Frozen Assets (25 page)

‘Hårde, his name is, but you don't know that.'

‘OK, that's Hårde.' His finger moved on. ‘And that's Erna Daníelsdóttir.'

‘Who's she?'

‘Celebrity hairdresser, Sigurjóna's little sister.'

‘Good grief. You can see the resemblance.'

She inspected the double page spread with its ‘PR Practitioners Pull Out the Stops!' headline. Another picture showed Sigurjóna with a blissful smile on her face accepting an award. Gunna skimmed over further photographs of grinning people in formal finery sitting at tables or standing on a platform accepting their own awards.

‘Looks like quite a party. Who took these pictures?'

Skúli pointed to the by-line at the top of the page. ‘There.'

Under the headline she read ‘Words and pictures: Ármann J.'

‘Right. Where can I find this Ármann character?'

Skúli shut down the computer. ‘I'll find his number for you.'

Back at his own desk, Skúli skimmed through the post-it notes adorning the monitor and copied the number on to a scrap of paper.

‘Thanks, Skúli. I take it I can hold on to this?' She brandished the pages he had printed out.

‘Yeah. But I'd appreciate it if you didn't let on where they came from.'

He yawned and closed the laptop on his desk.

Gunna pressed her phone to her ear and listened to it ring.

‘Snorri? Hi, Gunna. Yup. No, it's OK, nothing wrong. Something's come up, so we'd better be early tomorrow. Pick me up at six outside my place and can you call Bára and the others, and ask them to be there for a meeting at seven?'

Skúli pulled on the jacket that was draped over the back of his chair and looked expectantly at Gunna as she spoke.

‘That's all right. Yeah, sorry to disturb you,' Gunna continued. ‘No, I'll call Bjössi and let him know as well. Thanks, Snorri. Goodnight.'

She snapped the phone shut and dropped it back in her pocket.

‘Thank you, Skúli. I think I can forgive you for dragging an old lady out on a Sunday evening.'

‘I hope it's some use to you. But you'd have seen it anyway on Tuesday.'

‘I doubt it.
Hot Chat
isn't exactly at the top of my reading list. But thanks again, young man.'

‘No problem. Er, Gunna?' he asked diffidently. ‘Any chance you could give me a lift home?'

Gunna parked Gísli's Range Rover and sat in the driving seat, listening to the engine tick, continuing to run things through in her mind.

She was still muttering to herself as she opened the front door and kicked off her boots, flexing stiff toes that had been cooped up far too long. She noticed instinctively that Laufey's trainers were in their place.

She peered past Laufey's bedroom door and heard her breathing softly. In the kitchen she poured coffee and water into the percolator, and hung her cap on the door before hauling off her uniform jacket and slinging it over the back of the sofa. In the shower she let the scalding sulphur-smelling water run until the knotted muscles across her shoulders gradually untied themselves and she could hardly see for steam, and wondered what linked Arngrímur Örn Arnarson's killing to those of Egill Grímsson and Einar Eyjólfur Einarsson.

The bloody man hadn't been involved with Clean Iceland for years. So why knock him off? she asked herself.

Gunna wrapped herself in a dressing gown that had seen better days, but since she had stolen it herself from a hotel in Copenhagen on the honeymoon with Raggi all those years ago, it had enough sentimental value to be kept. She retrieved her glasses from her jacket pocket and perched them on her nose to flip through the Sunday newspaper that had been lying on the doormat since early that morning. Although she had called Snorri to bring the morning meeting forward, she deliberately hadn't asked what progress he and Bára had made in chasing Ósk Líndal for information.

‘Bloody shame, really,' she muttered to herself. ‘Bloody good coppers those two. But I'd bet any money they're both out of the force in two years.'

She reached for her mug on the table and realized that she had leafed through the paper automatically without taking a single thing in, so she sipped coffee and leaned back in the flat's only comfortable chair to run the faces through her mind again.

‘Mum?' Laufey inquired drowsily, padding softly into the room and dropping on to the sofa to wriggle under Gunna's arm.

‘Hi, sweetheart. All right?' Gunna asked tenderly, suppressing a pang of guilt at having been out for so long.

‘Yeah. I went to Sigrún's and had dinner there and then I came home and did my homework,' she said carefully.

‘All your homework?'

‘All of it.'

‘I'm sorry, my love, things are really busy at work at the moment.'

‘I know, Mum. You are going to catch this murderer, aren't you?'

‘How do you know?' Gunna asked in surprise.

‘Mum,' Laufey explained patiently, ‘I do watch the news and I hear it when you're on the phone. And Finnur said that when you catch him, he'll get life. Is that right?'

