Cold Comfort (16 page)

“What does ‘not as such’ mean?”

“I met my first wife at a country hop at Húnaver, talked her out of her knickers that night and almost twenty years later I’m still paying for it,” he said grimly.

“Æi, you’re a cynical bastard, Helgi Svavarsson,” Gunna grinned. “What do you make of Bjartmar?”

“Wouldn’t buy a second-hand car off him.”

“Did he do it?”

“His alibi’s pretty perfect. Involved? More than likely.”

“And the others?” Gunna probed.

“I don’t reckon I’d put much past Jónas Valur. Who knows? He’ll be a very tough nut to crack and he’s certainly covered his tracks. As for Bjarki Steinsson, I felt almost sorry for the man. He was clearly besotted with Svana, so I can’t see him being responsible for her death.”

“Even though he saw her that day?”

“Even so,” Helgi said firmly. “The man was shattered. You saw his face when we walked in. How about Hallur?”

“The same. He has an alibi as well, he was speaking in Parliament at two that afternoon. But somehow I have less faith in the innocence of the ones who do have alibis than I do in Bjarki Steinsson, who doesn’t. Ah well. Back to the office, please, my good man, and we’ll see what our young sleuth has dug up.”

Thursday 18th

H
ELGI FELT HIS
nerves jangling. He knew that while having slept badly would catch up on him later in the day, later could wait. Two patrol cars were parked in the street and one in the street above. Six officers from the Special Unit in black overalls waited by their van for the word to go, breath steaming in the cold clear morning with the sun just rising.

The sergeant in charge of the squad, a solidly built man called Steingrímur, rubbed his gloved hands together, relishing the moment. “How many numbskulls are in there?” he asked.

“Should be three. Ómar Magnússon, did a runner from Kvíabryggja last month. Then there’s Addi the Pill, small-time dealer, nasty bit of work. Don’t give him any second chances, just cuff him quick. Then there’s Ommi’s girlfriend Selma, who’s the only one I don’t really expect to come at us with a baseball bat. That’s it unless we’ve miscounted somewhere along the line.”

“Good. Whenever you’re ready.”

“Let’s go, then. Big key or quiet key?”

“Let’s keep the noise down, shall we?” Steingrímur decided and murmured instructions to his team. Two of them slipped along the row of houses to watch the back. Steingrímur looked over at Helgi. “Ready with the car, are you?”

Helgi nodded and retreated, taking his place in one of the squad cars. He started the engine and listened to it mutter into life as Steingrímur spoke into his communicator to warn the pair at the back of the house.

“Go on, boys,” he said crisply. “Make a mess of it.”

The brand-new front door splintered quietly as the hydraulic key levered the lock apart in fascinating slow motion. Helgi eased the patrol car forward up the drive until its bumper was an inch from the garage door. The sound of booted feet piling into the narrow hallway greeted him as he stepped from the car and joined the burly, black-clad queue.

The house wasn’t big. Two of the officers quickly checked the kitchen, glanced into the bathroom and thundered up the stairs as two others made for the front room. Helgi quickly opened the back door to let in the two behind the house.

“Come on. Garage,” he ordered.

The wiry young man in front made to put his shoulder to the door in the hallway leading to the garage, but Helgi stopped him and pointed to the handle. The young man opened it and stepped into the dark opening, backing away with a yell of pain and both hands clutched over his eyes.

“Fucking spray!” he howled.

So now you know how it feels, Helgi thought, and shouted to the others.

“Steingrímur! In here, quick!”

The heavy figure, wearing a full-visor face mask, appeared at his side.

“In there. The bastard’s just peppered your mate,” Helgi gasped.

Steingrímur shouldered his way into the opening, drawing his baton, and Helgi heard the ominous click as it snapped open. The spray hissed a second time behind the door, followed by a crack and a howl of agony. Helgi didn’t wait and followed close behind, wondering as he did so how he could retreat with three more men behind him.

Inside the door he fumbled for a light switch and clicked it on. A skinny man wearing only ragged underwear and with a curtain of greasy hair loose around his thin shoulders was sitting on the concrete floor nursing one arm and whimpering. A can of spray rolled across the floor towards one of the mattresses along the wall, where a young woman held one hand blearily over her eyes and with the other lifted the hem of a sleeping bag higher over herself as she blinked in the bright light. At the far side, a lanky figure hammered ineffectually on the garage door.

