarður sat there silently. For the first time since they’d met him there was a trace of insecurity in his demeanour. His smooth, manicured hands trembled slightly on the desk. ‘I don’t know what to say. I didn’t send any messages.’

‘Then who did?’ Matthew looked at the computer on the desk. ‘Does anyone else have access to this computer, for instance?’

Einvarður shook his head. ‘No, that’s impossible. I access it with a login name and password that nobody else knows.’ He grabbed the mouse and jiggled it nervously. ‘It might be possible to log in to the machine under other names, but not to my account. I must confess, I’m not that clued up on how it works. And it’s probably worth mentioning that my office isn’t locked when I leave at the end of the day.’

‘The messages weren’t necessarily sent from your office or even from someone else’s here in this building. I understand from the Telecom technician that there are actually two IP addresses involved; one is called an external IP address and is the same for all the computers connected to a particular network such as yours. The other is called the MAC address and is assigned to the network interface card itself. Just to reiterate, the access to the Internet that we’re concerned with was not through the network in this building, but rather through a 3G Internet key that’s registered at Telecom to the ministry. The man I spoke to didn’t have any information about the MAC addresses so we don’t know which computer it was. The Internet key is one of ten purchased by the ministry, and they weren’t assigned to specific employees.’

‘Then was it a laptop?’

‘No, not necessarily, but it seems likely. It is possible to use this kind of key to access the Internet on a desktop computer, but I don’t know who would, when desktops are generally connected to the Internet in the conventional way.’ Thóra watched the man squirm and couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. He didn’t look at all as if he was involved in this, but maybe he was just a good actor. ‘Do you have a laptop from the ministry or a key like the one I’ve just described?’

‘Yes, I do.’ Then he added hurriedly: ‘But I never actually use the key. And I mean never, not for ages. I have a wireless connection at home and on trips abroad for the ministry I use the hotel networks. And besides, I’m so busy with work I hardly ever have time to look at the Internet. To tell you the truth I don’t remember when I last used the key, but it’s been quite a long time.’

‘Who’s your IT person? Would it be possible to compare MAC addresses with him or her and work out which computer was actually used?’ asked Thóra. ‘I have the number with me, as well as the external IP address.’

‘Er…’ Einvarður reached for the phone and dialled, then got straight to the point without any preamble: ‘Guðrún, who looks after our computers? We don’t have a dedicated IT person in-house, do we?’ He listened to the woman, scribbled something down on a sheet of paper, thanked her and said goodbye. ‘We use a computer service in town. I have the name of the company, as well as the person responsible for our network. Wouldn’t it be best to talk to him about this?’ He pushed the piece of paper towards Thóra. ‘Definitely call him and figure this out. I have nothing to hide and I’d like this sorted out immediately.’ He looked Thóra in the eye. ‘Believe me, I haven’t sent you any text messages.’

She called the computer company straight away and after a few moments she was put in touch with the right person, who acceded happily to her request and asked no questions. Perhaps they got a lot of odd enquiries and had stopped being surprised by them. He didn’t question her calling on behalf of the ministry, but simply turned immediately to tracing the MAC address. ‘It’s an IBM laptop that we have registered to an employee at the ministry, Einvarður Tryggvason. At least the original request for its setup is registered to him. Of course that was some time ago – nearly five years.’ Thóra wrote down the information about the make of the computer, then hung up.

‘It is your computer. The laptop.’ She looked from the paper to Einvarður. ‘Where do you keep it? Could anyone else have had access to it? At your home, for instance?’

Einvarður stared open-mouthed at Thóra. Then he turned to Matthew, as if in search of support. ‘This is absolute nonsense. I didn’t send any messages.’ He pushed his chair firmly back from the desk, and pulled out a black leather briefcase. ‘This is the laptop. I usually take it home with me and of course both Fanndís and Lena have occasionally used it, but only very rarely. My wife isn’t that keen on computers and she’s only used it to look up phone numbers from time to time. Lena uses it to upload photos from her camera, since the USB port on her desktop is so inaccessible. Otherwise they never touch it. They’re just as unlikely to have sent the text messages as I am. As you can see, I have it with me at work, so someone here must have used it without my knowledge.’

‘I received at least one message in the middle of the night.’ Thóra pointed at the laptop. ‘If you always take it home, then that message was sent from your house.’ She thought about how busy the office seemed. ‘Unless there’s always work being done here at night.’

‘Of course I occasionally leave it behind. That’s what must have happened.’ He opened the case and with fumbling hands pulled from it a silver laptop, marked Dell .

‘Dell?’ Thóra picked up the sheet of paper with the information the computer technician had given her. ‘Here it says IBM. Do you have two laptops?’

Now it was Einvarður’s turn to examine the paper. ‘I only have this one. The IBM laptop must be my old computer. It’s been out of order for ages.’ He seemed relieved. ‘This is just a mistake. It must be. It’s been months since I stopped using it – at least six, I think.’

‘And where is it now?’ asked Matthew.

‘No idea.’ He looked stressed again. ‘I don’t have it, that’s for certain.’

‘I think I know where it is.’ Thóra felt anger welling up inside her. ‘Do you still have the key, or could it have conceivably gone with the computer?’

‘I still have it.’ Einvarður hesitated. ‘I think so, anyway.’ He dug through the case’s pockets one after the other. ‘No, it’s not here. I might have forgotten to take it out of the old case when the other computer crashed. I suppose it must still be there.’

‘It looks like it.’ Thóra’s mind was racing. That bastard Jósteinn. ‘Does the ministry send defective computers to Sogn?’

Einvarður paled. ‘Yes, I imagine so.’ His licked his lips, which suddenly felt dry. ‘Are you suggesting that the computer is at the Psychiatric Secure Unit – and in working condition?’

Thóra nodded. ‘I think it’s highly likely.’

‘Oh, God. I thought it was broken.’ Einvarður was breathing unusually quickly. ‘Oh, God.’

The snowfall hadn’t subsided by the time they finally left the ministry, but the bustle in the corridors had diminished signifi-cantly. They could barely see across the street through the big, drifting snowflakes, which were turning the National Theatre into nothing more than a hazy silhouette behind a white curtain. Thóra felt as if they were figures in a snow globe that a giant had shaken as hard as he could. ‘Look at the car,’ said Matthew over the turned-up collar of his coat. ‘How long were we in there?’