‘We'll see. I hope so,' Gunna said as her mind flashed back to Einar Eyjólfur. ‘Come on, you'd best be off to bed again. I have an early start tomorrow, so you'll have to sort yourself out in the morning. Did Sigrún say you could go to her for lunch again tomorrow?'

‘Hm. Yup,' Laufey mumbled.

‘Go on, sweetheart. Off to bed. I'm going to sleep soon as well.'

Laufey dragged herself to her feet and shambled back to her room. Gunna heard the creak as she lay down and within a minute her thoughts were back to the case.

She was delighted to know that Matti Kristjáns had run for shelter and had a good idea of where he had run to. The thought of her cousin being another victim would have been hard to bear. In spite of the rancour between them, she felt genuinely fond of Matti as one of those people who had always been part of the family scenery for as long as she could remember.

Gunna glanced at her watch on the table in front of her and saw to her surprise that it was almost eleven. She lifted her feet on to the coffee table and laid her head back in the chair on the headrest, intending to close her eyes for a minute.

Three hours later the front door clicked and she snapped awake. She realized that she had fallen asleep in the chair and her legs were aching. She lifted them stiffly to the floor as the living-room door swung silently open and the shadow of a tall figure appeared in the doorway.

She felt entirely helpless, wearing only a dressing gown and her mind fogged with sleep. The figure dropped a bag on the floor and stooped slightly to avoid cracking his head on the lintel as he stepped into the room.

Gunna sighed silently with relief and delight.

‘Hi, Mum. Thought you'd be asleep.'

‘Gísli! When did you get in?'

‘Docked an hour ago. Is there anything to eat?'

31

Monday, 29 September

Gunna's head was aching. She should have gone back to sleep, not let herself be tempted to spend an hour in the middle of the night talking with Gísli as he devoured sandwich after sandwich and a jug of coffee. She was overjoyed to see him home after a month at sea and had a good idea he would spend much of his ten days ashore in Reykjavík, only returning to the house in Hvalvík for sleep and laundry.

‘What do we know that we didn't know yesterday?' Gunna asked to set the ball rolling once Ívar Laxdal and Vilhjálmur Traustason had taken their seats at the back of the room.

Bára, wide awake, answered first. ‘Marteinn Georg Kristjánsson walked into Hólmavík police station last night.'

‘Excellent. I thought he might do something like that,' Gunna said with satisfaction. ‘Where is he now?'

‘Hverfisgata. Hólmavík police drove him as far as Brú and Reykjavík sent a car to pick him up from there.'

‘Right. I'll go and talk to Matti as soon as we've finished. What else?'

‘Arngrímur Örn Arnarson. Death certainly not accidental, but no indication of how or who as yet. The man was a computer whizz of some kind, ran his own company called Tenging. Snorri knows more about this kind of stuff.' Bára looked sideways at Snorri.

‘He specialized in security, firewalls and things like that, stopping hackers and prying eyes from looking too closely into systems,' Snorri offered. ‘I reckon he was setting up systems for people who are doing things that aren't entirely legal and placing them overseas somewhere in countries where things aren't looked at too closely.'

‘Porn, scams, that sort of thing?' Bjössi asked.

‘Could be.'

‘Skandalblogger, maybe?'

‘Who knows? Maybe we'll find out when our own über-nerds get in there.'

Gunna looked around the table. ‘Right then. Ósk Líndal. Any joy?'

Snorri grinned. ‘There's someone who isn't a happy bunny on a Sunday afternoon.'

‘Explain,' Gunna instructed sharply.

‘She didn't answer the phone, so we paid her a visit. She lives in one of those terraces at the top of Mossfellsbœr, so it was easy enough to drop in on the way back from Borgarnes,' Bára explained.

‘And?'

‘She was as unhelpful as she could be without slamming the door in our faces.'

‘Well, I reckon we interrupted some kind of party,' Snorri grinned.

‘She was even less pleased when we got her to go and open up the Spearpoint offices so she could look up what we wanted.'

‘She was in some kind of kimono thing and had to get changed so she could go out,' Snorri added. ‘She's a biiig lady. A seriously strange woman.'

‘OK, what did you get?'

‘She had all the info there that we wanted. All the dates that Hårde has been here from the middle of last year onwards,' Bára said, handing over a computer printout. ‘As you can see, he was in Iceland when Einar Eyjólfur disappeared and also in March when Egill Grímsson was killed. And apart from a couple of breaks, he's been here almost all summer.'

‘That figures,' Snorri added, speaking for the first time. ‘The site manager at the Hvalvík compound confirmed that Hårde had only been there once or twice a week, but after the fire on the night after that march, he's been around pretty much all the time.'