“It’s all right, Ommi. You needn’t bother. Quietly, now.”

“Bastard,” he snarled back.

“You are arrested on suspicion of absconding from prison. You are not required to say anything, but anything you do say should be correct and truthful. You have the right to a lawyer at every stage of proceedings,” Steingrímur intoned in a flat voice as he clicked shut handcuffs on Ómar’s wrists.

The second man was hauled to his feet, still whimpering in pain and clutching one hand in the other.

“You’d better call an ambulance for this chap,” Helgi decided.

Steingrímur stooped to pick up the pepper spray can and carefully placed it in an evidence bag.

“Police issue. That counts as assaulting a police officer, doesn’t it, Helgi?” he asked smoothly.

“I certainly think so. You’d better send your lad to hospital with him and get his eyes washed out.”

Helgi looked around the bare garage, lit by the glare of a trio of naked bulbs in the ceiling.

“Selma, isn’t it?” he asked as the girl let the sleeping bag slip down. “What of it?”

“Put them away, will you, love? We’ve all of us seen tits before, especially small ones like those. But I think you and I need to have a little chat.”

“Are you arresting me?” she asked petulantly.

“Not yet, but you might get lucky and find yourself in a cell,” Helgi replied. “It’s bound to be a bit more comfortable than this dump.”

A
PLEASURE TO
see Bjössi again, Gunna thought. Even though the man acted like a world-class chauvinist, something that had landed him in trouble more than once, experience told her that there was a conscientious and painstaking detective underneath. Since her move to the new squad in Reykjavík, she had seen little of her colleagues at the tiny station in Hvalvík or the main police station in Keflavík to which it belonged. If she hadn’t been so busy, she would have missed them.

Gunna and Bjössi talked over the case on the way to the hospital, where they sat themselves at Skari’s bedside. The patient glared at them with undisguised loathing.

“What’s this? Two of you?” He slurred through his broken jaw. “What’s going on?”

“Just the usual, Skari. Time for you to tell us what really happened,” Bjössi said lightly.

“Coincidence, you could call it,” Gunna added. “Long Ommi does a runner and not long afterwards you get a beating. I’d say that’s too much of a coincidence.”

Skari glared back at them. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Ah, but you do, Skari, you do,” Bjössi said. “You know perfectly well what we’re after. The fictional big Polish bloke who gave you a bit of a hiding hasn’t been found, and he won’t be, because he doesn’t exist. We reckon Ommi did all this. But why?”

“Get lost. Find that Polish bastard,” Skari said in a flat voice.

“No, Skari. I’m sure there wasn’t a Polish bloke,” Bjössi said. “We’ve been through CCTV from every angle we can get hold of and there’s nobody anywhere who looks like your description of this chap. But there is a glimpse of Long Ommi.”

“Haven’t seen Ommi. Not since you put him away.”

“Why did Ommi come all the way out to Keflavík to give you a good hiding? There has to be a reason. And what’s more interesting is why you’re so determined not to identify him. Come on, Skari, what’s the story?”

“We have all the evidence we need to place Ommi a few hundred metres from where you were in Keflavík that day. No doubt about it,” Gunna said. “In a little place like this, it would be odd if you two didn’t run into each other. So why would Ommi want to come and see his old friend Skari? Could it be because he believes you tipped us off to where he was a few years ago?”

“Don’t be stupid.” Skari grimaced as fingers of pain shot through his jaw and up into the side of his head. “Ommi’d never…”

“Ommi’d never what, Skari?” Bjössi probed.

“Ommi wouldn’t—I never knew where he was hiding … wherever it was that you caught him,” he said slowly.

Bjössi stood up and walked over to the window to look outside. Although he pretended to be bored and uninterested, Gunna knew that he was listening to every word. “So where was he hiding?”

“I don’t know!”

“All right. Let’s backtrack.” Gunna said firmly as Skari glared back at her. “You and Ommi. What were you up to ten years ago?”

“Shit. I can’t remember. Having a good time. Getting pissed.”

“Come on, Skari. You know better than that,” Bjössi admonished, without looking round. “You and Ommi were dealing on behalf of someone. When Ommi was put away after killing that lad, you got a bit frightened and decided crime wasn’t for you any more. Something like that?”

“Don’t talk shit.”

“Don’t tell me your Erla was the one who made you see sense.”

“Yeah. That’s it.”

