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“Smart,” Declanacknowledged.
Clay nodded and pressed one of the keys on his computer. The image on the screen changed from the one of Gunnar Ármannsson to that of an older woman. The shot had been taken with a zoom lens, the woman rushing with her head down, face partially obscured over a brightly patterned scarf. Her hair was blond, pinned to her head in a severe knot. Even in the photo Declan could see the creases on her face, the lines fanning out around hereyes.
“This is Jóhanna Leifsson,” Clay said. “She’s been a personal assistant and housekeeper to Ármannsson since he was in his thirties. There have been rumors of an affair, but no one really knows for sure. Anyway, she was included in our secondary trawl of Ármannsson. She tripped our spider when she showed up on camera at a market in Hólmavík four weeks in arow."
“And that’s significant because?” Ronanprodded.
“A few reasons,” Clay said. “First of all, Hólmavík is over three hours from Reykjavík, where Jóhanna Leifsson lives at Ármannsson's apartment. Second, there are less than four hundred people in Hólmavík. It’s not exactly a hop-skip-and-a-jump for groceries. Third, a search of records doesn’t indicate anyone known to Leifsson or Ármannsson in Hólmavík. And lastly, Curran and Ármannsson co-chaired an initiative to build wells in Ghana a few yearsback.”
“You think Gunnar Ármannsson is sending Jóhanna Leifsson to make drops to Curran?” Declanasked.
“We can’t be sure,” Clay said, “but after the initial trip of our spider we put more resources on tracking Leifsson. She’s driven to Hólmavík the last two Monday evenings and stopped at the same grocery each time. After the grocery she drives to a house an hour outside town where she disappears inside for about fifteen minutes before returning to her car and driving the three hours back toReykjavík."
“Any sightings of Curran?” Nickasked.
“Not a one,” Clay said. “We even sent up a drone up to see if we could get anything from the property, which is pretty wooded. Figured maybe Curran was taking walks out of sight. But other than an occasional light inside the house, the place might as well bevacant.”
Ronan tapped his fingers on the conference table. “What do we know about thehouse?”
“Owned by a woman whose family has lived in Hólmavík for several generations. The property has been in her family for ages. Looks like a rental. No connection to Curran that we’ve been able to find,” Claysaid.
“It’s thin,” Ronan said, stilltapping.
Clay nodded. “But it’s the only thing we’ve got that even resembles alead.”
Nick looked from Ronan to Declan. “What do you think? Worth investigatingfurther?”
Declan stood. “You can investigate all you want. I’m going toIceland.”