‘Did you make any progress on finding whoever started that fire, Bjössi?' Gunna inquired.

‘Nah. No fingerprints. No identifiable footprints. No witnesses. Nothing to go on at all. They'll show up sooner or later, but how much evidence there might be towards a conviction when that happens is anybody's guess.'

‘Airlines, anyone? Any progress there?'

‘Sorry, chief. Only got one pair,' Snorri said sadly, with both of his large hands on the table in front of him.

‘Not to worry. That's next, please, ladies and gentlemen. Anything from the nerds in Reykjavík?'

‘Yes. Er, there's a new entry on Skandalblogger's page, posted on Saturday. Has anyone seen it?' Bára asked.

Heads were shaken around the table.

‘It's about the awards thing that Sigurjóna Huldudóttir attended, alleging large amounts of cocaine being present.'

‘Nothing new there, then,' Snorri said. ‘Is that something worth chasing, d'you think?'

‘Don't know. We have enough to be getting on with as it is,' Gunna mused. ‘I'll let the Reykjavík drug squad know and they should be able to investigate.'

‘But that's not all,' Bára added. ‘There was a strange comment to say that Bjarni Jón Bjarnason should have good reason to be on his way back to Iceland early from this conference he's at in Berlin. No more details. Maybe Skandalblogger knows something we don't?'

‘I'm wondering if maybe we ought to be having a quiet word with the Minister for Environmental Affairs,' Gunna said quietly, as if to herself, placing Skúli's printout on the table and spreading it out. At the back of the room, Vilhjálmur Traustason's eyes widened in horror. ‘And we need to find out about this, immediately.'

‘What's this?' Snorri asked, looking at Gunna with surprise. ‘I didn't think you read this sort of thing.'

‘I don't. It was passed to me last night. This is what Tuesday's
Hot Chat
is going to look like. But you'll have to wait until tomorrow to buy your own copies of
Hot Chat
.'

Gunna said
Hot Chat
as if the very words themselves smelled like a public toilet on a hot day.

‘Is this from your toyboy?' Bjössi smirked.

‘That would be telling. If you look, you'll see that these pictures were taken by a freelance hack called Ármann J, real name Ármann Jens Helgason. His phone number's there. One of you can chase this guy up today and squeeze what you can out of him. Snorri, I'll leave that to you. Now, if we look at these photos, incidentally taken at the

Gullfoss on Friday evening during that bullshitmongers' jamboree, we will see the lovely Sigurjóna, her PA or whatever he is, Sigurjóna's sister Erna the hairdresser, and a certain Mr Hårde.'

‘Bloody hell,' Bjössi said and whistled.

‘The cheeky cow.' Bára seethed. ‘She knew exactly where he had been the night before and certainly didn't bother to tell us that.'

‘Ah, but we didn't ask where he had been, only if she knew where he was when we spoke to her. So another visit to the delightful Sigurjóna might be in order. OK, boys and girls. Grab yourselves a coffee, then get to it, please,' Gunna said, noticing with discomfort as he stood up the new lines that had appeared on Vilhjálmur Traustason's long face, making him look a few years older than he had at the end of the previous week.

‘Ah, Gunnhildur. A word, if you would be so kind.'

Hårde drove faster than usual out to Hvalvík, talking for most of the way to the voices that came through his mobile headset. His room at the guesthouse he had been staying at was tidy, and still occupied for a few more days as far as the owners would be concerned. The bed was made and there was still a toothbrush in the bathroom, but the locked suitcase on the bed was empty.

After three conversations in three languages, Hårde passed the ‘Welcome to Hvalvík' sign in a cloud of dust that hung in the still air behind him, warming in the morning sun.

The phone bleeped a fourth time. He looked down at the display and raised a finger to touch the button on his headset.

‘Good morning, Herr Horst,' he said gravely, in English this time.

‘Good morning, Gunnar.'

‘Is everything confirmed?' Hårde asked.

‘Of course. It's just as we discussed. You are able to disengage?'

‘I'm not sure yet. There might be some difficulties in leaving the country.'

‘If you need an alternative route, then call me on this number.' Horst's gravel voice rattled in his earpiece. ‘But I'm sure you'll be all right. If I don't hear from you, I'll assume that we can meet here in a few days?'

‘A week, maybe.'

‘A week? Is there some delay?' Horst asked in surprise.

‘Just a few days' holiday for a change.'

‘Of course. I think you deserve a break,' he said, chuckling. ‘Call me if there's a hitch.'

‘I will.'

Hårde clicked the connection shut as the car cruised around Hvalvík, past the harbour area and along the road to the compound, where he sounded the horn for a guard to open the gate.