“Ah, isn’t that sweet? Ain’t love grand?” Bjössi sneered.

“Bjartmar Arnarson,” Gunna said suddenly, watching the patient’s face for a reaction that she was inwardly delighted to see. “Does the name mean anything to you, Skari?”

“Who?”

“Ah, now I know you’re bullshitting me. You know perfectly well who Bjartmar Arnarson is. You and Skari were both working for him in some capacity or other at the end of the nineties. Remember Blacklights?”

“Yeah …” Skari answered slowly. “You mean the guy who owned the place?”

“That’s him. Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“I was on the door. So?” Skari said, eyes wide with confusion. “So was Ommi. Bjartmar was there as well. So was the lad who had his brains scrambled when your mate Ommi gave him a beating in the car park out the back. Did you maybe have something to do with it as well? Is that what happened?”

“I was out the front. Didn’t see anything,” Skari said quickly. “The coppers took a statement off me then.”

“I know,” Gunna said. “I’ve read your statement and all the other statements. I’m wondering how it all ties up so neatly and why Ommi admitted it quite so quickly and quietly. Not like him, you’ll have to agree.”

“Dunno. You’ll have to ask him,” Skari replied, retreating into his taciturn persona.

“I will,” Gunna said. “Don’t you worry.”

“You’ll have to catch him first.”

“Ah, but I’ll be having a long talk with Ommi this afternoon, and there’s plenty I’ll be asking him about, including Blacklights.”

“You’ve caught him?” Skari yelped, almost sitting up in spite of the pain in his broken ribs.

But Gunna was already on her feet and Bjössi looked at Skari with a grin, tapping the side of his nose.

Outside the hospital Bjössi tapped a filterless Camel from its packet and lit up with relief. He proffered the packet, but Gunna shook her head. She unwrapped a stick of chewing gum and popped it in her cheek.

“Given up, have you? What’s that about? Is this Steini’s influence?” Bjössi asked.

“Hell, no,” Gunna groaned. “This is Laufey Oddbjörg’s doing.”

“How so?” he asked, exhaling a plume of harsh smoke.

“My daughter,” Gunna said with a shake of her head. “One morning she says, ‘Mum, when are you going to stop smoking?’”

“‘Don’t know, hadn’t thought about it,’ I said. “All right,” says Laufey. “‘Maybe I’ll start if you don’t give up.’ So I had to stop and think for a minute.”

“Got a mind of her own, hasn’t she?” Bjössi observed. “I wonder where she gets that from? How old is she now?”

“Fifteen going on twenty, I reckon. Bright as you like, but hard work.”

“Like mother, like daughter,” Bjössi decided. “Give her my kindest regards, won’t you? Is she going to college?”

“So she says. Psychology’s what she has her sights set on at the moment, but it could be something else by next week. A few months ago she wanted to be a vet, but that seems to have dropped off the radar at the moment. How about yours?”

“Same as ever. The lad just wants to take cars apart all day long. That’s all he’s interested in, it seems, apart from girls, obviously.”

“Goes without saying if he’s your son, Bjössi. Now, I’d appreciate it if you’d keep an eye on Skari. I’ll be back to have more words with him once we’ve given Ommi the third degree. Can I haul you in on that?”

“Pleasure, as always,” Bjössi said. “What was the case you were asking him about? What was it Long Ommi did?”

“Don’t you remember? Damn, I was on sick leave just then,” Gunna said, and the old feeling of loss came hurtling back.

“Of course. It was just after Raggi died, wasn’t it? Hard to believe it was that long ago.”

“Almost ten years,” Gunna said bleakly, and shook herself.

“It was a fight, wasn’t it? A young man got a hell of a beating and died of his injuries without regaining consciousness. There were only a few scared witnesses, who wouldn’t say much. Ommi fessed up, nice as pie, if I remember correctly. It was one of old Thorfinnur’s last cases before he retired.”

“Rumour has it that it wasn’t Ommi, though.”

Bjössi looked suddenly surprised. “Really? I just remember the petty crime rate went down quite sharply as soon as he was out of circulation.”

“By all accounts, Ommi was too co-operative: hands up and ‘it’s a fair cop’ sort of thing. I’ve been hearing whispers that he took the rap for someone else in return for being well looked after,” Gunna said grimly. “And I’d love to know who he’s been standing in for.”

“W
ANT THE GOOD
news, chief?” Helgi grinned with unaccustomed joy.