The room emptied quickly as Vilhjálmur Traustason stalked the length of the room, hands behind his back. He did not speak until the last one, Bjössi, winking at Gunna as he shut the door behind him, had left the room.

‘Just wanted to let you know I'm watching your progress and you're doing a fine job,' he said. Gunna could only look at him in disbelief.

‘What's this for, Vilhjálmur? You're not usually one for patting people on the back.'

‘That's as may be. But you are making progress and the team is performing very well under your management.'

‘Where's this going?'

‘Your promotion, and posting. I need to have a decision this week.'

‘Hell. I'd forgotten all about that.'

‘The Egilstadir force has requested you, Gunnhildur. Informally, of course,' he added hurriedly.

‘I'll think about it and you'll have my decision next week.'

‘Excellent. Now, there's another matter we need to discuss.'

Vilhjálmur Traustason stood and looked out of the window at the queue of morning traffic collecting at the roundabout outside. ‘I've had a communication from Lárus Jóhann Magnússon.'

‘What? The Minister?'

He nodded gravely. ‘The Ministry of Justice is concerned about the level of attention being focused on Bjarni Jón Bjarnason and his family and has requested a clarification.'

‘You mean Sigurjóna Huldudóttir has yelled at her husband, who has bleated to Lárus Jóhann?'

‘The Ministry has taken notice, shall we say?'

‘Look, Vilhjálmur. This woman is as crooked as they come. One of her staff was undoubtedly murdered and she is doing nothing to help the investigation — quite the reverse, in fact. I have a bloody good mind to haul her in for questioning on the basis of what she carefully didn't tell us.'

A look of fury, quickly suppressed, passed across his face. ‘Please, Gunnhildur, consult me first if you do. I have to say, to an extent, your promotion could ride on this case.'

‘Oh, so if I screw this up and embarrass someone with big friends, then I'm not going to be flavour of the month? Come on. There's something extremely unpleasant going on here and I could really do with your backing. Just how serious is the Minister's interest?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Bjarni Jón Bjarnason is a lad and belongs to the Independence party. Lárus Jóhann is Progressive and he's an old fart. They're not in the same party. They don't even like each other. So what's going on? How serious is this pressure you feel you're getting from the top?'

‘I'm sure I couldn't tell you. There was simply a concern over possible undue harassment of Sigurjóna Huldudóttir.'

‘What I'm wondering is this: is Lárus Jóhann just passing on Bjarni Jón Bjarnason's whining for the sake of form? Or is there really something here they might be concerned about?' Is it my promotion that's at stake, or does yours depend on this as well, Villi?' Gunna asked gently.

This time the look of distaste on Vilhjálmur's face was replaced by a brief flash of anger, rapidly erased.

‘We all depend on a certain success rate to see ourselves receiving the promotion we deserve, Gunnhildur,' he said smoothly.

‘But are you going to back me up? This bloody woman is in it up to her neck and it's going to look a lot worse for all of us in the long run when it all comes out and it turns out that we didn't look hard enough.'

Vilhjálmur stood stiffly and his face went entirely blank as he gazed over the long stream of cars snaking along the main street outside.

‘The wife of a minister . . .' he muttered to himself.

‘Villi . . . ?'

‘All right. Do what you need to do.'

‘And support from my superior officer?'

‘Of course. As long as you have evidence to substantiate everything.'

‘Ah, that means you'll back me up if I can prove everything and you'll drop me in the crap if I put a foot wrong?'

‘That's it, in a nutshell,' Vilhjálmur snapped.

Erna walked on air and life seemed to be trying to be really good to her for the first time in months. Leaving the house that morning to run a few errands, she had given Hardy a long kiss that fizzed with passion and threatened to drag the pair of them back inside for another half an hour, until he pulled back, tapped the end of her nose with one finger and told her sadly that he couldn't avoid going to the site.

At the salon, the girls had noticed something about her, giggling and whispering among themselves. It was only Marta, the salon's manager, she spoke to, but she assumed that by now all the girls would be in on the secret that Erna was taking a week off and taking a new man with her.

Sitting at the traffic lights waiting to turn off into Bústadavegur and into town, Erna squeezed her thighs together and tingled in anticipation of a week in the sun, running her mind over everything already packed and ready.

‘Had a good time in the country, Matti?' Gunna asked cheerfully.

‘Yeah. S'always good to get away from the tarmac for a while.'

As he wasn't under arrest, merely helping the police with inquiries, Matti wasn't being held in a cell. They sat in an interview room at the central police station on Hverfisgata.

‘How's Lóa?'

‘Ach. She's fine, the same as usual.'

‘Still got the goats?'